The summer sun beat down relentlessly on Northwood, but for Jake, the heat was secondary to the burning intensity of his new mission. Katy's refusal to approach Tiffany had stung, a sharp reminder of the social minefield he rarely navigated, but it hadn't deterred him. The information about Old Man Henderson was too vital, too perfectly aligned with his own impossible existence, to ignore. He was driven by a singular purpose: to find Tiffany – not her grandpa's old house, but her current address – and glean any trace of the "Halloween tricks" that might actually be echoes of the Cubix Power.
He'd spent the morning in the real world, a crumpled map of Northwood spread across his desk. His initial research, based on Michael's vague description of "the super old house on Elm Street," had led him down a few dead ends. Old Man Henderson's property had indeed been sold years ago. A quick, more targeted search, cross-referencing school records (a detail he'd discreetly extracted from Katy's school newspaper contacts list, a minor ethical lapse he justified as "for the greater good") and public real estate databases, finally yielded Tiffany Hayes's current address. It wasn't on Elm Street, and it certainly wasn't "super old."
The address led him to a newer, more affluent section of Northwood, a neighborhood of meticulously manicured lawns and houses that spoke of generational wealth. As he turned onto Willow Creek Lane, the architecture shifted from quaint to commanding. Here, houses were set back from the street, often behind wrought-iron fences, their designs a blend of modern luxury and timeless elegance. Each property seemed to boast a three-car garage and perfectly sculpted landscaping.
His target stood out even among these. It was a sprawling, two-story colonial, painted a tasteful dove gray with crisp white trim, its symmetrical windows gleaming in the sunlight. A circular driveway, paved with interlocking stone, swept up to the front door, where an expensive, dark-colored sports car sat parked with an almost arrogant gleam. This was no "crooked porch" house; this was a statement. A classic, expensive statement.
Jake hesitated at the curb, a knot forming in his stomach. This was it. The moment of truth. He took a deep breath, trying to channel some of Aethelred's boundless confidence, but it felt distant, a memory rather than a present state. He was just Jake. The dork. About to knock on the door of the queen of mean, who clearly lived a life far more polished than his own.
He walked up the pristine pathway, the crunch of gravel under his sneakers unnervingly loud in the quiet afternoon. He climbed the wide, perfectly level stone steps and stood before the heavy, dark wood door, flanked by ornate sidelights. He raised his hand, his knuckles hovering, then took another fortifying breath and knocked. Three firm, deliberate raps.
Silence.
He waited, listening. He could hear the distant chirping of crickets, the faint hum of central air conditioning from within. No footsteps, no sounds from within. Maybe she wasn't home. A part of him, the cowardly, dorky part, hoped she wasn't.
He knocked again, a little louder this time.
After a long moment, he heard it – a faint rustling, then the unmistakable sound of a deadbolt sliding back. The door opened a crack, revealing a sliver of darkness within. Then, it swung inward, and Tiffany stood there, framed by the dim light of the hallway.
She was wearing denim shorts and a brightly colored crop top, her hair pulled back in a messy bun, a bored expression on her face. Her eyes, usually sharp and calculating, were narrowed slightly, as if she'd just woken up. She looked… different without her usual posse, without the cafeteria as her stage. Smaller, somehow. More ordinary, despite the expensive surroundings.
"Yeah?" she drawled, her voice laced with impatience. "What do you want? I'm kind of busy."
Jake swallowed, his rehearsed opening lines suddenly feeling flimsy. "Hi, Tiffany. My name is Jake Miller. I… I live in Northwood. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about your grandpa, Old Man Henderson?"
Her eyes, which had been scanning him dismissively, suddenly snapped into focus. Her head tilted slightly, a flicker of recognition, then suspicion, crossing her features. "Miller?" she repeated, the name rolling off her tongue with a venomous sweetness. "As in, Katy Miller? The new girl who thinks she's so cool?"
Jake felt a cold dread spread through him. He knew it. He knew this would happen. "She's my sister, yes," he admitted, trying to keep his voice steady.
The bored expression vanished, replaced by a sneer that twisted her face into something ugly. Her eyes hardened, glinting with a familiar malice. "Oh, so you're Katy's dorky little brother," she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "What, did she send you to do her dirty work? Trying to dig up dirt on my family now, are we? What, is the school newspaper not juicy enough for her?"
"No, no, it's not like that at all!" Jake stammered, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "It's… it's about something else. Something really important. I heard Michael talking about your grandpa and his Halloween decorations, and I just had a few questions. It's for… a project." He hated lying, but the truth felt impossible to explain.
Tiffany laughed, a harsh, humorless sound that grated on his ears. "A 'project'? Right. You think I'm stupid, Miller? Your sister humiliated me in front of the whole cafeteria. She thinks she's so high and mighty, defending that broccoli girl. And now she sends her little minion to my door, asking about my family? Get real." She took a step forward, her presence suddenly much larger, more menacing. "What do you really want? You think I don't know what you're up to? You think I don't know a setup when I see one?"
