Nightwitch (33 page)

“
South side?” Carolina asked.

“
I see him sometimes during my route. He does the south side of town on Monday.”

“
Oh,” she said, wiping food parts and coffee grinds from her clothes. “I think this sweater is ruined.”

“
I think so.” He watched her as he tried to wipe some slimy stuff off his sleeve.

“
It’s a good thing you remembered,” she said as the two extensions sticking out from the front of the giant truck thudded into place under the dumpster. They watched, holding their ears against the sound of banging metal, as the truck raised the dumpster in the air and turned it over, emptying its contents into the rest of the trash in back.

“
Bye, bye, Mr. Rat,” Arty said.

“
I hope he’s okay,” Carolina said.

“
I think he’s dead,” Arty said.

They continued watching as the truck dropped the dumpster back in place. Arty waved once more as Mr. Williams backed the truck out from behind the store, and they continued listening until the distant rumbling of the truck was only a memory.

“
For once I hope my mom’s not home,” she said, breaking the stony silence, “because I sure don’t want to tell her how come we look like this.” She was trying to wipe some of the same slimy stuff off of her skirt, and Arty was taking the wrapping off the shotgun. “Why are you doing that?”

“
There’s gooey wet stuff soaked into the paper. I don’t want to ruin the gun.” He continued pulling off the wrapping, tossing the newspaper and masking tape into the dumpster. He had no rags, so he wiped the gun off on a clean part of his shirt.

“
Hey, hey, it’s Farty Arty and his girlfriend.”

Arty and Carolina turned to face Brad Peters and Ray Harpine.

“
My dad’s looking for you two,” Ray said. “You guys are really in trouble.”

“
But not as much trouble as you’re in from me,” Brad said. “You were lucky, hitting me with the books when I wasn’t ready, but I’m ready now and you are dog meat.”

“
I’m not afraid of you anymore, Brad.” He handed the shotgun over to Carolina.

Both boys noticed the gesture and they noticed the gun.

“
So if you want a piece of me, come now, but if you do I’m gonna go for you every time I see you for the rest of your life. I’ll kick, bite, and scratch. You’ll never be able to turn away from me, ’cuz if you do I’ll smash you in the back of the head with my books. I’ll poke you with pencils. I’ll spit in your face. I’ll kick you in the butt when you’re not looking. I’ll fight you every morning on the way to school, every afternoon after school and every recess. You’ll have to have eyes in the back of your head till you’re dead.”

“
And I’ll pull on your hairs in class,” Carolina said, “and I’ll kick you in the balls every chance I get, and that goes for you, too, Ray Harpine. Shit, Ray, I think I’ll just shoot your balls off right now.” She leveled the gun and pointed it between his legs.

“
Gun’s not loaded,” Ray squeaked.

“
Your daddy wants to find us, ’cuz he knows it is,” she said, slipping into a sweet Southern accent.

“
It’s loaded,” Brad said.

“
How do you know?” Ray was still squeaking.

“
I can tell,” Brad said, then he turned to look at Arty. “Why do you need a loaded shotgun?”

“
You gonna let us pass?” Arty said.

“
Yeah,” Brad said, “I think you’re crazy, but I also think we’re pretty even. I won’t bother you no more.”

“
Okay,” Arty said.

“
So why you need a loaded shotgun?” Brad said again.

“
I got a witch to kill,” Arty said. “The shotgun’s loaded with silver dimes.”

“
Now I know you’re crazy,” Brad said, and the two boys stood aside and let them pass.

“
Stop,” Carolina said. They were coming around to the front of the store, when she thrust her arm out in front of him, bringing him to a quick halt. “That’s my father,” she said, pointing to a man that had just left the store.

She started to call out, but Arty squeezed her hand and she held her tongue. “We should follow him,” Arty said.

“
But it’s my father.”

“
How come he didn’t come right by your house and tell you he was in town? How come he shot off the gun in front of your house? How come he broke in and stole the gun back?”

“
We could ask him?”

“
Let’s follow him and ask him later,” Arty said.

She nodded and the two children followed the adult across the parking lot as a light fog started to roll in. Arty didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that Brad and Ray were following them, but he didn’t care.

He looked over at Carolina and saw Sheila poke her head out of the backpack and nuzzle her neck as she trudged along beside him. The man up front turned a corner. They had to pick up their speed if they didn’t want to lose him and Arty smiled as she automatically adjusted her pace to match his.

He was panting heavily. This wasn’t like his paper route where he could coast along with the cool breeze when he got tired out. The shotgun was getting heavier with each step, and he was beginning to think maybe they should have called the police and taken their chances. After all, what could two kids do against a witchwolf that can’t die?

But he rejected the thought. They would never believe him, and the two of them would probably be thrown in jail till their parents came for them. He didn’t want his mother to have to bail him out of jail, like she had to do for his father so many times. No, there was no one they could turn to for help, other than old Harry, and maybe that man up ahead at the edge of the fog.

If the locket hidden under Sheila’s name tag was the magic locket, then that meant that Carolina’s father had to know about the Nightwitch. And it also probably meant that he had come to Palma to kill it, to keep it from getting Carolina.

The man up ahead started to jog, but it didn’t matter, Arty knew where he was going.

“
Come on, it won’t be long now.” He risked a quick look behind and saw that Brad and Ray were acting as his shadows now.

“
He’s going up to the tent, isn’t he?” Carolina asked.

“
Yeah,” Arty said, as they approached the Little League diamond. “There.” They caught a glimpse of him as he entered the path on the far side of the baseball field. Arty didn’t want to go into the woods at night, not with the Nightwitch out and about, but he couldn’t go home and they couldn’t go to Carolina’s. The police would be waiting for them, because of the shoplifting.

