Waiting for spring, time was passing by slowly. Ferry felt this better than anyone. Even though winter did not bother him as before, the absence of the sun, but especially of the moon, always covered by clouds, made him morose and bored.

At school, time dragging. May had been avoiding him since Christmas Eve, and they hadn't been alone since. Matilda only talked about football and the training with Sage that took place regularly even on the most gruesome frost.

The only events were school and sports competitions. The math ones were always won by Ben, closely followed by Steph. Ferry had managed to win second place in the athletics competition. After Andrew, of course. Billy had invited the winner to the mansion to celebrate, and Andrew had gladly accepted the invitation.

Ferry had met them that evening, laughing and running on the snow-covered lawn. Snowballs were flying from everywhere and some had even hit Ferry, although it was some distance between the boys and the maze where Ferry was working. That drew his attention. The two boys clashed or struggled to find out which one was stronger. The echo of their laughter echoed far beyond the maze. One of the clutches was stronger, however, and the two boys fell on top of each other in the snow, Andrew on top of Billy. The two hid in the snow for a while. Ferry couldn't see them too well among the tall snowbanks. Then, he saw Billy rising and entering the mansion, slamming the door behind him. Andrew followed him in a hurry, begging for forgiveness. After a few moments, he saw him leaving the manor. His visit had not lasted more than an hour. Ferry shrugged and minded his own, waiting for the day to finish. He had witnessed Billy's tantrums a few times, and he knew Billy often got upset about nothing.

"Widow Jones would like you to pay her a visit tomorrow," his mother said as he entered the door of Lavender's house. "She has some shelves to repair. Are you sure you can handle it?"Ferry agreed without second thoughts; he stood up all night long thinking about it. He couldn't miss that opportunity.

"What do you think she wants from you"? asked Matilda the next day when he told his friends about it.

"I don't know," said Ferry. "I find it strange that she wants me to visit her now, all of a sudden."

"Do you think she suspects we went into her house?" Ben asked.

"Whatever it is, I have to go. It's the only way I can find out more."

"I'm coming with you," said Matilda.

"Matt, I don't think it's a good idea. There's also that dog ..."

"I'm coming with you and that's that," Matilda said, determined. "See you tonight at the central square."

It was dark and a cold wind was blowing when Ferry and Matilda met. They didn't say a word all the way to Widow Jones's house. Matilda was completely lost inside her thick coat. Only her eyes could be seen above the high collar. It was one of the few clear nights of that winter. When the lights of the street lanterns dimmed, only the moon lit their way. It was a cold, icy light which made their pace faster and more spirited. As usual, as has been the case lately, every time he was alone with Matilda, Ferry didn't quite know what to do or say. That kiss had created an obstacle between them as thin as steam, so easy to break, but there nonetheless.

They arrived in front of Mrs. Jones's house when the moon came out of the clouds, scattering them all over the pitch-black sky. Under its light, the house looked darker and older than they remembered. Ferry wanted to get in, but Matilda stopped him, holding him by the arm. She showed him something on the roof. A small, bent-over figure was spying on them from behind the tall chimney of the house. As they came closer, the figure retreated and disappeared into the darkness. From the ground floor room, a faint light flickered. Ferry knocked on the door. Inside, he could hear the sound of heels approaching, then Mrs. Jones appeared in the doorway.

"What is she doing here?" she asked without greeting them.

"Good evening," said Ferry. "Matilda is a good friend, and she thought she might be helpful."

Mrs. Jones scanned her from head to toe between her fake eyelashes sprawled like a spider's legs.

"Come in," she finally said.

Ferry and Matilda followed her into the living room lit only by the flickering flames of the candles scattered all over.

"Sorry about the light," the widow told them. "I hadn't any money to pay for the last electricity bills."

Then, she took a candle and started in front of them on the narrow and twisted corridors of the house. The smell of dust and the stale air floated above them making, the atmosphere even more pressing. They stopped when they reached in a narrow room occupied almost entirely by a tottering shelf that was about to fall.

