Author's Note: Someone mentioned that this fiction was starting out very vague and disjointed. I apologize if it's off-putting, especially since I'm not updating as regularly as I'd like, bear with me as always. It'll pick up once I get going. And yes, unfortunately I have to maneuver to get things set up right at the start.

Author's Note 2: Someone (a different someone) also asked if twelve wasn't a little young to be talking about girls. Maybe it is. But I didn't mean Toby was sexually explorative in any way. Just that he was acting awkward around a girl his age. Probably in the same way that little boys pull the pigtails of the little girls they like.

Author's Note 3: Whew! This is a lot of asides! But just to make things absolutely clear: this is 2 YEARS LATER!

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That had been two years ago.

Since then the Lathams had moved. The new owners weren't quite so worried about burglars but they were worried about dead trees and Karen had finally made that phone call.

Six months after Sarah.

Because Robert didn't even want to talk to Fred.

Oh, he blustered his way through it, naturally. Said he was busy and tired and that he didn't think Fred could handle the job. Karen hadn't had the heart to push it. He could never look her in the eye when he was lying and she knew what recent events had done to him so she swallowed her frustration and made the call.

Fred snuck up to the house only when he knew Robert wasn't there.

"I feel really bad," he confessed to Karen, sawing off the lower branches, "Like I could'a done something. I mean, I came over around nine and I didn't think of looking around back. She might have still been there."

Karen pressed her lips together and smiled coolly. "Now, Fred, that's silly. No one thinks for one minute that you acted wrong. It's just so hard. You know."

He'd nodded sagely and gotten the tree away at record speed.

Karen didn't mention the tree that evening and Robert didn't mention it. Toby did. He said it out loud and looked wretchedly down at his plate.

"They took the tree," he said miserably, "Sarah loved that tree."

"Sarah knew the tree was dead," Robert told him.

It wasn't comfort, but it felt very like it.

That had been two years ago.

Since then Toby had been given a doctor and a wonderful array of tricks to keep his fragile child's mind from thinking about unpleasant things. Things like disappearing sisters. Things like people who stole sisters. Things like memories, really. He was steered away from old memories.

Lancelot was forcibly abducted out of the spare room, along with Sarah's clothes and bits and pieces, much to Toby's eternal anguish. He'd raged about that until he'd come home one day and the room was just the spare room. Not Sarah's room. He'd even found Lancelot back under his bed, where his mother knew he'd always kept him, and Sarah's things bundled into storage in the attic.

The little reddish brown patch on the carpet went the way of all stained carpets and the new carpet was much nicer, Karen hoped, and so much more friendly than a bloodstained scene of crime.

Not that Sarah was dead, oh, no!

Only, no one knew where Sarah was. At eight in the morning she'd been home because Karen had left to go shopping on her week off and said goodbye. At nine Fred had come round to cut down the tree and no one had answered the doorbell. He'd gone away, busy and preoccupied. Karen had come home and thought Sarah had gone for a walk. Robert came home and Toby went into Sarah's room and then there'd been Sarah's blood on the carpet and a police car in the driveway.

So Toby was given a doctor and Karen had got herself a new carpet.

But, as the calendar so cheerfully detailed, that had been two years ago.

Now, Karen was biting at her lower lip on the stairs as she listened to her son throw things around his room.

She hadn't a clue what he was looking for but it sounded important.

Toby knew she was out there but he couldn't be bothered to keep the noise down. It was just that time of year and if she wanted to worry herself to death he wasn't going to stop her. He'd already tried to get her to back away a little but there was no point. She clung closer than ever.

He didn't know why. It wasn't like he was going to disappear too.

He pulled the box out from the floor of his closet and emptied it over the floor of his bedroom. It wasn't there.

Toby sat down at his desk and contemplated the wreckage of his recently tidy room. He'd been looking for that damned book all day. He'd started in the morning, before he left for school, and he'd started again the moment he got back. It niggled at him. He didn't want it per sey, but he wanted to know where it was. It was Sarah's, and it was just that time to think of Sarah.

Not that his life revolved around her or anything.

Blood, yes. That had been a shock, but nothing like what grown-ups made it out to be. What did they expect to find in the deep, dark recesses of his brain?

Greg said most childhood traumas were never properly exposed until the person reached adulthood. In which case, Toby wanted to know why he had to spend his time going to a psychologist when his trauma hadn't had the chance to be developed yet. Greg said he probably didn't even know he was being healed, and that it was better if it happened now than when he was an adult.

Toby listened with half an ear to the sound of his mother quietly retreating back down the stairs.

He didn't have any homework and he wanted to watch TV, but he wasn't in the mood to go down and meet Karen's anxious gaze. He knew what she was thinking. So he'd thrown a couple of tantrums recently, so what? It didn't mean he was losing his temper any more or any less than usual.

He elected to stay where he was.

That damned book had to be somewhere in his room anyway.

He stared idly out of the window to where there should have been a dead tree. The sky was horribly blue and it would be a good day to go cycling somewhere. Anywhere. It didn't matter. Only Greg was busy and Toby didn't feel up to other friends without Greg.

Maybe he did have dependency issues?

Toby snorted and shook his brown head.

He pulled Lancelot out from under his bed and felt carefully along the teddy bear's back. Up near the neck, just where the seam ran, he'd pulled a few of the threads lose. He dug his fingers in just enough to feel the hard, metal lump and then pulled them back. At least the medallion was still there.

There was something about it. Greg thought it was just a piece of costume jewelry. Toby didn't agree. There was something special about it. He could feel it; every time he took it out of the hollow in Lancelot's back and held it in his hands he could feel some sort of little shiver start up his spine.

