Stardust smirked pompously. “That was before you had me, a first class detective; stealth is one of my most coveted traits. Leave it to me to get us inside that study. I’m sure it’s just bursting with clues.” She wriggled in anticipation.
Even though I’d wanted to sneak into Mother’s study ever since I’d discovered it was locked, part of me was afraid of what we’d find. What would Mother keep hidden from me? “What if we get caught?”
Stardust’s eyes gleamed. “That possibility is what makes investigations so exciting.”
We waited until the dead of night, a time Mother usually spent in her gardens.
“You must be absolutely quiet,” I whispered, my hand on the trapdoor’s latch. “Mother doesn’t sleep, so even the slightest sound will alert her.”
Stardust opened her mouth—probably to offer her usual know-it-all conclusion as to why Mother didn’t sleep—but she snapped it shut at my warning glare.
I inched the trapdoor open, pausing at each creak that pierced the silence. Although Mother was used to my sneaking outside at the crack of dawn, she’d be suspicious hearing the trapdoor squeak in the dead of night. After it was opened, I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and cautiously stepped onto the top rung of the ladder, pausing to ensure my descent hadn’t made any noise.
Stardust wriggled impatiently beside me. “This is taking too long.” She descended gracefully and bounced against my dangling feet. “Let me carry you.”
I hesitated. She was so transparent. I tentatively poked her with my toe. She seemed solid enough. Carefully, I stepped onto her and sank several inches, her frothy body absorbing me like I was submerged in a dry bubble bath. She floated down the ladder, glided through the kitchen, and paused at the end of the hallway.
“Which door is her study?” she whispered, rather loudly.
“Last door on the left, right across from Mother’s room.” I stilled. The glow from Mother’s lantern peeked through the sliver of her door; she wasn’t outside after all. The last thing I wanted was for her to catch me poking around somewhere so forbidden, but it was too late now.
Stardust glided down the hallway and set me gently beside the door. With a small pop! she morphed into thin vapor and slipped effortlessly through the crack between the door and the floorboards. I barely had time to be impressed before the click of the lock pierced the darkness. I tensed. Surely Mother had heard that.
Footsteps. I quickly slipped inside Mother’s study and closed the door. I cocked my ear to the keyhole and listened intently; Stardust, now shaped as a cloud key, squashed against me to listen, too. Mother’s door opened and we heard her pause just outside the study door.
We waited with bated breath. Mother jiggled the knob. The door had relocked. After a tense moment she stepped away, shut her door, and all was still.
After another minute of cautionary silence, Stardust reinserted herself into the keyhole to peek through. “She’s gone.”
I let my breath out slowly. “That was close. No more talking.”
Stardust morphed back into herself and made the motion of sewing her mouth shut. I tested my weight on the floorboards, which hinted at squeaks and creaks and lots of noise. Stardust slipped beneath me again to carry me soundlessly across the study.
I didn’t dare strike a match, so we silently explored by the thin sliver of moonlight drifting in through the slit in the curtains. This couldn’t possibly be my obsessively neat Mother’s study. A towering mahogany bookshelf sank beneath the weight of haphazardly stacked books that looked ready to tumble, bottles of unusual plants were scattered across the floor, and leather notebooks were arranged in disarray on every shelf.
Stardust floated us towards the desk, which was covered by a tablecloth of papers, bottles of different-colored ink, and scattered quills. The papers contained drawings of an assortment of strange plants, all labeled, with notes scrawled with a hurried and untidy hand that didn’t match Mother’s usual careful penmanship.
Stardust’s eyes widened in recognition. “These are sketches of flowers grown in the Dream World for Weavers to use in their dreams. Your mother must also be a Cultivator.” Her eyes narrowed as she leaned closer to study the drawings more closely. “Wait, these are unlike any cultivating plants I’ve ever seen. I don’t recognize any; the only place I’ve seen them is in your mother’s garden.” Her eyes gleamed, as if she’d just discovered an important clue. “Let’s check the drawers; I’m sure we’ll find dream dust stashed away.”
Sure enough, the bottom drawer contained a silver locket different than the one Mother always wore, coiled on top of a stack of notebooks. I picked it up. The hourglass pendant—carved with an intricate design of moon and stars—twisted in the air, the dust glistening in the moonlight.
“So she’s a Weaver after all,” Stardust whispered.
While I’d started to accept that my mother might be a Weaver, even with this confirming evidence I still didn’t want to believe it. Mother couldn’t possibly possess a locket from another world and have a jar of that world’s power hidden away in her drawers, not when she’d spent my entire life abhorring the mere mention of magic.
“Mother can’t be a Weaver,” I murmured. “She just can’t be.” Though in my heart I knew it was true.
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” Stardust said. “Like I said before: only Weavers have dream lockets.”
I frantically tried to assemble these pieces together in my mind, but they refused to fit together. “But this locket isn’t even hers; it’s different from the one she always wears.”
Stardust jolted, nearly sending me toppling off. “You mean she has two? That’s
