That same afternoon, Penny, Jinky, and I took a junket into Walden.

“I can’t believe we have less than a week to transform these things into dresses,” Penny said, dumping our day’s haul — a jumble of vintage dresses and an assortment of belts, vests, notions, and one piece that we were calling chain mail — onto her bed. “It’s going to be nothing short of magic.”

“Magic, you say,” Jinky said, raising her eyebrows at me.

I cut her a don’t-say-a-word look. Like I needed the shaman-in-training to chime in on my abilities. If only I had those kinds of powers. As a girl, I’d been positively gobsmacked by the scene in Cinderella where all the little critters help her assemble her gown. But no “bibbidi-bobbidi-boo” was going to take the place of a seam ripper, sewing machine, and good ol’ needle pulling thread.

“Where do we even start?” I asked. Not one of the dresses was to remain whole following what we were already calling Project Homecoming. I was going to pair a tea-length gauzy bone-toned skirt with a silvery tunic that, yes, in its current state had the look of a suit of armor. Once I scooped the neckline and cinched and belted the waist, there’d be nothing medieval about it. Penny had found a long dusty-rose dress in a taffeta moiré with a ruffled collar. She planned to add ribbon trim at the hem and cuffs and a wide, tied-at-the-back waist sash. Jinky’s dress was the most original, a find for which I took full credit. It was a long silk, mandarin-style, embroidered midnight-black dress with a diagonal of three Chinese looped frog closures angling from chin to armhole. The plan — all mine — was to slit the skirt to waist level at both sides and for Jinky to wear black silk pants underneath.

Penny held the makings of what would be her dress against her and stood in front of the full-length mirror. “I hope you don’t mind, Kat, but I have a piece of jewelry in mind for this neckline.”

“Why would I mind?”

“Because it’s that cameo I told you about. Its color, its vintage style, just everything is perfect for this dress,” she said. “I haven’t asked my amma if I can wear it yet, because it’s supposed to be saved for a special occasion. But if a formal dance your senior year isn’t a special occasion, what is? Do you want to see it?”

“Sure.”

From her top dresser drawer, she removed a small velvet box. After snapping it open, she gently lifted the pin from its cushion and held it against the high collar.

The oval brooch, encased in a delicate silver framework, had a muted pink background over which an ivory carving depicted a woman’s profile with delicate features and an elaborate updo of hair.

I gasped. Everything about the pin was special. It went perfectly with the look Penny was going after. And should she wear her hair up with tendrils framing her face, she would certainly mimic the portrait. But none of that was what had me sucking air. It was a pink lady. And, moreover, our grandmothers had once fought over this item because each had believed it was intended for their own descendant. Visions of my recent discoveries crowded my thoughts. There had to be a connection between “dinky pal” scrambling to “pink lady” and this item. By the time my head cleared, Penny was obviously on her second round of questioning.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“Sorry. What did you say?”

“I asked if you liked it.”

“It’s gorgeous. And perfect for that dress.”

“I know. It’s what drew me to the color of this fabric.”

Jinky stepped between us. “It’s very old, isn’t it?”

“Yes. I think so, anyway,” Penny said. “It once belonged to the woman who owned Kat’s new house. She was a friend of both of our ammas.” Penny lowered her head, seemingly not wanting to bring up their disagreement.

Jinky fingered the brooch, but then pulled her hand away suddenly. “I don’t know how you say it in English, but in Icelandic, my grandmother would call this a keep-safe.”

“You mean a keepsake,” I said.

“No. A keep-safe.”

“What’s the difference?” Penny asked.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.

“It’s possible to leave a personal item embedded with a message or intention of the deceased.”

Penny looked at Jinky like she was headless, which was bizarrely prophetic, as I did want to rip Jinky’s throat out.

“She was already known as a witch,” Penny said, dropping the pin back in its box. “Now you’re telling me she’s a ghost, too.” She placed the open box onto her dresser.

“It’s really rather nice, when you think about it,” Jinky said, “especially when you own a keep-safe from someone special. Like this ring of my mother’s.” She held her hand flat, showing a ruby-studded band she wore on her right ring finger.

