The Shimmers in the Night (20 page)

“I hope she didn't—I mean, I hope there isn't anything
in
the cut,” said Jax. “Like with that pen…”

“Her nails were disgusting,” said Jaye with a shudder as she tilted Cara's hand to put on the bigger bandage.

“So either this—this hollow was
supposed
to entice you, and then take your ring, or somehow when you showed up she just recognized its value and grabbed for it,” said Jax. “Hard to know which. I
hope
it wasn't planned, because if it was, they're spying on us—really closely. And then—also Zee might have been a part of it. I mean, luring us there.”

“Bull,” said Max. “I saw her sleeping there. She's a victim!”

“I guess the ring was still on my finger long enough to get us back through the book,” mused Cara, looking down at the cut. “But now we've lost them both. Both of the old-ways objects. Because I can't
use
the windowleaf anymore. Not without the ring.”

“So even if we could get close to Zee, we couldn't do it with these—these tricks of yours,” said Max. “We'd have to get to Orleans like everyone else does. Driving.”

Because of her, Zee was still stranded, still in danger, and on top of that their tools were gone, the miraculous equipment. It was her fault for leading them into this, hoping she was doing the right thing…. Well, she hadn't been right. She'd been wrong. They should have consulted someone else about Zee—someone who had a few years on them.

What if they could never get to Zee now?

“The little girl—I mean the not-little girl—you know. She was a dwarf, I think,” said Jaye. “A hollow who was also a dwarf. We have a little person in my family, married to my aunt. I think that lady was one, too.”

“So say I drive over there,” interrupted Max, who seemed to be in his own distracted world and barely listening to what the others said. “You're saying I'll be screwed, right? You're saying some Burning Man's going to come out through her eyes the second I get near?”

“Not her eyes,” said Jax. “At least, I don't think so. The old lady is the hollow in that pair, and I think the sleeper is Zee. That means she may not even
know
what she is. She may show up at school tomorrow acting like nothing's any different from usual. But the thing is, she's under their control. Whenever they want her to be. And, yeah, the hollow is a major obstacle. Cara said there was already a Burner coming when you took off.”

Max stared at him, then pressed his lips together and looked out the window, shaking his head.

“I'm gonna go call her dad,” he said after a minute. “Even if it's dangerous, I can't just leave her. No way. I have to tell him where she is.”

And he walked out of the room.

“You know what the scariest part is, in a way?” said Jaye into the silence that followed. “I mean, once she
was
a little girl with red hair. And now…she's that.”

Then her cell rang; her mother was out front, waiting to take her home.

“Gotta go,” she said.

She stood up and looked down at Cara's arm, patterned with a line of drying blood whose drips branched off it like a tree.

“Jaye,” said Cara, and stretched out her other hand to take her friend's. “Thanks for trusting me enough to come along. Thank you for trying to help Zee.”

“Hey,” said Jaye. “It makes my skin crawl to think of that lady's fingernails. But I'm glad we did it, too.”

After Jaye went home, Cara had a shower, slipped into her ratty but clean old pajamas, neatly laundered and folded into her top drawer by Lolly, and curled up in her bed with a book. A little after nine, Jax padded through her door in his sockfeet—he had a way of wearing his socks so the sock toes hung emptily off the ends of his own toes and flopped around looking absurd.

“Max says Zee's dad drove right over to that place and brought her home,” he reported. “And nothing happened to him. He didn't even
see
the old lady. Zee woke up and couldn't remember how she got there. It sounded like she got in a lot of trouble. Her dad's pissed. He thinks she was underage drinking or something.”

Still, it was a relief: Zee was safe, and back in her normal life again.

Unless she was just pretending.

And now they'd have to be at school with her. At
home
with her. Not knowing what she might be.

“Great. So now we're stuck with Max's girlfriend. Who just may be a lethal weapon.”

“At least she's not a hollow. I'm pretty sure of that. And if she
is
a sleeper—instead of just having been some kind of hostage or victim, like Mom was—then we'll know who her hollow is, right? We'll recognize her right away. Or at least you and Jaye and Max will. Zee might be a spy, but she can't burn anyone. No Burner can come through
her.”

“So we're supposed to act normal with a spy for the Cold One in our midst?”

“Maybe Max will stop hanging out with her,” said Jax.

Cara locked eyes with him.

“Like, break up?”

She thought about it for a second but came to a dead end. She could only think how much she liked Zee—how nice she'd always been.

They were interrupted by a knock on the bedroom door, which had to be their dad, since Max hardly ever knocked.

“Come in!” said Cara.

“Open it for me, please,” came their dad's voice. “No hands free.”

Jax jumped up and went over; their dad had a steaming mug in each hand.

“Made you some hot chocolate,” he said. “And then it's bedtime, right?”

“Cool,” said Jax, taking a mug. “Thanks, Dad.”

“So, homework all done, Cara?”

“There wasn't any,” she said as he handed her the other mug and sat down beside Jax on her bed. “Because we were away at the meet.”

With their mother gone, their dad seemed to think he had two basic jobs as a parent: one, provide food; two, mention homework. That was his daily checklist, more or less, when he emerged from the cave of his study. When her mother was here, he hadn't even had those jobs, really. All he'd had to worry about then was doing his teaching and writing, making the family pancakes for breakfast once a week, and now and then jiggling the flusher on a toilet that wouldn't stop running.

“Don't worry about us, Dad,” she said on impulse. “We're fine. I'm really sorry about going AWOL in Boston. You know I don't usually act like that. I was just worried about Jax. And you know Mrs. M, she can be kind of…you know, overprotective.”