"It's not a setup, Tiffany, I swear!" Jake insisted, his voice rising in desperation. "It's just… about the illusions. The way he made things appear. Did he ever talk about how he did it? Or where he kept his… his props? Anything at all?"
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Illusions? Props? What are you even talking about? My grandpa was a crazy old man who liked to scare kids on Halloween. He used smoke machines and projectors, just like everyone else. There's no big secret, dork." She paused, a cruel smile forming on her lips. "Unless… you think there is? You think there's something weird about my grandpa? Something I should be ashamed of?"
Jake immediately regretted his choice of words. He could see the trap closing. "No, not at all! I just meant—"
"Save it, Miller," she cut him off, her voice low and dangerous. "I know your type. You and your sister. Think you're so smart, so much better than everyone else. Always sticking your noses where they don't belong. Well, let me tell you something. My grandpa's stuff is none of your business. And if you or your precious sister ever come sniffing around here again, or try to spread any more rumors about my family, you'll regret it. Got it?"
She took another step closer, her face inches from his. He could smell a faint, cloying sweetness – maybe cheap perfume, or the lingering scent of candy. Her eyes bored into his, filled with a raw, unadulterated hostility. Jake felt a surge of pure, human frustration. He wished, desperately, that he had Aethelred's power, to simply will her to back down, to make her forget, to control the situation. But he was just Jake, the dork, and he had to navigate this as a human.
"I just wanted to understand," Jake said, his voice barely a whisper, the last shred of his courage faltering.
"Understand this," Tiffany snarled, her voice rising, drawing the attention of a gardener tending a nearby rose bush. "Stay away from me. Stay away from my house. And tell your sister to keep her nose out of my business, or she'll find out what happens when you cross Tiffany Hayes." She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "And believe me, Miller, I know all about making people's lives a living hell. You wouldn't believe what I could do with a few well-placed rumors at Northwood Middle."
She straightened up, a triumphant glint in her eyes, as if she'd just won a major battle. "Now get lost."
With that, she slammed the door shut, the resounding thud echoing through the quiet afternoon. Jake stood there for a moment, stunned, the imprint of her anger still hanging in the air. He could hear the click of the deadbolt, a final, definitive rejection.
He turned slowly, his shoulders slumping. The detective's thrill had evaporated, replaced by a bitter taste of defeat. Katy had been right. Of course she had been right. He had walked straight into a social trap, and Tiffany, the viper, had sprung it perfectly. He had gained absolutely no information, and likely, he had made things infinitely worse for Katy. The thought sent a fresh wave of guilt washing over him.
He walked back down the pristine pathway, the perfectly manicured hedges seeming to mock his failure. As he reached the sidewalk, he glanced back at the expensive car in the driveway, then at the imposing house. It no longer looked mysterious or intriguing. It just looked like a normal, albeit very expensive, house, guarded by a girl who wielded social power with frightening precision.
The walk home was long and quiet. The summer sun still beat down, but now it felt oppressive, heavy. He replayed the conversation in his head, dissecting every word, every nuance. His clumsy approach, his naive assumption that Tiffany would be reasonable, his utter failure to anticipate her immediate hostility. He had been so focused on the information that he had completely ignored the person. He had treated Tiffany like a data point, not a complex, vengeful human being with a history of animosity towards his sister.
He thought of Katy, of her fierce warning, her genuine fear of Tiffany's social machinations. He had dismissed her concerns, prioritizing his own burning curiosity. And now, he had potentially opened that Pandora's Box she had so desperately wanted to keep closed. He could almost hear Tiffany's cruel laughter, imagining the rumors she would spin, the whispers that would follow Katy through the school halls.
The realization was a cold splash of water. His powers, his realm, his conversations with Aethelred – they felt so grand, so important, so utterly divorced from the petty, yet devastating, realities of middle school social dynamics. He could create mountains and command elements, but he couldn't even have a civil conversation with a girl who hated his sister. The contrast was jarring, humbling.
He reached his own street, the familiar houses a comforting sight. He pushed open his front door, the cool air of the house a welcome relief from the heat. He didn't head straight for his room, for the portal, for the sanctuary of his realm. Instead, he sank onto the living room sofa, the worn fabric feeling strangely grounding. He closed his eyes, the image of Tiffany's sneering face burned into his mind.
This wasn't just a setback; it was a painful lesson. Understanding his powers, understanding Aethelred, was one thing. But navigating the real world, the messy, unpredictable world of human emotions and social hierarchies, was an entirely different challenge. And for that, he realized, he needed more than just divine insight. He needed to be Jake. And Jake, the dork, had just made a very big, very human mistake. The quest for Old Man Henderson had just become infinitely more complicated, and potentially, far more dangerous for the people he cared about.