"This is it," she said, pointing to the shelf. "I'll leave that here," she said, putting the candle in a corner, then leaving the room. "Call me if you need anything else."

Ferry and Matilda stared at each other for a minute with the shadows playing on their young faces. A drift of cold air crept between them, making the girl sneeze.

"I'll become allergic if I ever set foot in this place," she whispered. "Now what?"

"Now you're going to fix the shelf while I'm looking for Anne."

Matilda's eyes turned wide, "What? Is that why you brought me here?" she said, forgetting to whisper.

"Please, Matt, I need you to do this for me. Only this way I can find out more about what's going on here. Besides, I think you do a better job with the shelf than I do," he said, handing the hammer to her.

Matilda snatched the hammer from his hand, giving him a squint look instead. Then, she began to nervously knock-in, holding two nails in the corner of her mouth. Ferry took Ben's flashlight out of his pocket and climbed upstairs on the tips of his feet.

In front of Anne's room, he looked through the bars in front of the door. He heard movement inside and directed the light from the flashlight to the place where the noise came from. It was from Anne. The girl was wearing sunglasses, but she still covered her face with her palms.

"Don't be afraid," whispered Ferry. "I'm a friend. I just want to talk to you."

He then realized the girl was not in bed or in her wheelchair.

"Can you walk?" he wondered.

Anne nodded.

"Can you come closer?" he asked.

The girl stepped closer to him, staying on the other side of the bars. Ferry dropped to his knees and so did she.

"If you want, I can turn off the flashlight," he told her.

"Don't put it off," she heard her whisper like a gust of wind. "I don't like darkness."

Ferry put the flashlight between them, and her light shone on her face.

"Do you need help?" he asked. "Do you want to get out of here?"

Anne shook her head no, "I can not. Mum needs me. They won't let me."

"They?" Ferry wondered. "Who are they?"

She didn't answer him. And before Ferry knew it, he felt her hands going through the other side of the gate and touching his face. He throbbed at first, but then he let her. He could feel her cold fingers' ghostly ghost studying his face inch by inch. Her tips touched her forehead, then his eyebrows and eyelids, and her touch was ice-cold as if fresh snow dripped on his face. Her hands cupped his face and rested for a few moments.

"Have we met before?" she asked, withdrawing her hands.

"Maybe we've seen each other in the town's square, by the fountain," he said.

She shook her head, "We've met before, somewhere else. I might have met you in a dream."

Ferry slowly stretched his hand to her face, trying to remove her glasses. But Mrs. Jones's heels could be heard nearby and Ann retreated into the darkness.

Ferry quickly stood up.

"Will you come back?" she asked, and he felt the despair in her voice.

"I will," he told her.

"Promise me," she whispered.

"I promise," he said, then hurried to leave the cold hall where only the wind was whistling.

The knocks of Matilda's hammer stopped, a sign the girl had finished the job.

"You owe me big time," she told him the moment she saw him.

Ferry smiled and gently poked her with his finger in the back as they were still crowded in the small pantry. Matilda slapped his hand and threatened him with her index finger. Mrs. Jones appeared in the doorway just as he was preparing to tickle her again.

"I think you should find another place for smooching, lovebirds," she said.

"We've done up here," Ferry said, turning serious.

Mrs. Jones looked at the shelf, then nodded, pleased.

"Now come down," she called them. "You deserve some hot tea."

The two followed her.

"I'm not having anything she gives me," whispered Matilda in Ferry's ear. "And you shouldn't either."

When they arrived in the living room, Mrs. Jones put her hand to her forehead, "Oh, would you be a doll," she said to Matilda, "and bring me the baskets with the wool balls? I started knitting some sweaters for this cold winter," she added, pointing to the knitted garment in the armchair in front of the fireplace. "Ferry and I will have a chat until you're back," she said in the sweetest voice.

"Are you sure you'll be fine?" Matilda asked Ferry, hesitating.

"I'll be fine," he assured her.

The girl glanced at Mrs. Jones suspiciously, then took the candle and headed for the stairs.

