Chapter 1

“You were right here,” he told it, peering beneath its handle. “Keys do not grow legs.”

Elara Meadowlight stood at the counter, holding a stack of library books she had come to return. She had a way of noticing things other people hurried past: a stripe of sunlight on the floor, a moth resting on a lampshade, the tiny blue flower painted on the teapot’s side.

“That flower looks like it’s smiling,” she said softly.

Mr. Grumbles straightened his spectacles. “Hmph. Sentimentality doesn’t pay the bills, young lady. And I need that key to open the cabinet.”

Inside the cabinet, he explained, was a little music box he had promised to show a customer. Elara set down the books and began to search. She checked the counter, the shelves, and the space beside a tall clock. Mr. Grumbles searched too, moving things into neat rows as he went.

“Not there,” he said whenever Elara reached for something.

At last, she spotted a glint beneath a shelf. She crouched, but it was only a brass button. As she picked it up, a quiet sound tickled her ear.

“Under the blue cloth,” whispered the voice.

Elara froze. The voice seemed to come from the old music box on the counter. Its painted lid showed a moonlit garden, though the box was closed and still.

She leaned closer. “Did you say something?”

Mr. Grumbles sighed. “I said the key isn’t there.”

“No,” Elara murmured. “The box.”

The shopkeeper gave her a puzzled look. Elara lifted the blue cloth draped over the music box. There, tucked in a fold, lay the missing key.

“Well,” said Mr. Grumbles, taking it. For a moment, his stern face softened. “Good eyes.”

He unlocked the cabinet and placed the music box on the counter. Elara turned its tiny key. A gentle tune filled the shop, bright as sunbeams slipping through a window. Even Mr. Grumbles stopped arranging his shelves to listen.

When the melody ended, Elara noticed a narrow paper tucked beneath the box’s velvet base. She drew it out carefully. It was old and folded twice, with a few words written in faded ink: “For the one who listens.”

Mr. Grumbles stared at the note. His fingers hovered near it, then drew back.

“Where did that come from?” Elara asked.

“Not a clue,” he said, though his voice had gone quieter.

The bell above the shop door chimed. Willow Whisperwind swept in, colorful scarves fluttering behind her. “Oh, darling, look at that light! It’s practically singing!”

Elara showed her the note. Willow’s bright eyes widened. A breeze slipped through the closed door, lifting the paper’s corner.

From somewhere in the shop, a clock gave one soft tick.

Then it whispered, “Ask Silas about the garden.”