The Silver Sphere (2 page)

"Go ahead, missy."

Shelby obeyed. Salty tears ran down her face to blend with the
flavor of linoleum, low-fat milk, and cereal.

The second he gave an inch, she'd race for the front door. He'd
never follow, but even if the beast did, Mr. Dempsey, the kind librarian, would
protect her. She'd run straight to him.

The disgusting tang of the floor, and a sudden silence, snapped
her back to the moment. The beast had let up, so Shelby stopped licking at the ground
and eyed him.

He sauntered to the kitchen sink, poured a tall glass of water,
and began chugging it.

Without delay, she got to her feet and charged to the front door.
She ripped the deadbolt open, sped down to Bounty Lane, and ran toward Main Street,
where the library waited. Houses flashed by, each fronted by a lovely yard, fenced
in and tidy.

The beast did not follow.

Shelby halted, shivering in the morning sun, then doubled over
and dry heaved. Sweat rolled down her brow and her hair clung to the back of her
neck. She wanted to erupt into tears, but she sucked in a lungful of air and shut
her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. Everything would be okay now, but she
had
to remember to set her iPod before the beast came home.

Shelby touched the back of her sore neck. Tears welled in her
eyes.

What will I do if the beast never leaves?

She leaned against the rough brick wall of a store. Main Street
spread before her with people bustling about their business. Children screamed and
ran from a candy shop in droves, sweets in their hands.

Exactly what I need,
she decided.
Something sweet to
wash away the dusty linoleum.

With a wad of money stuffed in her jean pockets, she strolled
down the street to the drugstore that sold her favorite drink. She stepped in, but
no one stood at the register.

How predictable.
Someone made a spill in one of the
snack aisles, and Mr. Goodman is mopping up.

She called to him, "Hey, Mr. Goodman! Buying milk!"
and left the exact change on the counter for the bottle of strawberry milk.

She swilled the ice-cold beverage down, soothing her throat and
rinsing the gross linoleum taste from her mouth, and walked to the exit with empty
bottle in hand.

Daddy
would
be back in the afternoon. And she
would
talk to him. He'd declare his resolve never to drink again, and profess his never-ending
love for her. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

Shelby tossed the bottle in a wastebasket and stepped out onto
the street. She scanned both sides of the avenue, though she knew he hadn't followed.
Her body still shook from the beast's attack. No sign of
it
on either side
of the boulevard. She closed her eyes and exhaled. Confident, she strolled to the
library.

The beast may not have even realized she'd left yet; her friends
had nicknamed her "ninja girl" for a reason. She'd escaped again, though
not without some harm. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to let it go. Her
father would
never
hurt her, but the beast.... That's what had done this
to her.

The important thing was she'd managed to get away. "Par
for the course," she said to no one.

Shelby arrived at the Rutherford B. Hayes Library, longing for
its air conditioning and calm setting to cool her sweaty brow and dampened tee-shirt.
She ascended the stairs and breezed through the entrance, where a wash of cold air
enveloped her. She paused at the front counter and stretched her hands up over her
head, reveling in the cool tranquility of her sanctuary.

Mr. Dempsey gazed up from his notebook, twirling a pencil. In
his mid-fifties, he was a sweet man, though stern when necessary.

Shelby's mind drifted to the time a surly gang of boys ignited
the library trash bin with matches. Mr. Dempsey stopped them as soon as he spotted
the punks, barking at them like a drill sergeant. The thugs hesitated only a moment
before bolting. Her confidence in him swelled after that. The gang had intimidated
her friends many times over the years, but never after that.

"Top of the morning to you, young Shelby. Have you been
running track? Don't tell me kids run track in their jeans these days." Whenever
he spoke, he gave her his complete attention. He brushed some eraser residue off
his crisp blue chambray shirt and khaki pants while maintaining his gaze.

"Aw, no, Mr. Dempsey, a crazy old stray over on Bounty Lane
interrupted my path. I got a li'l nervous and ran over to Main. Hot outside."
No reason to tell him the embarrassing truth. Anyway, private persons didn't share
things that were... well, private. "Any of the computers open yet?"

She inquired as a matter of courtesy; computers were always open
this early in the day.

"Take your pick of the four in the back right. I shut off
the ones on the left 'til this afternoon to save power. Have fun and stay off the
restricted sites."

The routine soothed her. She felt at home here, as if coming
in and saying hello could be as normal as waking up and brushing her teeth. She
grinned. Mr. Dempsey always reminded her that not all adults yelled at her or threatened
her.

"Of course, Mr. Dempsey." Shelby glided to the back
and slid into a cubicle. She flipped on the computer to study a site referring to
magic spells she intended to use to cure her father.

An odd sensation raced up her spine, and she shuddered at the
electric tingling. Without making an effort, she grew more alert as she peered at
the screen. A dialogue box appeared with a clang.

She jolted.
How bizarre. I haven't even signed onto the instant
messenger.

It was different from other windows she'd seen, with a rainbow-colored
border around a glowing box. Yet the sender's identity remained hidden.

She ran her fingers through her dark hair, her right leg rocking
up and down.

You are needed.

Perplexed, she spied over her shoulder at the silent library.
She stood on her chair and inspected the other cubicles nearby, but all of them
sat empty, the computers still off. Maybe a virus had infected this machine.

"Is anyone here? I'm having a problem with my computer."

No answer. Her attention shifted to the glowing note. It was
probably harmless.

She sank back down. "
For what?
" she typed, and
hit the enter button.

At once, a sharp clang signaled another message.

The balance is in their favor.

Your Kin is our savior.

As she is missing,

Biskara is hissing.

