Night World 1 (21 page)

When she looked up, there was another girl walking up behind Rowan. The one with dark golden hair. Her skin was milky instead of blossomy, and her eyes were yellow.

“This is Kestrel,” Rowan said.

“Yes,” Mary-Lynnette said. She realized she was staring. And realized, the moment after that, that she was scared.
Everything
about Kestrel made her think of savage, primal movement. The girl walked as if she were flying.

“What's going on?” Kestrel said.

“This is Mary-Lynnette,” Rowan said, her voice still pleasant. “She lives down the road. She came to see Aunt Opal.”

“Really just to see if you needed anything,” Mary-Lynnette interjected quickly. “We're sort of your only neighbors.” Strategy change, she was thinking. About-face. Looking at Kestrel, she believed in danger. Now all she wanted was to keep these girls from guessing what she knew.

“You're a friend of Aunt Opal's?” Kestrel asked silkily. Her yellow eyes swept Mary-Lynnette, first up, then down.

“Yeah, I come over sometimes, help her with the”—oh, God, don't say gardening—“goats. Um, I guess she told you that they need to be milked every twelve hours.”

Rowan's expression changed fractionally. Mary-Lynnette's heart gave a violent thud. Mrs. B. would never,
ever
leave without giving instructions about the goats.

“Of course she told us,” Rowan said smoothly, just an instant too late.

Mary-Lynnette's palms were sweating. Kestrel hadn't taken that keen, dispassionate, unblinking gaze off her for a moment. Like the proverbial bird of prey staring down the proverbial rabbit. “Well, it's getting late and I bet you guys have things to do. I should let you go.”

Rowan and Kestrel looked at each other. Then they both looked at Mary-Lynnette, cinnamon-brown eyes and golden eyes fixed intently on her face. Mary-Lynnette had the falling feeling in her stomach again.

“Oh, don't go yet,” Kestrel said silkily. “Why don't you come inside?”

M
ark was still muttering as he rounded the back corner of the house. What was he even
doing
here?

It wasn't easy to get into the garden area from outside. He had to bushwhack through the overgrown rhododendron bushes and blackberry canes that formed a dense hedge all around it. And even when he emerged from a tunnel of leathery green leaves, the scene in front of him didn't immediately register. His momentum kept him going for a few steps before his brain caught up.

Hey, wait. There's a
girl
here.

A pretty girl. An
extremely
pretty girl. He could see her clearly by the back porch light. She had hip-length white-blond hair, the color that normally only preschoolers have, and it was as fine as a child's hair, too, whipping around her like pale silk when she moved. She was smallish. Little bones. Her hands and feet were delicate.

She was wearing what looked like an old-fashioned nightshirt and dancing to what sounded like a rent-to-own commercial. There was a battered clock radio on the porch steps. There was also a black kitten that took one look at Mark and darted away into the shadows.

“
Baaad
cred-it,
nooo
cred-it,
dooon't
wor-ry,
weee'll
take you….” the radio warbled. The girl danced with her arms above her head—light as thistledown, Mark thought, staring in astonishment. Really, actually that light, and so what if it was a cliché?

As the commercial ended and a country western song began, she did a twirl and saw him. She stopped, frozen, arms still above her head, wrists crossed. Her eyes got big and her mouth sagged open.

She's scared, Mark thought. Of me. The girl didn't look graceful now; she was scrambling to seize the clock radio, fumbling with it, shaking it. Trying to find an Off switch, Mark realized. Her desperation was contagious. Before he thought, Mark dropped the pruning shears and swooped in to grab the radio from her. He twisted the top dial, cutting the song short. Then he stared at the girl, who stared back with wide silvery-green eyes. They were both breathing quickly, as if they'd just disarmed a bomb.

“Hey, I hate country western, too,” Mark said after a minute, shrugging.

He'd never talked to a girl this way before. But then he'd never had a girl look scared of him before. And
so
scared—he imagined he could see her heart beating in the pale blue veins beneath the translucent skin of her throat.

Then, suddenly, she stopped looking terrified. She bit her lip and chortled. Then, still grinning, she blinked and sniffed.

“I forgot,” she said, dabbing at the corner of her eye. “You don't have the same rules we do.”

“Rules about country western music?” Mark hazarded. He liked her voice. It was ordinary, not celestial. It made her seem more human.

