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you well know,” she added, eyebrows raised. “Although you may find something more suitable to say when the need arises,” she added cryptically. “Something of your own to say. You understand?”
    Kat nodded. But by then she was thoroughly befuddled.
    Great-Aunt Margaret replaced the scissors and lifted the third item, also hooked to its slender chain. “Ah.” She sighed. “The thimble. You know what that means.”
    Finally, Kat allowed herself a smile. “A kiss,” she answered. Aunt Margaret had read
Peter Pan
to them so often that the cover was coming apart from the binding; Robbie played at being one of the Lost Boys, especially since taking up fencing. Kat teased him about losing his marbles.
    â€œWell, yes,” Great-Aunt Margaret said, seeming disconcerted. “That, of course. Thimbles also have often been given as wedding gifts and love tokens. But this thimble has a magical aspect. This thimble can catch souls.”
    Kat had to bite her cheek hard.
Honestly.
“Aunt Margaret,” she began. “How can anything catch a soul?”
    Her aunt reared back, her eyebrows arching. “Katherine, you really must become less pragmatic. In times like these we require other equally important qualities. Like imagination. And faith. And hope. Remember, dear, hope springs eternal in the human breast.”
    Magic. Imagination. Hope. Great-Aunt Margaret was quite out of her mind.
    Now, the only thing Kat hoped was for this war to end so they could all go home. She dropped the chatelaine among her sweaters and shut the drawer.
    â€œLook,” Amelie said. “Come and look.”
    Ame stood at the window, staring out into the garden. Kat moved to her side.
    The view was toward the back of the castle. The fog had lifted into a gray autumn sky. The garden was barren and cold, the annuals gone and the shrubbery bare twigs. Some patches of early snow showed in the hollows, but the ground was otherwise bare and brown. An allée of trees stretched in a narrow band toward a woodland; beyond the farthest edge of woods Kat thought she saw a thin sliver of silvery water. That way was southeast, toward the North Sea and the continent.
    Toward the war.
    Toward Father, who was there, somewhere across the water, in danger but doing what he must.
    The woods, the rough coast, the moors beyond weretreacherous and would be an easy place in which to be lost, especially in fog. There was no need of a castle moat, no need for shuttered gates. They were all here until the bitter end, and Kat swallowed the lump in her throat. She touched the cold glass with her fingers before she turned away.
    But Amelie tugged at her sleeve. “No. Look.” Ame pointed down into the near garden. Kat leaned against the glass to see.
    Straight below them a small girl with blonde hair sat on the stone edging of an empty round fishpond. How Kat hadn’t seen her right off was a mystery. A hound dog circled the girl and nosed the grass at her feet. As Kat watched, the girl reached into the rocks and lifted something out, and for an instant there was a flash of silver in the child’s hand. Kat blinked and rubbed her eyes.
    The girl held nothing.
    â€œShe’s wearing a summer frock,” Kat murmured.
    â€œShe’s catching fishes,” said Amelie.
    â€œAme, that pond is dry, silly.” But the girl dipped her hand into the dry rocks again and again, and each time, something fishlike shimmered in her hand and then winked away. Kat shuddered.
    â€œI feel so sad for her,” said Amelie, leaning against the window, fingers splayed on the glass. “She’s lost something. Can you see it, Kat? She’s looking for something in the pond.”
    Kat took her sister’s hand. It felt so cold, Kat had to rubAme’s fingers between her palms. “You have a kind heart, Ame.” But a vague uneasiness stirred inside Kat.
    The door burst open behind them. “Kat!”