The Wind blew strangely that night. It came from the East, as it should, and not from Up or Down or some other odd place. It was warm, which was right, because this was an August night, but something about it made Jeremy sit up in bed. Something was on the Wind. Well, not on, so much as in. With a smell of burnt asparagus mixed with clover and candy canes, and a voice he couldn't quite make out. The Wind reminded Jeremy of Uncle Josiah's breath after the last Christmas party: warm and odorous, with strange noises coming from somewhere deep inside. But the voice on the Wind had an urgency, an immediacy, telling Jeremy to come now, come right away. He was wanted.

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