“It may seem like that to you,” said her dad, the corners of his eyes crinkling with a smile that was part affection and part reproach. “But she has her reasons.”

He leaned forward and kissed Jax on the top of the head, then stood up and leaned over Cara to do the same. “Back to your own room, Jax. And tomorrow, over dinner, I expect a full report on your time at the Institute. OK?”

When Jax and her dad had gone to their bedrooms—or at least Jax to his bedroom and their father to his study—a comfortable silence rose around her. The house felt pleasantly familiar, like it was settling down for the night in the same way that it always had. But she knew the silence might change its tone while she lay there, if she let the image of the old woman prey on her as she tried to get to sleep. It might become more threatening.

The homey, chirping crickets of the summer were gone now; there was only the wind rattling the loose wooden shutters on the outside of the house. If she held her breath, she could hear the faint sound of it sweeping through the trees that were holding onto their dying leaves.

And it might not be so easy to block out what had happened, because the long cut on her finger, beneath the Band-Aid, still stung dully. The cut from that sharp, curved, dirty fingernail—

She shivered. She might keep a light on. Just a small one. Just for tonight. Sure it was childish, but anyone might want to who'd been clawed by that—that person who wasn't a child but a fake child, a trick. Who seemed like a demon.

Not a night light, though. Maybe her desk lamp.

Something caught her eye on a high shelf in the corner of her room. It was an old music box printed with a design of flowers and leaves that her mother had given her. It didn't have a ballerina inside, but it did have a fairy, she recalled—a slender fairy with plastic wings, which turned and turned to tinkling music like the dancer in the old woman's room.

She got out of bed and reached up for it, then tucked it away in her closet, covered with a favorite sweater, and closed the closet door. She felt a pang, because it had come from her mother, but she couldn't bear to look at it now.

Then she turned off the overhead, flicked on the desk lamp, and got into bed.

But she still had one thing left to do.

She slipped her cell out of her backpack on the desk beside her and speed-dialed Hayley. She was betting her friend wouldn't pick up; she wanted to leave a message anyway. She'd feel better, trying to fall asleep, if she could at least do that.

It rang three times, and then, just before it seemed it would go to voice mail, she heard Hayley's voice.

“Hey.”

“Oh!” said Cara. “I didn't think you'd pick up. I know you're upset with me.”

There was a pause.

“I'm sorry that I dragged you back into all of this,” she went on. “I know you wanted to stay and have fun; that was the whole reason you were excited about going to the meet in the first place. I
know
you only do the swim-team thing in the first place to hang with people. It was just, when I asked you guys to come to the Institute I was really afraid for Jax—you saw how he was—and I felt alone, and…I looked at this painting, at the Institute, and your face was there, along with Jaye's. I needed you guys. I couldn't have brought my mom to him without you. And I mean, you were amazing. Knowing what cooling towers were…. You didn't even complain that your eyebrows got singed half off. Plus, your confidence really helped Jaye, I think. So I'm really grateful, and I'm sorry. And I want to let you know that—you don't have to be a part of the craziness anymore.
Whatever
it is. You can have a regular fun life. Just because you're my best friend doesn't mean you have to—you know, be involved with everything I'm involved with. Especially when it's so weird. And so terrifying.”

There was quiet on the other end of the line again after Cara's long speech. Which was downright unnatural for Hayley. Cara almost kept talking, to fill up space and cover the tension, but then decided she should wait. It was Hayley's turn.

“And
I
know you only do dance committee and all that noise to keep me company,” said Hayley finally, her voice sounding weak. “I do. So I'm sorry also. I'm sorry I acted like this. It was actually pretty lame.”

Cara let her breath out.

“Because,” said Hayley, “you tease me about being superficial and like that. But my mom talks about character. And how it's fine to care about fashion and all that, as long as you have
character
beneath, real character that knows right from wrong. And not only knows it but is willing to fight for it. Even if it's not convenient. Otherwise you're, like, soulless. And it seemed like Jaye was really fighting for it, for you and your family, and I got afraid…that, you know, you were starting to like her more than me.”

“Hayley! No way. It's not true!”

“So I'm the one who's sorry. And I don't want to be left out. I do want to help. Even if it, well. Messes with my schedule.”

“Hay,” said Cara gently after some seconds passed. “Thank you for that. It means a lot to me.”

“But FYI? I
am
totally pissed about the eyebrows,” said Hayley.

They laughed, relieved.

“I'm going to have to pencil them in till they grow back,” she said. “And let's face it, the pencil-brow look is over. That look is way creepy.”

Cara told her about the terrible old woman, about Zee.

“I told you she was evil, didn't I?”

“It's not
her
, Hayley,” rebuked Cara, but she was grinning ruefully: even in her wisest moments, Hayley was still jealous.

Then they talked about small, normal things for a short time until they both felt tired and hung up. Laying her cheek against her pillow, she felt satisfied knowing Hayley and Jaye were still with her. They were with her even though she
hadn't
gotten everything right, even though sometimes her being wrong had ended up hurting them.

But they were still with her. They trusted that she was trying her best.

She thought of the flying reptile, Q, so bizarre—both beautiful and not beautiful. She thought of the catfish and the otter that had been her mother, and how there, at least, her instincts had been right, even though she denied them because it seemed downright impossible. She thought of Jax, looking for ants on his windowsill—the tiny ants that it turned out might be against them. She hoped not; other than when they bit her, she'd always admired ants, how they could carry things so many times more massive than their whole bodies.