"It's not your concern to get into people's business," Thyme said in a husky tone after Ferry had told him, in between catching his breath, about the mansion's room, about Andrew and Mrs. Jones.

Ferry couldn't believe his ears. In Lavender's garden, at that late hour in the night, it suddenly turned cold. Colder than the cold of the early winter. The branches were coated with a thin layer of ice, and with each icy blow of the north wind, they were touching each other, a crystal-like melody emerging with each blow.

"Not my concern? Don't you see, Thyme? Everything that happens in this town, all the secrets, all the whispers at the corners, they all have something to do with the fairies. With us ..." he added, softening his voice. "How could I pretend they didn't exist? Sometimes, I get the impression that nobody around is who they seem to be. Even you, my friends, my family... As if something is stopping you from telling me everything. Like you're hiding something from me."

Thyme couldn't look him in the eyes. He turned his back to him, pretending to carve an arrow for the wooden bow.

"It seems that you care about anything else but the things you should really care about. I shouldn't tell you this, but there are many changes in Akna, and the enemy is getting closer to taking over the entire land. The time for you to leave may come sooner. And then, all these gossips that keep popping up in this town, where nobody has anything better to do, will just be dust in the wind. What is happening in this town pales in front of the dangers that hang over Akna. And you have to be prepared."

"But I'm not ready to leave yet," Ferry said. "And you know it."

"No, you are not. And that's because you're distracted by the insignificant things that occupy your mind and drain you of the energy you should put into something else. I know strange things are happening in this town. But people don't always do what they should. What's going on between your dad and Mrs. Jones is wrong. What's going on between Mrs. Jones and Andrew is wrong. But you can't change that," he said softly. "You cannot change the nature of people. They are weak and always fall prey to temptations."

Ferry shook his head, "Andrew and Mrs. Jones are up to something, I know that. They were looking for something. They ransacked the house and the garden in search of it."

"Maybe they were looking for your father's hidden money, his life savings. Maybe that was the plan from the beginning. I know your dad is saving money to open a workshop. It must be a nice amount."

"That's not it, Ferry shook his head. "I'm sure it's something else. Something darker ..."

"Would you put an end to this?" Thyme shouted. Then, as if regretting he had yelled at Ferry, he added, "You must try to find peace, Garrett. And strength. The storm is coming."

*

Ferry agreed on one thing Thyme had said— the storm was coming. He could feel it in the air. He felt that all the mysteries, all the secrets that surrounded the town were somehow connected even if their roots were long, old and tangled.

But he knew he had to be prepared for whatever was to be revealed to him. He also knew he could rely on two people, more than anyone else — Matilda and Ben. He could tell them anything.

Ben's room had become some sort of room of secrets. It was the most appropriate place for their confessions; all three had come to the same conclusion —  because there was no fairy around. Except for Ferry, of course. But anyway, his friends had always considered him one of their own. All they had to do was to stay away from Ben's sisters' sensitive ears.

When they heard the news about the room at the Pride Mansion, his friends' eyes turned wide. But when Ferry told them about Andrew and Mrs. Jones, both Matilda and Ben couldn't help to restrain a shout of wonder.

"How about that," Matilda said, still in disbelief, "Andy is into older women. Mrs. Jones must be over forty-years-old.

"Yes," added Ben, shaking his head, "but we don't know how old Andrew is. If she turns out to be a fairy, he may be  older than Mrs. Jones."

"But he can't be a fairy," Matilda protested. "He's not affected by iron. Any fairies are always affected by the iron's touch."

Ben gave it a thought, "Maybe we don't see him being affected. He may have found a way to hide it, as he did with so many other things."

Ferry agreed.

"What do you think he's looking for, anyway?" asked Matilda.

"I don't know ... But somehow, he doesn't seem to feel at home in this world. His strange states are becoming more and more frequent."

"But how does he recover from these states?" asked Matilda. "I saw him today at school and he seemed in the best shape."

The boys turned silent. They didn't have an answer for that.

"And there's that room, too," added the girl. "I wish I could see it ..."

"It's dangerous," said Ferry. "It's always locked, and only Billy and his family know where the key is. But the people in town, at least the older ones, seem to know more about that room. That's why I brought this," he said, taking Mrs. Cobbs' diary out of his pocket. "I think we should all read it. Maybe I'm missing something."

With gentle moves, Ferry opened the journal whose yellow pages spread the scent of long-forgotten memories. His friends huddled over him, and now all three were reading the lines written by Mrs. Cobbs so many years before.

They read the first pages in which Mrs. Cobbs mourned the missing of her daughter. Over time, all the indications led to the Shepherd's Forest. But also to the Pride Mansion.

At one point, a new character appeared in Mrs. Pride's accounts. A certain S who seemed to be a woman. S began to be increasingly involved in Poppy's disappearance. And it was S who snuck Mrs. Cobbs into the mansion, in the last room on the third floor. But Mrs. Cobbs's descriptions of what she saw in that room were cryptic and difficult to understand. After the visit to the mansion, Mrs. Cobbs simply called it the chamber of horrors.

Then, they read in horror that S died in an accident at the manor. In fact, Mrs. Cobbs remembered many other accidents and mysterious disappearances of people working or living at the mansion.

All three of them were barely breathing. For the first time, finding out the mysteries surrounding the mansion was no longer a detective's play. For the first time, they realized what they were doing was dangerous.

"I don't like that," Ben said. "It's too dangerous, Ferr. I say you should stay away from that room."

"Ben is right," Matilda admitted. "I wouldn't want anything to happen to you," she slowly said, lowering her gaze.

"But I have to find out what all these mean," Ferry insisted. "They are related to the fairies. And, whether I like it or not, I'm a fairy."