“
Maybe I should just yell out. It’s my dad and he loves me. He’ll help us. He’ll know what to do,” she whispered.

“
Let’s see what he does first,” Arty whispered back.

“
But it’s my father.”

“
I know, but he didn’t come to you and tell you to look out for the Nightwitch. He didn’t warn you, and he should have.”

“
Maybe he doesn’t know about it.”

“
He knows,” Arty said. He saw movement in the backpack and imagined the ferret burrowing into a ball at the bottom. Carolina adjusted the pack and pushed some hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.

Arty tightened his grip on the shotgun. He was puffing like a steam train when they reached the path. He pushed brush aside with his free hand as he walked into the woods, hoping he was doing the right thing.

Sweat dribbled down his back and part of him wanted to turn and run, but he had gone this far, and he would go a lot further for Carolina. So he swallowed his reservations, and ignored the icy shivers and chills that followed him through the dew covered brush.

Carolina moved closer to Arty as they walked up the dark path. There were no night noises, save for a cricket in the distance, and the sound of their footsteps that seemed to ring loud as rockets, blasting through the forest.

She tugged on his shirt and he stopped. He was panting and struggling to catch his breath.

“
I know you’re only here because of me,” she said.

He wiped the sweat from his forehead. His calves were burning, his feet hurt, his chest was pounding and he didn’t think he’d ever get enough air.

“
I think you’re awfully brave, she said. “You’re my knight in shining armor and I love you.” She kissed him on the lips as a high pitched laughter cut through the fog and the night, shooting through them like a razor made of ice.

Chapter Nineteen

Arty pushed the last branch aside and led Carolina into the clearing. He felt tiny tremors running through her hand and into his. He clutched her hand tighter, but it wasn’t enough to slow her rapid heartbeat, and it only served to increase his. No matter what happened, he had to protect her.

He bit into his lower lip, letting go of her hand to wipe cold sweat from his forehead, but there was nothing he could do about the sweat running down his back, cooled by the river of chills that started low down and zapped him high in the back of the neck. He was wiping his hand on his shirt, when lightning jacked through the sky and thunder rolled down from above. The wicked laughter again pierced the night, followed by an angry, deep throated roar that reached deep, and started him shivering from the inside out.

He bit harder into his lip, but all the lip biting in the world wasn’t going to deaden the icy current sparking along his spine. This wasn’t a little kid fight on the playground. He was going up against the Nightwitch.

“
Over there,” Carolina said. Arty turned in time to see Condor, his happy friend, charging across the clearing with slicked back ears and lightning black speed.

“
No!” he screamed, “Condor, stop!” But the dog was shooting over the ground, strong legs propelling the black locomotive on its collision course, foam flying from its mouth like steam, gleaming fangs bared, as he roared across the clearing.

“
Stop!” Arty yelled out again. Then he turned toward the direction of the charge and saw the twisted looking black hyena stick its head out of the tent, raise its face to the three quarter moon, and let out that laughter one more time. Then it was out of the tent and charging toward the Doberman.

Arty wanted to scream as the two canines collided, bared fangs tearing into each other’s flesh as they rotated like a tornado. He ran toward the swirling animals, stopping when he’d closed half the distance. He raised the gun, but every time he had the hyena in his sights it was gone before he could pull the trigger and Condor was there instead. He couldn’t shoot the dog.

He kept the gun pointed at the snarling animals, afraid to shoot and afraid not to. The hyena was huge, but Condor was a giant of a dog, and fast. The Doberman kept going in low, snapping and ripping away at the hyena and getting out of the way of its razor fangs only at the last instant. And every time the dog’s teeth sank into the other animal it let out a roar that made Arty want to run, but he stood firm, holding the gun, waiting.

Then he saw Miss Sadler raise a pistol and aim it at the swirling cyclone of Condor and the hyena, but she didn’t shoot. She moved toward the raging animals, holding the gun thrust forward with both hands, like a policeman, yelling, “Condor, get away!” But the dog couldn’t hear and wouldn’t have obeyed anyway. So, like Arty, she didn’t shoot, because she was afraid of hitting the dog.

He’d never seen Miss Sadler like that. Her smile was gone, replaced with granite-tight lips and deep dark wrinkles on her forehead.

“
Get out of the way, dammit,” she yelled at the dog. She was pissed and Arty hoped she could save Condor. She turned away from the fighting animals for an instant and yelled at him, “Get back, Arty,” and suddenly she was between him and the warring canines.

He lowered the gun and scooted back a little bit, with Carolina right behind him. Then he moved aside, just enough so that he could follow the fight as the animals swirled through the clearing.

But all he could do was stare as the battle unfolded in front of him. For a few moments it looked like Condor was winning and Arty breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The Doberman was going to end it right here, right now, and Arty’s hands white knuckled the shotgun as he silently prayed for his dog friend.

The fight couldn’t last forever. Condor’s head down lunges at the hyena didn’t seem to be hurting it. The dog would rip into the beast, tearing into its flesh, exposing bloody wound after bloody wound, but after a short while his lunges were less frequent and his retreat under the snapping jaws a fraction of a second slower. The beast was winning on endurance alone.

Then as quickly as it had started, it was over. The hyena had Condor’s right foreleg in its powerful jaws and the snapping sound of the leg breaking tore into Arty’s heart as he raised the shotgun again. But he still couldn’t fire, because Miss Sadler moved back in front of him. He shifted to the side, still with the gun up and aimed, but then he was blocked by Condor trying to get out of the way of those huge jaws.

He shifted some more, and was about to tighten his finger on the trigger, but again he had to hold back, because Carolina’s father was storming toward the two animals with a long knife in his hands, and just as the hyena was coming in to finish off Condor, John Coffee dove into the fray, sinking his knife deep into the hyena’s belly and another twisting typhoon tore through the clearing.