“Rules about
any
music from outside,” she said. “And any TV, too.”

Outside what? Mark thought. He said, “Uh, hi. I'm Mark Carter.”

“I'm Jade Redfern.”

“You're one of Mrs. Burdock's nieces.”

“Yes. We just came last night. We're going to live here.”

Mark snorted and muttered, “You have my condolences.”

“Condolences? Why?” Jade cast a darting glance around the garden.

“Because living in Briar Creek is just slightly more exciting than living in a cemetery.”

She gave him a long, fascinated look. “You've…lived in a cemetery?”

He gave
her
a long look. “Uh, actually, I just meant it's boring here.”

“Oh.” She thought, then smiled. “Well, it's interesting to us,” she said. “It's different from where we come from.”

“And just where
do
you come from?”

“An island. It's sort of near…” She considered. “The state of Maine.”

“‘The state of Maine.'”

“Yeah.”

“Does this island have a name?”

She stared at him with wide green eyes. “Well, I can't tell you
that.
”

“Uh—okay.” Was she making fun of him? But there was nothing like mockery or sly teasing in her face. She looked mysterious…and innocent. Maybe she had some kind of mental problem. The kids at Dewitt High School would have a field day with that. They weren't very tolerant of differences.

“Look,” he said abruptly. “If there's ever anything I can do for you—you know, if you ever get in trouble or something—then just tell me. Okay?”

She tilted her head sideways. Her eyelashes actually cast shadows in the porch light, but her expression wasn't coy. It was straightforward and assessing, and she was looking him over carefully, as if she needed to figure him out. She took her time doing it. Then she smiled, making little dimples in her cheeks, and Mark's heart jumped unexpectedly.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Mark. You're not silly, even though you're a boy. You're a good guy, aren't you?”

“Well…” Mark had never been called upon to be a good guy, not in the TV sense. He wasn't sure how he'd measure up if he were. “I, um, hope I am.”

Jade was looking at him steadily. “You know, I just decided. I'm going to like it here.” She smiled again, and Mark found it hard to breathe—and then her expression changed.

Mark heard it, too. A wild crashing in the overgrown tangle of rhododendrons and blackberry bushes at the back of the garden. It was a weird, frenzied sound, but Jade's reaction was out of all proportion. She had frozen, body tense and trembling, eyes fixed on the underbrush. She looked terrified.

“Hey.” Mark spoke gently, then touched her shoulder. “Hey. It's all right. It's probably one of the goats that got loose; goats can jump over any kind of fence.” She was shaking her head. “Or a deer. When they're relaxed they sound just like people walking.”

“It's not a deer,” she hissed.

“They come down and eat people's gardens at night. You probably don't have deer roaming around where you come from—”

“I can't
smell
anything,” she said in a kind of whispered wail. “It's that stupid pen. Everything smells like
goat.
”

She couldn't smell…? Mark did the only thing he could think of in response to a statement like that. He put his arms around the girl.

“Everything's okay,” he said softly. He couldn't help but notice that she was cool and warm at the same time, supple, wonderfully alive underneath the nightshirt. “Why don't I take you inside now? You'll be safe there.”

“Leggo,” Jade said ungratefully, squirming. “I may have to fight.” She wriggled out of his arms and faced the bushes again. “Stay behind me.”

Okay, so she
is
crazy. I don't care. I think I love her.

He stood beside her. “Look, I'll fight, too. What do you think it is? Bear, coyote…?”

“My brother.”

“Your…” Dismay pooled in Mark. She'd just stepped over the line of acceptable craziness. “Oh.”

Another thrashing sound from the bushes. It was definitely something big, not a goat. Mark was just wondering vaguely if a Roosevelt elk could have wandered down the hundred or so miles from Waldo Lake, when a scream ripped through the air.

A human scream—or, worse,
almost
human. As it died, there was a wail that was definitely inhuman—it started out faint, and then suddenly sounded shrill and close. Mark was stunned. When the drawn-out wail finally stopped, there was a sobbing, moaning sound, then silence.

Mark got his breath and swore. “What in the—what
was
that?”

“Shh. Keep still.” Jade was in a half-crouch, eyes on the bushes.