An ancient evil has come.

Save us from thralldom.

Please answer our plea for help.

Did she know anyone named Biskara? It seemed vaguely familiar.
Shelby had many friends on the Internet, most of them girls her age, in tenth grade.
Some of them preferred quirky nicknames, so Biskara could have been one of their
handles. Someone was probably playing a joke on her. Sometimes they did that to
one another for simple fun, but this was just weird.

She typed, "
How?
" and hit "send."

A clang and a note followed.

File down the aisle to the storage room.

We will be there to greet you soon.

Mr. Dempsey might know what the message meant, or at least he
could check its validity. She knew where the storage room was; last summer, she
and some other kids had helped Mr. Dempsey clean the dark cavern. It was little
more than a creepy closet near the back of the main section of the library. One
glaring light hung with a cord in the middle of the gloomy antechamber. Just the
thought of searching for that cord, in the dark by herself, sent chills down her
spine.

A voice disrupted her thoughts. "How are we doing today,
Miss Shelby?"

She jerked back from the monitor and gasped. "Mr. Dempsey."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Shelby. I didn't mean to sneak up on you.
My silence is a curse sometimes. I thought I heard you call out."

"I did. I did." She tried to calm her panting. "Look
at these messages, Mr. Dempsey. That one said they need help against an ancient
evil."

She took a deep breath as Mr. Dempsey studied the dialogue box.
Unlike the beast, he always listened to kids.

"Hmm, the storage room? I was just inside not twenty minutes
ago, and nobody else is here except you. The O'Connor boys and some of their friends
left right before you arrived, and that's been the traffic this morning. I suppose
we ought to investigate, eh?"

"I do believe so." She relaxed, relieved to have his
company.

She followed him over to the storage room. The entryway was solid
oak, like all of the other doors.

Mr. Dempsey turned the handle and pushed it open. "Is anyone
here?"

Silence.

He proceeded to the hanging light while Shelby tentatively strode
behind him. A strange, damp chill hung in the air—colder than air conditioning should
have made it. She shivered and rubbed her arms as goose pimples swelled over her
flesh.

Mr. Dempsey tugged the cord, but the bulb did not turn on. He
pulled the cord a few more times, but still no light.

"The bulb must be out. I have extras at the front desk in
the bottom drawer. Why don't you grab one, Shelby?"

"Sure, Mr. D."

She turned and shuffled toward the door, which whirled shut with
a bang. Shelby gasped and her heart jumped. Without light from the entrance, the
room went pitch black.

"Mr. Dempsey?" she cried out.

"Geek!"

"Loser!"

Zach Ryder halted and peeked around the corner of the school
hallway. The final bell had rung almost ten minutes ago, and the tiled halls loomed
empty. Well, mostly.

Four massive brutes shoved one of Zach's friends into the row
of metal lockers. One grabbed Adrian by the cuff of his shirt and walloped him.

Adrian whimpered. His small hands flailed in an attempt to cover
his face.

Zach's guts churned. If he tried to assist, they'd pummel him.
But he couldn't just hide. He and Adrian had known each other since third grade.

Zach glanced around in hopes of finding a teacher. No one appeared,
and the teacher's lounge was on the far side of the school. If he bolted for aid,
Adrian would be a bloody mess by the time he returned.

The fire alarm across the hall caught his attention. The little
red box never looked so inviting.

Without hesitation, he scooted over and tugged the white handle.
The bell reverberated down the corridor. He turned back to glimpse the bullies scrambling,
yelling, "Fire drill now? Let's beat it before teachers get down here. We'll
finish with you another time, wimp!"

Zach raced over to his friend and knelt beside him. "Adrian,
are you okay?"

"Yeah, sure," his friend muttered through a bloody
lip. A shiner already swelled over his right eye, his spectacles askew.

"Can you walk? We need to split."

Adrian groaned as Zach pulled him up and threw Adrian's arm around
his neck. Zach realized how much smaller they were compared to their antagonizers,
as he hefted Adrian's bag over his other shoulder and grunted.

"Geez! What do you have in here?"

Adrian didn't reply.

They hurried out the exit opposite the one the bullies had gone
through. Zach sensed commotion behind, as teachers scurried around trying to figure
out the cause of the blaring. Only a few of them had arrived at this end of the
school, no doubt looking for any students left from band or soccer practice.

Zach shouldered the door open and he and Adrian slipped out of
the building unnoticed. Once outside, he guided Adrian down to the green lawn. He
dropped the heavy bag of books and wiped a layer of sweat from his brow.

"Did you pull the alarm?" asked Adrian, eyeing Zach
as he fixed his glasses. One of the arms had been bent and he struggled to straighten
it.

Zach nodded. "Yeah, I... I didn't think I'd find teachers
quick enough."

Adrian smirked. The smashed lip looked only half as bad when
he smiled. "Thanks. I'll have to remember that one."

Zach plopped down beside him, the grass cool and soft. "No
problem. Is your mom on her way?"

"Not for another hour. Math club today."

"Wanna go to the five-and-dime?" Zach eyed the school.
If Gordie and his gang found them out here, he wouldn't be able to pull a fire alarm
to escape. "We can get some ice for your eye."

Adrian picked at the lawn, snapping blades and dropping them
in a neat pile. "I dunno, Zach. I might just head home."

"I'll walk with you."

"You don't have to."

Zach noticed the tears welling in Adrian's eyes. The other boy
wiped them away as his mussed brown hair whipped in the breeze. He looked miserable.

"I want to. You're my bro," said Zach. "I'm not
going to have you go home alone. Come on, I'll carry your bag."