Which was ridiculous because it looked like a piece of costume jewelry. Toby had no idea where Sarah had got a hold of it. Her story that it had been left for him by some mysterious man was fantastical and just slightly creepy. Normal people didn't have a destiny, and not of the sort Sarah had hinted at.

That, at least, Toby conceded. He had no destiny.

He put Lancelot back under his bed and sat cross-legged, staring out of the window with his cheek pillowed on his palm.

His gaze fell on the window seat.

And he clicked his tongue in exasperation and tumbled out of bed.

Where else would he have put it but in there? Sarah had put it there when it was her room and he'd had some crazy idea about returning it to its rightful place until she came back. He'd put it in the window seat!

He snapped the lid up and stuck his hand in there.

A horrified expression crossed his face and for one moment Toby went very still and then he said, "Oh no!"

The book was there, in plain view, on top of a heap of old comic books. But it was damp. More than damp, it was wet. Horribly wet. In fact, drenched.

"Oh no," Toby moaned again, and pulled it out. And then he looked at the sky outside his window and said, "Sarah will kill me," and tried to flip it open.

It was as bad as he had feared. The pages were tearing. The binding looked like someone was methodically peeling pieces of it away.

He didn't know what to do with the book like this. If Sarah ever came home and found what he had done to her favourite book, she'd really go beserk. Toby felt faint just thinking about it.

On impulse he got up, put on his shoes, and grabbed a jacket. He stuffed the book carefully into his pocket and stuck his head out of his bedroom door.

"Mom," he yelled, "I'm going out. Mom?" He found her in her bedroom, putting clothes away. "Hey. I'm going out for a bit."

"Anywhere special?" she asked, barely glancing up.

"Nope." He toed the carpet with his sneaker and noticed that his laces were undone.

"Are you going alone?" she asked, shutting the drawer. "Never mind, I didn't ask that. Be back for dinner, okay?"

"Bye, Mom."

He vanished from the doorway.

Karen shook her head but she smiled at the thought that at least he had cheered up.

Toby was less than cheered. The book had been in his keeping since Sarah had left it behind. If she ever came back, he didn't know how he was going to explain the book's condition to her. What could he possibly say to excuse how bedraggled it looked? The spine was falling off, the cover had damp patches, the pages were soggy and torn… she'd scream.

His only hope, as he saw it, was to get it fixed. Toby was well aware that it needed specialists to do something like that and his big plan was to go where there was an expert in old things. So he headed for the antique store. It meant he had to take a bus, but that was a small price to pay.

He fidgeted on the bus, taking the time to finally do up his shoelace, and stared out of the window. When he did take the book out of his pocket, it looked worse than ever. So he stuck it back in his jacket and left it there.

Forty minutes later he was outside the antique store. There were others, but this one looked less intimidating than them. Plus, the others had people in them. Toby was determined, but he wanted privacy.

Screwing up his courage, he finally got himself into the door.

It was like entering another world. There wasn't enough light anywhere. Things were crowded higgledy-piggledy around the place. Every corner looked like it could have a treasure or a rat hiding in it. Toby stared around and thought dazedly that he quite liked the little china woman on the cabinet.

He was so intent on her that he almost didn't see the man who appeared suddenly out of the shadows and watched him quietly from a safe distance, one pale hand on an old gramophone horn and a secretive smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

"She is pretty, isn't she? But not quite what you'd expect," the man said suddenly.

Toby started.

The man picked her up and held her casually out to the boy. "See for yourself."

She was a very pretty statuette, with her little china face screwed up against an imaginary wind. One hand held down her white china dress and the other held her white china hat on her white china head.

Toby took her very carefully and looked at her. Then he turned her around and began to laugh. The hands holding her clothing at bay were clearly too busy to take care of her back view. Her dress had blown up in the back, baring a pretty white china behind.

The man chuckled too and took her back. "She always gets a laugh." He put her back on the cabinet. "She is quite worthless, however. What were you looking for?"

"Oh," Toby said, "Right. Er, do you know anything about old books?"

"A little," the man admitted, "It depends what exactly it is about old books I need to know."

Toby took the book out of his pocket and held it out.

The man took it gingerly. "What happened to it? It looks like it was drowned."

"Yeah," Toby said nervously, "It was by the window and the rain got in. I want to get it fixed."

The man took the book from him and looked it over. "There is some water damage. Along with other problems."

"Can you do it?" Toby persisted.

The man looked astonished for a moment and then put it down on the counter with a smile. "I don't repair books. I can give you the name of someone who can if you like but I'm not sure this will be worth it. The damage is quite extensive."

"Is it?"

"The spine is gone, you have torn pages and it will need to be completely rebound."

Toby deflated. "That sounds expensive."

"It is."

"Damn."

The man eyed him interestedly and then picked up the book again. He read the name and raised an eyebrow. If he hadn't really expected the boy in front of him to own old books, he was also not expecting the book to be an obscure fantasy.

He flipped carefully through the pages, wincing at the damp feel beneath his fingertips.

Toby waited patiently.

"Have you read this?" the man eventually asked.

Toby shrugged. "A few times. It's my sister's. She loved the thing."

"Ah. I see. And you wanted it fixed before she found out it was damaged?"

"Yeah."

The man smirked and handed the book over. "I am sorry," he said decisively, "I can give you the name of an expert but you will have to be prepared to pay for it."

"Right."

The man went back behind his counter, picked up something from under the shelf and handed it over. "Here you are. The name and number. If you find you can afford it, be patient. They're not quick but they do good work. Anything else?"

"No. That's about it. Thanks, though."

"You're very welcome," the man said.

Toby shook the hand held out to him and left the store. He managed to get the very next bus going back his way and stuck the book back into the pocket. At least he had tried to do something about it. Now, when Sarah came back, he could explain that he'd tried but it was too expensive. She might take that better.