Michael and Hania discover the keys to their home teleporter are gone, and the clues begin appearing in the strangest places.
Michael was in the kitchen, stirring his coffee without noticing he was doing it, when Hania burst through the door with the look of someone bringing either an emergency or a catastrophe.
"Michael, I have a life-or-death question for you," she said, collapsing into the chair beside him with exaggerated drama.
He glanced at her over the rim of his mug. "Is this about the toaster and the missing bread again?"
"This time it is much worse. Someone has stolen the teleporter keys."
Michael froze. A second later coffee sloshed over the edge of his mug and onto the table.
The family teleporter sat in the basement like a polished silver secret, his father’s proudest invention and the most useful machine in the house. It could take them to Paris for ice cream, to Australia for lunch with Grandma, or anywhere else his father had managed to program without accidentally sending the furniture into orbit. But the teleporter keys were essential. Without them, the door wouldn’t even open.
"They were in the pickle jar," Michael said weakly, already knowing that was the worst possible answer.
"Exactly." Hania leaned forward and lowered her voice. "And now the jar is empty."
Michael stared at her.
"There was a note too," she added. "Someone wrote SEARCH on the lid and drew a huge arrow."
For one startled second they both looked ready to laugh. Then neither of them did.
"Maybe it was Filemon," Michael said at last.
Their cat, Filemon, had not taken the teleporter mutation well. Ever since one unfortunate test run, he had developed a habit of making wet, bubbling noises that suggested he was either speaking a secret language or plotting something deeply untrustworthy. He had also started shedding scales instead of fur, which made the carpet look as if a fish had exploded in the hallway.
Hania turned and pointed to the windowsill, where Filemon was stretched out in a patch of sunlight, looking deeply offended by the entire concept of responsibility.
"He can barely be bothered to chase a fly," she said. "He is not a master thief."
Filemon answered with a soft, indignant "bul bul bul."
Michael set down his mug. "All right. Who had access to the house this morning?"
"Dad is at work," Hania said. "He’s probably trying to move the Eiffel Tower by teleporter again. Mum is upstairs with her cooking novel and whatever that magician is doing to soup. And Filemon," she added, eyeing the cat, "is clearly innocent unless his acting skills have suddenly improved."
Michael frowned. "That leaves Grandma."
Hania’s expression shifted.
"I know," he said. "That smile she had at breakfast was not normal."
"Nothing about Grandma is normal," Hania replied, standing up. "But she was definitely checking the clock every five minutes. And you know what happens at 1:13."
Michael looked at the wall clock. It was 1:11.
That was enough to make both of them move.
They grabbed Filemon, a backpack, and the flashlight that never stayed charged for reasons nobody in the house understood. Then they hurried down to the basement, where the teleporter stood behind its heavy metal door, silent and waiting.
The pickle jar sat on the shelf beside it.
Empty.
Except it was no longer empty.
A fresh note had been stuck inside it, folded so neatly it looked almost deliberate. Hania pulled it free and read it aloud.
"Look under the stairs."
Michael crouched and shone the flashlight into the shadows beneath them. Dust, old boots, one lost sock, a cobweb shaped like a bad decision.
And then, tucked against the wall where no one would notice unless they were already looking for trouble, there was another scrap of paper.
He unfolded it.
The handwriting was different this time, sharper, as if whoever wrote it was enjoying themselves.
"What lies, does not walk, and moves from its place? If you guess right, you will receive a key."
Michael stared at the riddle.
Behind him, Filemon gave a low, bubbling sound.
Hania took one breath, then another.
And somewhere deeper in the basement, something clicked inside the teleporter door.