Mrs. Jones showed him the stool in front of the small oak table and Ferry sat down, slightly restless. He took a mouthful of tea and the aroma of chamomile tangled with a bitter taste, which he could not identify, made him feel better.

Mrs. Jones sat in Mrs. Cobbs' old chair and began to sing a sweet song, like a lullaby. The fire in the fireplace grew, and the tongues of flames began to dance as if on the song she was mumbling. The room suddenly became warmer and a soft, honey light invaded it, luring him into its warm arms. The song turned clearer, accompanied by the snapping of logs from the fire. Where had he heard that song? Why was he so troubled?

Mrs. Jones's hands were moving faster and faster, the knitting needles glittering in the flames of the fire. Ferry looked at their glow and felt his head heavy. He took another sip of tea, trying to regain his senses.

"What brought you here?" asked Mrs. Jones without raising her eyes from her knitting.

Ferry realized she was trying to make him talk. He wanted to lie, to find any pretext, to pretend he didn't understand the question. Instead, he said, "Because I think you're hiding something. I think you're neglecting your daughter. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on in this house."

Mrs. Jones didn't seem upset, "Have you been here before?" she asked. "And I'm not talking about the time when Mrs. Cobbs lived."

"Yes," Ferry said, as though his mouth was talking without him.

"And what did you find?"

Ferry wanted to stop. He wanted to get up and leave. But his mouth didn't listen, "Mrs. Cobbs's old diary and letters."

Mrs. Jones laughed. Where had he heard that laughter before?

"Is that what you were looking for? And I who thought you discovered our secret."

Ferry shook his head, "No ... I don't know your secret... And who is us?"

"Me and Andrew," she said as natural as can be.

"I know," Ferry said. "I saw you together. Is that your secret?" Ferry asked as the room spinned with him and the candles' flames grew.

Mrs. Jones laughed again. "I'm the one asking the questions," she said.

"What did you do to me?" Ferry asked, feeling his heart pounding, but his body numb.

"Oh, just a little root of valerian. Not enough to make you fall asleep, but enough to make you talk. You know you won't remember any of this tomorrow, don't you? Everything will be as wiped out as a dream you don't remember."

Struggling to keep his head straight and his eyes wide open, Ferry saw the shadow behind the widow Jones moving and slowly taking the shape of Andrew.

"Did you take care of this girl?" she asked. "We didn't expect her to come."

"Yes," he answered calmly, studying Ferry with a smirk in the corner of his mouth. "I locked her in the attic. It will take her some time to get out of there."

And Andrew leaned on Mrs. Jones and kissed her, his hand lowering from her white throat to her chest.

"Not now, my love," she stopped him from kissing her. "We have a guest. We have to treat him properly."

Andrew stopped and turned his head to the Ferry. His movement was so natural and yet so frightening, like a wolf preying on its prey before giving it a fatal blow.

Then, he took the cup from the table and brought it close to Ferry's mouth. He tried to resist it, but he felt the hot liquid slide down his throat.

"Now," said Mrs. Jones, "do you have something you value more than anything else in this world?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Ferry. "I do have something I love very much. My pendant."

And he wasn't lying. He had a silver locket medallion, gifted by Lavender. Inside, he kept the forget-me-not flower May gave him a long time ago when they were children and her photo. Andrew studied the medallion at his neck.

"He's right," he said. "He doesn't have it on him."

"What about the stone?" Mrs. Jones added. "Do you have the stone?"

"The Raven's Stone?" wondered Ferry. "I don't have it anymore. I lost it in Tenalach."

Mrs. Jones threw the knitted cloth on the floor and stood up. She came close to his face and hissed in his ear, "I'm not talking about the Raven's Stone, you idiot! Where's the Tear? Where's the Moon's Tear?"

Ferry wanted to get up, take Matilda and get out of there. Bu this body didn't listen to him this time either. Who were those people and what did they want from him?

"I don't have it," he said softly.

"But do you know where it is? Who has it? How did it disappear again?"

"No. I don't know. It's in a safe place, and only three people know the place."

"Who are those people?" she asked, bent over him.

