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into tumult, and before Timothy
    could even blink, the shadows had
    disappeared, the gold idols had become lifeless,
    and Abigail had become herself again.
    She turned toward the voice, which had come
    from the entry opposite the velvet rope, and
    this time it was her turn to wear an expression
    of shock. There stood an old woman.
    Her voice wavering, Abigail replied,
    “Gramma? What are you doing here?”

    8.
    The old woman was tal . She wore a knee-
    length navy pea-coat, a oral blouse, and
    polyester pants. Tufts of dark gray hair curled
    out from underneath a oppy houndstooth hat,
    the brim of which fel in waves around the
    edge of her face like the petals of a ower. She
    had a long, regal nose and large, wide-set
    brown eyes. She seemed truly surprised, almost
    shocked, to nd Timothy and Abigail in the
    basement of the museum.
    “What am I doing here?” said the woman
    addressed as “Gramma.” “My dear, I feel I
    should ask you the same thing. Aren’t you
    supposed to be in school?” She sounded more
    confused than concerned, as if she were
    worried that she might be seeing things.
    Timothy knew the feeling.
    The sight of the woman in the entrance had
    been enough to make Timothy momentarily

    been enough to make Timothy momentarily
    forget about the shadowy gure in the other
    door. But when he heard brisk footsteps
    scu ng away, he turned his head once more to
    look. The tal man in the long overcoat was
    gone, but a smal book lay on the oor where
    he had stood.
    Had he imagined the whole thing? Was he
    imagining stil ?
    “My class is here on a eld trip today,” said
    Abigail. “Mom signed the permission slip last
    week. Remember?” She ran to meet the woman
    in the doorway, leaving Timothy alone among
    the glass cases and wide-eyed artifacts.
    He could not take his eyes o the book on
    the floor beyond the rope. He cautiously moved
    toward it. It lay on the ground a few feet past
    the door.
    “Why, you’re al wet, Abigail,” said her
    grandmother. “Didn’t you think to bring an
    umbrel a? It’s been raining to end the world for
    the past few days.”
    Abigail stammered as Timothy ducked

    Abigail stammered as Timothy ducked
    underneath the velvet rope, “I—I forgot.”
    “Wel , you can take mine with you when you
    go. My old raincoat does quite wel in weather
    like this. Of course, the cab picked me up in
    front of the apartment building, so I didn’t have
    to walk to the bus stop like you did. Regardless
    …”Timothy crawled into the dark administrative
    hal way. The book lay just out of reach. Beyond
    it was cold, unblinking darkness. Timothy was
    terrified to go any farther.
    He could make out the cover—something
    about a corpse. The hal way seemed to close in
    as he inched forward, his ngers reaching the
    book.
    “Timothy? What are you doing?”
    He nearly screamed as he spun around to
    nd Mr. Crane and one of the security guards
    standing in the doorway next to Abigail and her
    grandmother. He slid back underneath the
    velvet rope and struggled to rise, clutching the
    book behind his back. Slipping it underneath

    book behind his back. Slipping it underneath
    his shirt and into the lip of his pants, he said, “I
    dropped a penny.”
    “Please … come away from there,” said Mr.
    Crane to Timothy, before noticing the stranger
    beside Abigail. “Are you …? You’re not a
    chaperone.”
    The old woman shook her head. “Thank you
    for let ing me know.”
    “I’m sorry,” said Mr. Crane, flustered.
    “Please don’t be,” she replied. “I’m Abigail’s
    grandmother.
    Zilpha
    Kindred.
    Funny
    coincidence meeting like this. If I’d
    remembered you were planning a trip to the
    museum, I would have tagged along for the
    ride. As it is, I took a cab. I have particular
    business to at end …” She glanced at Abigail,
    who seemed to have taken an interest in
    picking a piece of dirt out from underneath her
    ngernail. “Never mind. Carry on. Pretend I’m
    invisible.”
    Mr.