I was confused. I’d seen her mother in Iceland; she was the not-so-friendly, gypsy-garbed vendor I’d met at the festival. She had been alive and kicking, last I’d seen her.

“But you just said they were items of the deceased,” I said.

“That’s right.”

“But I met your mother, didn’t I?”

“That was my stepmother: my evil stepmother, who insists I call her Mother even though I hate her and would rather travel halfway across the globe than live under the same roof with her.”

“Oh,” I said, collapsing onto Penny’s bed. I’d known Jinky for weeks; she’d been instrumental in rescuing Jack from Brigid’s clutches and we’d broken onto the site of a prehistoric settlement together, but, the truth was, I’d made very little effort to really get to know her. “I’m sorry; I didn’t know. What happened to your real mom?”

“She died. In childbirth.”

I must have flinched or popped my mouth open.

“Yes. With me.”

Knowing what I knew about a soul’s journey, the tragedy of an essence and vessel crossing paths like that stabbed me with sorrow. And I still hadn’t said anything, but I felt like I needed a moment — and possibly a wall of cubbyholes — to sort through my mixed feelings for Jinky.

“That must have been tough,” I said, fumbling.

“Yeah, well, not all paths are straightforward or without their climbs.”

“Having an everyday connection to her must help,” Penny said, schooling me with her superior diplomacy skills. “I lost my parents, too. I know it’s hard.”

Jinky gave Penny a long, contemplative look. “I still haven’t read your runes, you know. I should do it now.”

“We don’t have time for that,” I said. “We have to get going on these dresses.”

“It won’t take long,” Jinky said, removing a pouch from her pocket. “A simple three-rune Norns cast is quick and easy.” She bent down to her knees.

Easy, yeah, right. Nothing was ever easy, not lately, anyway.

“I don’t know,” Penny said. “It sounds kind of odd. We all know norn is the Icelandic word for ‘witch.’ Besides, the runes seem like the sort of thing —”

“We’d sell in the Sage Hand?” Jinky finished for her.

Penny colored. “Exactly.”

“All the more reason for you to see that they’re harmless.”

“Do I have to do anything?” Penny still sounded hesitant, but she, too, crouched down. I had no choice but to join them.

“Not a thing.” From the pouch, Jinky first pulled a square of white fabric and spread it on the floor. “Which way is north?” she asked, glancing up to the window.

“Why?” Penny asked, but pointed to her right.

“When casting runes, it’s best to face north toward the Norse gods,” Jinky said.

“Gods?” Penny asked. “You’re joking, right?”

“Maybe gods is one of those words that doesn’t translate well,” Jinky said. “I think of them as the supernatural custodians of this vast universe, not necessarily its creator. And it doesn’t mean you worship them, only that you recognize them as oracles, acknowledge their energies, and receive their messages.”

I waited a beat. Jinky didn’t crack a smile.

“Of course she’s joking,” I said to Penny. “As if there really are celestial janitors out there.”

“Custodians,” Jinky said. “Not janitors.”

I huffed. Some jokes just didn’t translate.

Jinky held the pouch by its gathered top and shook. Next, she held the sack out to Penny. “Choose one and place it on the cloth.”

Penny reached in and took a single stone and set it on the white square. Jinky had her do the same with two more, being careful that Penny placed it just as it was in her hand — upside down, in one case — until Penny had a line of three. Then, as if turning the page of a book, Jinky uprighted the third rune

“Now, concentrate on an issue,” Jinky said to Penny.

“What kind of issue?” Penny asked.

“Something that is important to you.”

Penny’s mouth twitched to the side, and she went Bazooka pink: a dead giveaway to what she had conjured. Good thing she was destined for the straight and narrow; she would suck at professional poker, as well as espionage.

Jinky pointed to the first rune. It looked like a blocked capital C, but with the top and bottom lines bumped inward. “In a three-rune draw, we first consult Urdh, goddess of the past. Urdh calls to the rune Perthro, a symbol of mysteries, secret matters, and hidden things; it often indicates that things are not quite what they seem. It is known as the All-Mother rune because of its association with fertility and feminine mysteries. Its symbol in fact is a ‘cup,’ which some suggest is representative of the vagina.”

