As I swam, I thought, the recent events in my life floating to the forefront, though I tried to ignore the worst of it while puzzling the other bits.A...king my aunts about all the tracking devices and spells had proved pointless. They wouldn't say who'd done which ones or why, just that they'd had their reasons. My father had admitted to the one in my ear when I'd talked to him on the phone yesterday. I hadn't pushed him for an explanation, however; he'd watched my mother disappear without a. He was always asking her questions and she never talked down to him, always giving him direct answers. He always had his head buried in books. His mother would give him classics written by Jules Verne, Mark Twain, and Robert Louis Stevenson. He was a frequent visitor to the public library, reading all the Hardy Boys novels and anything else that interested him.At night, after supper, when his father sat in front of his computer and reviewed the financial news, they would discuss possible. More

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