It was early. Way too early for John to be bounding out of bed, racing down the hallway, and leaping onto his sleeping parents. But he did it anyway! He hurtled himself into his parents’ quiet bedroom, shouting, “It’s my birthday! It’s my birthday!” His mind was full of racing thoughts. Enormous packages to open. Monstrous slices of chocolate cake piled high with frosting. A house full of people visiting just for him. His mouth watered with the thought of birthday ice cream sundaes as he squealed, “When do we eat cake? When do we open presents? “That’s a long way off, mister,” his mother said. “Your party isn’t until tonight, and we have plenty of things to do to get ready before your guests arrive. The first thing you should do is go wash up and we can have some birthday pancakes.” John pretended to grumble, but he was actually looking forward to some special birthday flapjacks, hot off the griddle.

Raea gasped and scanned the shadows around her. Her crystal pendant glowed faintly like the aquamarine splotches on the backs and palms of her hands, but it all faded to nothing before she could blink. Impossible. She couldn’t have seen what she thought she saw.

“It’ll get much colder as we angle north,” Dylan said around a mouthful of his breakfast. “You should both finish your potatoes. They’ll keep you warm.” Alek turned, “But we’re already north of Tokyo. Why go out of our way?” He breathed on the window glass before him.

We lived on the main residential street in town—Atticus, Jem and I, plus Calpurnia our cook. Jem and I found our father satisfactory: he played with us, read to us, and treated us with courteous detachment. Our mother died when I was two, so I never felt her absence. She was a Graham from Montgomery; Atticus met her when he was first elected to the state legislature.

“I hate squirrels!” That’s what I was yelling to my brother and his friend as we walked through the woods. “Get over it,” he said, “you’ll be thanking us later.”