"But how?" Matilda asked. "Clearly we can't get in there."

"We could find out from somewhere else. It's clear our parents don't want to talk about it, so we'll not get anything out of them. But I'm sure the mysterious disappearances and deaths at the mansion are mentioned somewhere."

"Where?" Ferry and Matilda asked in one voice.

"In the local newspaper," Ben said with a victorious smile on his face.

*

The town's new library was on the ground floor of their former elementary school. The old librarian, Mrs. Dear, had retired a few years ago, after filling all her corners and drawers of her house with knitted shawls, salts, gloves, and hats.

In front of the school, they stopped, trying to make a plan.

"Do you think they'll let us check the newspaper archive? What if they suspect something?" Ben asked.

"Why would they suspect anything?" asked Matilda, starting for the school's entrance. "Besides, some of us paid a lot of money for this library," she mocked Ferry, a sign she hadn't forgotten the story of his basket bidding at the festival.

The new librarian was younger but just as bitter. She looked at the three youngsters above the register she was studying without a single move of her head.

"Yes?" she said in a bored voice.

"Hello," said Ben politely. "We have a school project about the beginnings of our town and we would like to see the archive of the local newspaper."

The librarian sighed, somewhat bored with her tasks.

"Come with me," she said, getting up from her chair.

They followed her through the corridors formed between the rows of bookshelves. The shelves were new and glossy, and the smell of ink on the printed pages almost became palpable as a dark trace meant to be their guide.

The librarian stopped in front of a huge closet she opened with one of the many keys she was carrying. Inside, the familiar smell of the long-touched paper rose. The cabinets were all distributed by years, and each shelf contained hundreds of newspapers.

"Be careful, some are quite old," she said in a cold tone, after which she left, the sound of her high heels losing along the corridors.

"Do you think we can find newspapers from sixty years ago?" Ben whispered.

"Of course," Matilda said, trying to keep her voice down. "Mr. Porter is proud of his newspaper. Don't you see that the library keeps them locked?"

"But how do we know which one is talking about the deaths at the manor?" asked Ferry."It's simple," Ben replied. "We need to check Mrs. Cobbs' diary and see the date she mentioned about it. Then, we search the newspapers around that date."

Indeed, searching the first shelves, at the top of the closet, they discovered the first years of the newspapers, marked on labels in black ink. They had to use the ladder at the end of the closet shelf to reach that shelf. Matilda was the one to climb, pulling the newspaper a little hastily, making the boys fear that she might break it.

They chose their seats at the big table in front of the shelves. Some young children looked at them with their big eyes, surprised to see them there. Then, they would return to their books in front of them, ashamed that they had been caught. It seems that not many people were crowding into the new library.

Then, they all focused on the newspapers. As they read, their thoughts flew far away, back to the old times, when the hope of a new, promising life was still alive in people's eyes. And yet, not much had changed. Most of the articles talked about Albert Pride Sr, Albert Pride's father and Billy's grandfather; and about his contribution to the development of the town. The newspaper praised his generosity and commitment to the local community. Albert Pride Sr was present in most of the pictures: at the inauguration of the Elementary School and the City Hall, at festivals and games. In each photo, even if old, his face detached from the others, always smiling and confident. There were also described the sumptuous parties, accompanied by games and competitions attended by the richest people in the Big City. And yet, the details about the Quest were few and evasive. They all searched for the obituary section, but it didn't appear anywhere. This was because no one had died at that time as if the inhabitants of the town had been blessed with eternal life.

"I think I found it," Matilda whispered, and the boys approached, searching the section pointed out by Matilda's index finger. Ferry got a bit too close to the girl's head because he could feel her hair on his cheek and the smell of cookies that was spreading it. Matilda always smelled like cookies freshly taken out of the oven.

"What are you doing?" she asked in a whisper, feeling his breath in her hair.

"Nothing," Ferry said quickly, retreating. He had to focus.

"Look," Ben brought him back to reality, "the obituary speaks of a single death. An accidental death. And yet, the parties and games of that summer were still held."

"Who? Who died?" Ferry asked, feeling his heart pounding.

"Samantha Pride," said Ben, staring at the paper in front of him. "Albert Pride's mother."

*

That night, Ferry fell into a deep sleep. He had fallen fast asleep, and the dream had taken him away to a place he hadn't visited for a long time, not even by thought. Someone was waiting for him there. Oona.

He was the ten-year-old boy again. Oona was holding his hand, and they were walking through a yellow field sprinkled with small, blue flowers, under a gentle sun. Her hair fell on her bare shoulders, and thousands of rubies glittered in her locks touched by the sun. From time to time, she looked upon him, and her green eyes were smiling.

"I miss you," he said in his old, child voice.

"I miss you, too," she said in a gentle voice.

A warm breeze crept between them, caressing their skin. A flock of small birds rose from the field and chirped high up in the sky.

"I wished it was all as before," he whispered.

Oona heard him and stopped. The tall, yellow grass rustled in the breeze.

"You cannot stop the way of the world, fairy-boy," she said softly, looking away.

Now, Ferry was no longer a boy; it had grown-up, and he could look into her eyes, the colour of the forest during spring.

"I know I can't ..." he sighed. "But it's so hard ... I wish I could at least find a piece of what once was. I know that piece would give me the strength to go through everything."

"But you can do that," she smiled. "You just have to open your eyes."

"You mean to wake up?" he asked and became sad. "But I don't want to wake up ..."

Oona looked him in the eye, and her hair waved under the wind.

"Open your eyes, Ferry ... Just open your eyes ..."

The best part of writing this series is seeing the readers' amazing theories. Can't wait to hear your theories on this chapter :)