over his shoulder. He didn’t seem the least bit uncomfortable, though the temperature was well below freezing. The sun was just about gone and it was getting dark. He walked up the road toward the boys’ hiding place. They sat very still, trying not to breathe.
Brendan came even with them and stopped suddenly. Harold and Dmitri sat stock-still, willing even their heartbeats to silence. When Brendan started talking, they thought he had discovered them. But then they realized he wasn’t talking to them.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Brendan said. “I just got lucky. I doubt if I could surprise her like that again.”
Who was he talking to? He was alone, wasn’t he?
“All right! All right! I’ll put my coat on. There’s no one to see me. After that workout, I’m sweating like a pig.”
Harold and Dmitri peered through the branches of the juniper bush and watched as Brendan dropped his bag to shrug on his coat. His head steamed gently in the cold air. His hair was wet. What workout was he talking about, and who was he talking to?^ 43
Then they saw the bug.
“What is that?” Harold whispered in amazement.
The bug looked like a big hairy beetle, kind of a cross between a housefly and a bumblebee. Its shiny wings hummed as it hovered in front of Brendan’s face.
“Oh, sure,” Brendan laughed. “And who’s going to see me out here? Never mind. I’m gonna be late for dinner. Let’s get going. Climb in.” Brendan held his coat pocket open, and to the watchers’ amazement, the bug thing flew in. Brendan started off down the road again.
They waited until Brendan was a safe distance away before starting off in pursuit. The gathering darkness made their task easier. They crept from tree to tree, keeping Brendan in sight.
“What kind of bug could that be?” Harold hissed.
“Insects are not fond of the cold,” Dmitri whispered back. “I must admit I’m stamped.”
“Stumped.”
“Right.”
They were surprised when Brendan turned away from the road to the ferry terminal.
“Where’s he going?” Dmitri asked.
“I don’t know,” Harold whispered. “Just keep quiet.”
They came to the spot in the road where Brendan had turned off. The snow was uniform and white. There were no footprints or any other indication that Brendan had left the road at that spot. Harold looked off into the darkness.
“Are we sure this is where he left the road?” Harold whispered.
“I think so,” Dmitri said uncertainly. “But where are the footprints?”
They heard the unmistakable sound of Brendan’s voice in the trees calling, “Wait up!”
“Come on,” Harold hissed. They set off in the direction of Brendan’s voice, torn between speed and stealth. The snow helped dampen the sound of their footfalls.
“Look!” Harold said, pointing to the ground in front of them. Brendan’s footprints were now easy to see. They led toward a cluster of birch trees. Obviously, the tracks had been there all along, but for some reason they’d been unable to see them. “Why couldn’t we see them from the path?” Harold whispered.
“Very weird,” Dmitri agreed.
“This whole island’s a little weird,” Harold said.
The boys entered the stand of birch trees in the deepening gloom. Their breath puffed out in huge clouds. They moved as quickly as they dared, finally emerging from the trees to find themselves at the edge of the lake.
Ice had formed along the shore. There was no sign of Brendan anywhere. The only sign of Human habitation was a rickety old wooden dock that jutted out into the gelid^ 44 black water. Like a stumpy finger, it pointed toward the Toronto skyline glittering in the distance.
“Where did he go?” Harold asked in complete confusion.
“Where could he have gone?” Dmitri shrugged. “There is nowhere to go. He vanished like a thin hair!”
Harold was about to correct Dmitri again when a female voice did it for him. “It’s thin air, you geek.” Harold and Dmitri spun around to find Delia Clair standing at the edge of the trees. “And why am I not surprised he gave you the slip?”
“What are you doing here?” Harold demanded. “You were spying on us!”
“And what were you doing following Brendan?” She let that question hang in the air. Harold and Dmitri hung their heads sheepishly.
Finally, Dmitri said, “We’re worried about him. He’s been behaving kind of strangely.”
“We wanted to find out what he’s doing,” Harold added. “He hasn’t been around much lately.”
“Maybe he just realized you two are the biggest losers in the universe?” Delia suggested. Harold clenched his fists but said nothing. “You guys are pathetic spies. I’ve been watching you for at least an hour and you didn’t even know I was there.”
“Oh yeah?” Harold retorted. “What are you doing here? I suppose you just happened to take a trip to the island in the freezing cold?”
Delia’s eyes narrowed. “I’m doing the same thing you are. I’m trying to figure out what Brendan is up to.”
“Spying on your own brother?” Harold shook his head. “That’s pretty low.”
Delia grabbed Harold by the front of his jacket and pulled him close until she was staring into his eyes. “He isn’t my brother. Not really! And I want to know what happened to me. I think he had something to do with it.”
“What do you mean, what happened to you?” Dmitri interjected.
“I mean… ” she stopped. Disgusted, she let go of Harold and turned away. “Never mind.” She started to walk back into the trees.
“Is it about the day you lost?” Dmitri shouted at her back.
Delia froze. Slowly, she turned around and looked at the two boys. “What did you say?”
“I said, ‘Is it about the day you lost?’” Dmitri watched her face. She didn’t speak.
Harold jumped in. “We lost a day, too, a few weeks ago. We just can’t seem to remember anything about this one day.”
“We believe Brendan had something to do with it,” Dmitri added.
Delia stared at them. At last, she whispered, “Why? Why do you think he’s involved?”
“We can’t be sure,” Harold said. “It’s just a feeling we both have. And, well… ” He hesitated, his hand resting on his book bag. “I have these pictures I drew.”
Delia’s eyebrows rose. “What pictures?”
“In my sketchbook.”
Delia grinned a hungry grin. “Let me see these pictures.”
Later, they sat in a cafe drinking hot chocolate and comparing notes. On the ferry from the island, Delia had pored over the bizarre sketches that Harold insisted he’d done but couldn’t remember drawing. They showed Brendan flying with birds, and an old man with a grizzled face and a slouch cap. There were pictures of a magnificent but terrifying woman with fierce eyes. Her hands were alight with some form of energy. On another page, weird creatures that seemed to be half man and half dog slavered and snarled.
Delia was captivated. “If you’d seen someone like that, you’d think it would stick in your mind.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to make sense of what they’d seen so far.
“I’ve been following him for days now,” Delia said at last. “I even followed him when he was Christmas shopping.”
“What did he do?” Dmitri asked.
“Went Christmas shopping,” Delia snapped sullenly.
“Nice work, Sherlock,” Harold scoffed.
“Why don’t you just shut up?”
“Please!” Dmitri interjected. “Let’s not fight. We have to figure out what’s going on.”
“Okay, so we all agree,” Harold said. “Something weird is going on and Brendan is at the centre of it. So what