“Jade—Jade, listen. We've got to get inside.” Desperate, he looped an arm around her waist, trying to pick her up. She was light, but she flowed like water out of his arms. Like a cat that doesn't want to be petted. “Jade, whatever that thing is, we need a
gun.
”

“I don't.” She seemed to be speaking through her teeth—anyway there was something odd about her diction. She had her back to him and he couldn't see her face, but her hands were clawed.

“Jade,”
Mark said urgently. He was scared enough to run, but he couldn't leave her. He
couldn't.
No good guy would do that.

Too late. The blackberry bushes to the south quivered. Parted. Something was coming through.

Mark's heart seemed to freeze solid, but then he found himself moving. Pushing Jade roughly aside. Standing in front of her to face whatever the thing in the dark was.

Mary-Lynnette kicked her way through the blackberry canes. Her arms and legs were scratched, and she could feel ripe, bright-black berries squishing against her. She'd probably picked a bad place to get through the hedge, but she hadn't been thinking about that. She'd been thinking about Mark, about finding him as fast as possible and getting away from here.

Just please let him be here, she thought. Let him be here and be okay and I'll never ask for anything else.

She struggled through the last of the canes into the backyard—and then things happened very fast. The first thing she saw was Mark, and she felt a rush of relief. Then a flash of surprise. Mark was standing in front of a girl, his arms lifted like a basketball guard. As if to protect her from Mary-Lynnette.

And then, so quickly that Mary-Lynnette could barely follow the motion, the girl was rushing at her. And Mary-Lynnette was throwing her arms up and Mark was shouting, “No, that's my sister!”

The girl stopped a foot away from Mary-Lynnette. It was the little silvery-haired one, of course. This close Mary-Lynnette could see that she had green eyes and skin so translucent it almost looked like quartz crystal.

“Jade, it's my sister,” Mark said again, as if anxious to get this established. “Her name's Mary-Lynnette. She won't hurt you. Mare, tell her you won't hurt her.”

Hurt her? Mary-Lynnette didn't know what he was talking about, and didn't want to. This girl was as weirdly beautiful as the others, and something about her eyes—they weren't ordinary green, but almost silvery—made Mary-Lynnette's skin rise in goose pimples.

“Hello,” Jade said.

“Hello. Okay, Mark, c'mon. We've got to go. Like, right now.”

She expected him to agree immediately. He was the one who hadn't wanted to come, and now here he was with his most dreaded phobia, a girl. But instead he said, “Did you hear that yelling? Could you tell where it came from?”

“What yelling? I was inside. Come on.” Mary-Lynnette took Mark's arm, but since he was as strong as she was, it didn't do any good. “Maybe I heard something. I wasn't paying attention.” She'd been looking desperately around the Victorian living room, babbling out lies about how her family knew where she'd gone tonight and expected her back soon. How her father and stepmother were such good friends of Mrs. Burdock's and how they were just waiting at home to hear about Mrs. B.'s nieces. She still wasn't sure if that was why they'd let her go. But for some reason, Rowan had finally stood up, given Mary-Lynnette a grave, sweet smile, and opened the front door.

“You know, I bet it was a wolverine,” Mark was saying to Jade excitedly. “A wolverine that came down from Willamette Forest.”

Jade was frowning. “A wolverine?” She considered. “Yeah, I guess that could have been it. I've never heard one before.” She looked at Mary-Lynnette. “Is that what you think it was?”

“Oh, sure,” Mary-Lynnette said at random. “Definitely a wolverine.” I should ask where her aunt is, she thought suddenly. It's the perfect opportunity to catch her in a lie. I'll ask and then she'll say something—anything, but not that her aunt's gone up north for a little vacation on the coast. And then I'll
know.

She didn't do it. She simply didn't have the courage. She didn't want to catch anyone in a lie anymore; she just wanted to get out.

“Mark, please…”

He looked at her and for the first time seemed to see how upset she was. “Uh—okay,” he said. And to Jade: “Look, why don't you go back inside now? You'll be safe there. And maybe—maybe I could come over again sometime?”

Mary-Lynnette was still tugging at him, and now, to her relief, he began to move. Mary-Lynnette headed for the blackberry bushes that she'd trampled coming in.

“Why don't you go through there? It's like a path,” Jade said, pointing. Mark immediately swerved, taking Mary-Lynnette with him, and she saw a comfortable gap between two rhododendron bushes at the back of the garden. She would never have seen it unless she knew what to look for.