The mist closed around them like a waterlogged blanket, pressing so hard against their faces Harvey half thought it intended to smother them. But it only wished to keep them from changing their minds. A moment later a tremor moved through its folds and spat them out the other side.

It was high summer in Hood’s kingdom: the lazy season. The sun, which had been hidden by rain clouds on the other side of the mist, was beaming down on the House and all that prospered around it. The trees swayed in a balmy breeze, the doors and windows of the House, its porch and chimneys, all gleamed as if newly painted.

There were welcoming songs in the eaves; welcoming smells from the kitchen; welcoming laughter through the open door. Welcome; everywhere welcome.

“I’d forgotten…” Wendell murmured.

“Forgotten what?”

“How…beautiful it is.”

“Don’t trust it,” Harvey said. “It’s all illusion, remember? All of it.”

Wendell didn’t reply, but wandered away toward the trees. The honeyed breeze gusted around him, as if to pluck him up. He didn’t resist, but went where it led, into the dappled shade.

“Wendell!” Harvey said, following him across the lawn. “We’ve got to stick together.”

“I’d forgotten about the tree house,” Wendell said dreamily, staring up into the canopy. “We had such fun up there, remember?”

“No,’’ said Harvey, determined not to let the past distract him from his mission here. “I don’t remember.”

“Yes, you do,” said Wendell, smiling from ear to ear. “We worked so hard up there. I’m going up to see how it looks.”

Harvey grabbed his arm.

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am,” he snapped back, wrenching his arm from Harvey’s grip. “I can do whatever I want. You don’t own me.”

Harvey could see by the glazed look in Wendell’s eyes that the House was already working its seductive magic. It could only be a matter of time, he knew, before his own powers of resistance were worn away. And what then? Would he forget his work here entirely, and become an empty-headed boy, laughing like a loon while his soul was sucked away?

“No!” he said aloud, “I’m not going to let you do it!”

“Do what?” said Wendell.

“We’ve got work to do!” Harvey told him.

“Who cares?” Wendell replied.

“I do. And so did you five minutes ago, Remember what it did to us, Wendell.”

The wind in trees seemed to sigh at this.

“Aaahh…” it said, as if it now understood Harvey’s purpose here, and would waft this intelligence to the ears of Mr. Hood.

Harvey didn’t care. In fact, he was pleased,

“Go on,” he said, as the gusts flew toward the House. “Tell him! Tell him!” He turned on Wendell. “Are you coming?” he said. “Or am I going to go in alone?”

“I don’t mind going in,” Wendell said cheerily. “I’m hungry.”

Harvey stared hard at Wendell. “Don’t you remember anything we said out there?” he demanded.

“Of course I do,” Wendell replied. “We said we were going to…” He paused, frowning. “…going…to…”

“This place has stolen time that belonged to us, Wendell.”

“How did it do that?” said Wendell, still frowning deeply. “It’s just…just…” Again he faltered, searching for the words. “…just such a perfect day.” The frown began to fade again, and a broad smile replaced it. “Who cares?” Wendell said. “I mean, on a day like this, who cares? Let’s just enjoy ourselves.”

Harvey shook his head. He was losing precious time here, which was exactly what Hood and the House wanted. Instead of wasting any further words on Wendell, he turned on his heel and headed toward the front door.

“Wait for me!” Wendell hollered. “Can you smell that pie?”

Harvey could, and wished he’d put some food in his belly before he’d started out on this adventure. Knowing that these tantalizing smells were all part of Hood’s repertoire wasn’t enough to stop his mouth from watering or his stomach from grumbling.

All he could do was think of the dust to which his ark animals had turned when he’d stepped out into the street. The pie on the kitchen table was probably made of the same bitter stuff, concealed beneath a veneer of sweetness. He held on to that thought as best he could, knowing that the House into which he was about to step would be full of such blandishments.

With Wendell again trailing a step behind, he climbed the porch steps and marched into the House. The moment they were both inside, the door slammed behind them. Harvey reeled around, his skin crawling. It was not the wind that had thrown the door shut.

It was Rictus.

XVII. Cook, Cat and Coffin

“Great to have you back, boy,” Rictus said, his smile as wide as ever. “I told everyone you wouldn’t be able to stay away. Nobody believed me. He’s gone, they said, he’s gone. But I knew better.” He started to wander toward Harvey. “I knew you wouldn’t be satisfied with a little visit…not with so much fun still to be had.”

“I’m hungry,” Wendell whined.

“Help yourselves!” Rictus grinned.

Wendell was off at a sprint, into the kitchen.

“Oh boy oh boy oh boy!” he hollered. “Look at all this food.”

Harvey didn’t reply.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Rictus said, raising an eyebrow high above his spectacles. He cupped his hand behind his ear. “That sounds like an empty belly to me.”

“Where’s Mrs. Griffin?” Harvey said.

“Oh…she’s around,” Rictus said mischievously. “But she’s getting old. She takes to her bed a good deal these days, so we laid her down somewhere safe and sound.”

As he spoke there was a mewling sound from the living room, and there at the door stood Stew-Cat. Rictus scowled. “Get out of here, pussy!” he spat. “Can’t you see we’re having a conversation?”

But Stew-Cat wasn’t about to be intimidated. She sauntered over to Harvey, rubbing herself against his legs.

“What do you want?” Harvey said, going down on his haunches to stroke her. She purred loudly.

“Hey, that’s fine and dandy,” Rictus said, putting off his anger in favor of a freshly polished smile. “You like the cat. The cat likes you. Everybody’s happy.”

“I’m not happy,” Harvey said.

“And why’s that?”

“I left all my presents here, and I don’t know where.”

“No problem,” said Rictus. “I’ll find ‘em for you.”

“Would you do that?” Harvey said.

“Sure, kid,” said Rictus, persuaded that his charm was working again. “That’s what we’re all here for: to give you whatever your heart desires.”

“I think maybe I left them up in my bedroom,” Harvey suggested.

“You know I think I saw ‘em up there,” Rictus replied. “You stay right here. I’ll be back.”

He took himself up the stairs two and three at a time, whistling tunelessly through his teeth as he ascended. Harvey waited until he disappeared from sight and then went to check on Wendell, letting Stew-Cat slip away.

“Ah, now, look at this!’ a voice said as he appeared at the kitchen door.

It was Jive. He was standing at the stove, as sinewy as ever, juggling eggs with one hand and tossing pancakes in a pan with the other.

“What do you fancy?” he said. “Sweet or savory?”

“Nothing,” Harvey said.

“It’s all good,” Wendell piped up. He was almost hidden behind a wall of filled plates. “Try the apple turnovers! They’re great!”

Harvey was sorely tempted. The buffet looked wonderfully tempting. But it was dust. He had to keep remembering that.

“Maybe later,” he said, averting his eyes from the heaps of syrup-drenched waffles and bowls of ice cream.

“Where are you going?” Jive wanted to know.

“Mr. Rictus is finding a few presents for me,” Harvey said.

Jive smiled with satisfaction. “So you’re getting back into the swing of things, kiddo!” he said. “Good for you!”