After breakfast the next morning, Eddie begged his parents to let him explore the town. They agreed, but only after he had organized his closet, bureau, and desk. They also made him promise to be home for lunch.

Less than an hour later, he was out the door.

It was warm now that the sun had finally come out from behind the clouds. He didn’t even need his hooded sweatshirt. Inside his backpack, he carried the two Olmstead books that weren’t still packed away, as well as The Enigmatic Manuscript.

Standing next to his bike in the middle of his house’s gravel driveway, Eddie had a perfect view of the town. The roads were laid out in concentric circles, linked by lanes and small side streets, like a labyrinth. A long, thin park divided the town in half. On the western end of the park, at the base of the surrounding hills, sat an old wooden church, and on the east, along the Black Ribbon River, huddled several mills.

He wished he’d been able to find the rest of his books the night before. He thought they might act as a map for his journey. Even though he could probably list certain places for which he should keep a lookout, like the ones Sam had mentioned yesterday, Eddie figured there must be hundreds of secret Gatesweed spots he’d never on his own think to look for. Then again, Eddie knew he had all the time in the world to explore Gatesweed. Right now, however, he had a mystery to solve.

The library had to be down there somewhere.

Heights Road wound down to the town center. Eddie’s bike kicked up clouds of dust. Before he realized what he was doing, he’d sped by several empty houses, a few deserted storefronts, and a brick fortresslike town hall. He braked in front of the park, where the long grass rustled in the warm breeze. He was on Center Street. True to its name, it circled the center of the park and came back to the spot where Eddie stood.

Eddie glanced behind him, where an old movie theater sat quietly, the front of it blockaded haphazardly by a loose chain-link fence. When Eddie noticed the marquee over the entrance to the building, his skin went cold. He expected to see an old movie title hanging on the yellowed white panel, but instead, broken black letters spelled out strange words that reminded Eddie of the code from The Enigmatic Manuscript.

LO ED UN L FU HER NO ICE.

As he stared at the theater, Eddie realized he was wrong. The words were not part of any code-some of their letters were missing. Feeling like a contestant on a weird game show, Eddie slowly filled in the gaps.

CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

The sign had fallen apart over time. Eddie suddenly felt entirely alone. The town seemed to be deserted.

Across from the park stood a wide brick building covered in ivy. Stone steps led up to a high arch, over which was carved GATESWEED PUBLIC LIBRARY. Near the roof, around the top of the cornice, more words decorated the building. A PLACE WHERE STORIES ARE TOLD. Eddie beamed.

Eddie had never had tons of friends. In Heaverhill, the kids didn’t understand stuff like studying astrological star signs, or reading about old Babylonian statues, or researching ancient Aztec gods at the library. People in Heaverhill tended to ignore the way things could be or might have been, and so they tended to ignore Eddie. His mom was always trying to get him to talk to people. Once, she’d signed him up for baseball and soccer and karate. But Eddie only learned that he wasn’t very good at hitting or kicking. Plus, there was never very much talking involved. So Eddie had found friends in books. Nathaniel Olmstead’s stories were so vivid and strange, it was as if they had been plucked directly from Eddie’s own brain. Maybe here, he thought, people would understand what that felt like.

He locked his bike to the stand and made his way up the stairs. When he pulled hard on the heavy glass door, the scent of old books wafted out. Eddie took a deep breath and stepped inside.

In the center of the main room, two shallow balconies stretched from wall to wall, fenced in by intricate wrought-iron railings. Tall shelves lined up vertically like teeth, running along the entire length of each floor. The books were a sight to behold-their spines were a jumbled mishmash of different sizes and colors. Some were new, but most were dusty, musty, and worn. Spiral staircases wound their way up through each floor. Though much of the room was cast in shadow, a skylight allowed the sun to spill down to the main level where Eddie stood. He gaped up at the beauty of the place and didn’t realize his mouth was open until he heard a voice ask, “Can I help you?”

The librarian sat behind a large wooden desk. A name-plate on top of the desk said MRS. SINGH, ASSOCIATE LIBRARIAN. Her hair was wavy and dark, and her happy face was round. She smiled at Eddie, so he smiled back. Sometimes, book people were easier to talk to.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m looking for a book about solving puzzles.”

“Crossword puzzles?” she asked.

“No. Puzzles written in code.”

“What kind of code?”

Eddie thought about that. “Like… this,” he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out the book his mother had found the night before. He opened it to the middle and handed the book to her.

The librarian flipped through the pages. When she happened upon the first page, she glanced at him, squinting with what looked like concern. “Where did you get this?” said Mrs. Singh quietly.

“My mom gave it to me,” said Eddie, suddenly unsure of himself. “Do you know what it means?”

The librarian’s face turned red. “Of course I don’t know what it means,” she said, too forcefully. “Why would I know what it means?”

“I just thought…,” he said. He cleared his throat, trying to compose himself. Maybe it wasn’t so easy to talk to book people, after all. “Can you recommend a book that might help?”

“No, actually,” she said suddenly. “I’m quite busy, and the library closes at noon today.” She turned her back on him and started typing something at the computer on the table behind her.

Eddie’s face burned. Her attitude toward him had changed when she saw the first page. He wondered if the symbol written there had upset her? Or had it been Nathaniel Olmstead’s name that sparked her irritation? Eddie decided not to ask. Instead, he quietly made his way to a cluster of computers near the back spiral staircase.

Pulling up the library’s online catalog, Eddie suddenly had an idea. Since his own Nathaniel Olmstead books were packed away, it might be worth checking out a few from here-just to acquaint (or reacquaint) himself with some of the town’s locations.

When he typed the author’s name, a message appeared: WE DID NOT FIND RESULTS FOR “NATHANIEL OLMSTEAD.” Confused, Eddie checked his spelling and entered the name again. But he received the same message. No results? How could that be? He glanced at the librarian at the front desk.

She was watching him.

When she saw him looking at her, she flinched and turned back to her computer. Eddie shivered. The librarian must not be a fan of Nathaniel Olmstead.

Eddie understood that some people didn’t think Olmstead’s books were very good, that they weren’t considered literature. Still, it seemed odd that the man’s hometown library wouldn’t carry his own books, even if there was supposed to be an-

Olmstead Curse…

The tow truck driver’s words echoed in Eddie’s head. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Don’t be silly, he told himself. It’s only a story, right?

After searching the catalog for books about codes, Eddie climbed the stairs to the second floor and wandered into a row of shelves hidden in shadow. Even in the dim light, he managed to find The History of Cryptography. At least this should get me started, he thought.