I coughed. And not only because of her anatomical reference. On my vision quest, one of the women surrounding Frigg had carried a golden cup. Jinky stopped and, after slashing a look my way, studied Penny; neither spoke or moved. I finally cleared my throat.

“We next consult Verdandi, goddess of what is, or the present.” Jinky pointed to the center stone, marked with an X. “Here we see Gebo. It is a balance symbol and refers to exchanges, contracts, and partnerships. Though it can refer to a group affiliation, it is often called the Lover’s Kiss because it can mean that a relationship will move to a deeper level.”

It was my turn to shoot Jinky a look. Was she seriously trying to mess with Penny’s mind? Penny’s crush on Marik was about as subtle as Borat, so Jinky had to know she was telling her exactly what she wanted to hear. Penny leaned forward as if getting into the reading.

“For the final stone that reveals what shall be, the future, we look to the goddess Skuld, who displays a very interesting rune, Othala, the rune of ancestral property. This rune represents inheritance and the discarding of the past in order to move forward. Sometimes Othala can symbolize a property or possession; other times it can mean a mental or spiritual heritage. Often it can be an omen of safety.” Jinky trailed her hand across the bottom of the three stones. “So there you have it: feminine mystery, the Lover’s Kiss, and an inheritance.”

The latter had me thinking. I glanced over to the open jewelry box atop Penny’s dresser. The brooch had been a matter of dispute between our grandmothers. Steel-faced Grim had won out — no surprise there; my amma had been a marshmallow by comparison. But now, seeing it in the form of a pink lady, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was it rightfully mine? Were the runes intentionally prompting this question of inheritance? It was almost too much to take in. For now, the task at hand seemed a better use of my time.

“Does it say anything about the future of three dresses?” I asked, scrambling to a stand. “Because that’s why we’re here.” I sorted through the pile on Penny’s bed. “We’ll need to rip out the side seams on Jinky’s dress, and pin the hem on those silk pants. Plus our own dresses. I don’t know why we’re putzing around here.”

Jinky gathered up the pieces to her intended outfit. “I’ll do my own. Mrs. Cantwright will help me, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Cantwright — Jinky’s host mother, my new neighbor, and a gray-haired, doddering antiquity — had a hard time getting her clothes on straight. I didn’t know how much help she could be at pinning and hemming.

“If you need any supplies, needles or thread or whatever, let me know,” I said, collecting my own pile of loot.

There was a knock at Penny’s door. It opened and old Grim stuck her head into the room. “I thought I heard voices.” I was so used to seeing her in her usual grim-on-Grim attire that her current getup surprised me. She wore head-to-toe white and a volunteer badge I recognized from Pinewood General Hospital. Grim a good Samaritan? I just couldn’t picture it.

“Amma, you haven’t met my friend Jinky yet. She’s an exchange student from Iceland.”

“Komdu sæl,” Grim said to Jinky.

“Very well, thank you,” Jinky replied with more respect than I could have mustered.

Grim gave me a squint. “Katla,” she said, by way of greeting.

For the record, it was a name, not a salutation. “Hello, Fru Grimilla,” I said dutifully.

“What’s going on?” Grim asked.

“We bought our things for the dance this weekend,” Penny replied.

Grim’s eyes raked over the piles of clothing on the bed and in the arms of both me and Jinky. Her glare then strayed to the dresser top. “What on earth? Why is that out?”

“I was showing them,” Penny said in a small voice. “It matches my dress. I was thinking of wearing it.”

“It’s much too valuable,” Grim said, striding across the room. She lifted the velvet-covered box and snapped it shut. Pocketing it, she turned and harrumphed out of the room. Just before the door closed, our eyes met, bucked truly the more apt description. I may have even brayed ever so slightly; I had to bring my fist to my mouth in a mock cough.

As usual, Grim left me spiraling. Not only was the pin possibly mine, but it was valuable. What I valued was its link to information I required, but with it currently in Grim’s gnarled knuckles, I doubted I’d see it again. If only as much could be said of Grim. At least I didn’t run into her on my way from Penny’s room to the front door. I was feeling mulish enough to kick.