"I don' know. I only know what Lord Stephan told me. He said it's safer for me to not know where the Stone is."

"I think he's telling the truth," Andrew said. "We shouldn't insist. The girl is too loud in the attic. Someone might hear it."

And indeed, Ferry could hear Matilda's cries, which sounded distant and dim. Mrs. Jones walked across the room, her fists clenched. A cry of helplessness and anger emerged from her throat.

"Fine, release her," she said, trying to catch her breath, and regained her place on the armchair.Andrew left and, with him, the light of the fire went out, and the candles' flames turned smaller.

Ferry heard Matilda's agitated footsteps approaching.

"Why did you lock me in the attic?" she yelled at Mrs. Jones. "Haven't you heard me screaming?"

"I didn't lock you up, sweetie. The door of the attic gets stuck from time to time. This house is old and everything is broken here."

Matilda's eyes turned to Ferry. The boy felt her shaking hands touching his face.

"What did you do to him?" she asked and the fear could be read in her voice.

Mrs. Jones was as calm as before, "Don't worry, my dear. A bit of rum has hurt no one. In your place, I would take advantage of his condition."

"What do you mean?" Matilda frowned.

"Oh, come on," Mrs. Jones laughed, "I saw the way you look at him. I know the look of a woman in love. I've seen it so many times. Even in my mirror. But he doesn't feel the same, you know. He only has eyes for the florist's daughter."

Matilda didn't mind her; she helped him get up from the chair and put his arm around her shoulders.

"Let's go, Ferry. I told you from the beginning it wasn't a good idea to come here."

Ferry could hardly drag his feet when they left the widow's house.

"Thank you for the help!" they could hear her voice behind them, accompanied by a strong laugh. The echo of her laughter followed them even when they left the empty alley.

The cold air made him come to his senses a little, but his legs still didn't listen. He let the weight of his body on her fragile, but strong shoulders. He could feel her warm cheek glued to his, and the smell of milk and cookies on her neck. Her small locks tickled his face and made him shiver.

"Wait," he said. His cheek was still touching hers. He slowly searched for her mouth with his mouth, and when he found it, he pressed his lips against hers. They stayed with their lips locked for a few moments, forgetting how to breathe. Then, he could feel her thin arms pushing him away, and as the earth slid from under his feet, he fell heavily on the frozen snow.

"You're drunk!" she yelled at him.

He did not try to get up, but remained in the cold snow, his eyes staring at the black sky above. The moon had disappeared, too. He was cold, and he felt small and helpless.

"Why don't you love me, May?" he whined, feeling hot tears coming down his cheeks. "I would do anything for you. Why do you always push me away?"

And the tears kept falling. She came closer and laid next to him in the snow. He felt her warm hand holding his.

"But I love you," she said. "You probably will never remember this ... And maybe it's better that way. I wish you could see how much ... But you only see her. I wish you could open your eyes and see..."

He could feel her shivering next to him and crying on his shoulder. After a while, she got up and helped him stand.

"Let's go to my place," she said after wiping away her tears. "I wouldn't want your mother to see you like that. Or worse, barge into Thyme. He would kick your butt even in this condition."

Ferry didn't remember much of that night. He felt that lean, but strong body carrying him, and then some robust hands lifting him up and putting him on a bed with warm, white sheets that smelled like soap and sleep.

That night, his sleep was deep and restless. He dreamed he was walking with May holding hands, in a field of forget-me-not flowers. They stopped under the big shade of a tree and kissed. Her kiss tasted like strawberries. She then broke from the kiss and run away from him. As he followed her, he realized she was no longer May. It was Matilda. He followed her, trying to make her stop. He found her at the edge of the Shepherd's Forest, waiting. He took her hand to make her turn to him. When she turned, she was no longer Matilda. It was Oona. 

She whispered something to him. He couldn't hear it at first. Yet he could read on her red lips:

"Open your eyes, Ferry!"

Well, I hope you liked this one. Some of your theories are confirmed, but can you guess some more? Can't wait to hear your thoughts.