15 Minutes of Flame. Christin Brecher

but it wasn’t as creative a solution as I’d thought it might be. The bag kept the leaves and birds from flying into my apartment, but it was awfully cold inside. I was glad I had the Morton house to call home, especially if Peter was planning to spend the foreseeable future camping out at the beach.

      On the way back to my new house, I stopped by the Wick & Flame. My day so far had had many unexpected twists and turns, so I used the afternoon to do what I know best. I made candles, and another Tinker Special, and closed up for Cherry. When I finally shut the door and turned the key for the night, I marveled over the fact that I’d unlocked a door to another world this morning.

      I also realized that there was nothing in my fridge at the Morton house, so I had a bite to eat at the Nantucket Pharmacy on Main Street. When I finally arrived at the house, it was well after dark. The Shack’s door was chained and locked. Everything was quiet but for the wind, which was picking up.

      The moment I stepped into the house, I realized it was almost as cold as the apartment I’d left. I flicked on the lights, then turned the knob of the radiator by the front door, hoping for the best. To be on the safe side, I found the linen closet on the second floor and pulled out every blanket I could find.

      When I entered the bedroom carrying bedcovers piled up to my chin, Tinker was curled up under a pillow, with his nose and whiskers sticking out. He licked his paws and rubbed them over his head as I changed into my pajamas.

      “Since when are you a fraidy cat?” I said, snuggling up next to him, and hoping the scent of mothballs from the blankets would dissipate sooner than later.

      Tinker gave me a purr filled with indignation at my accusation.