“Now when they ask us what happened,” Hazel began, “we’ll say that we were walking together in the woods, and we didn’t look where we were going, and a branch covered with sap caught in our hair, so we had to cut ourselves free.” She dropped the handful of hair to the ground.
Pixie snuffled at it. He let out a loud sneeze, sending up a burst of brown strands and rusty pine needles.
Hazel tucked the knife away. “Either we’ll both get in a little bit of trouble, or neither of us will get in trouble at all.”
Pearl’s smile widened, and Hazel knew that she had agreed. They would share the lie, half and half. They would keep yet another secret safely between them, one of them the lock, and one of them the key.
“Let’s go,” Hazel commanded. “We’re going to be late for dinner as it is.”
“All right,” Pearl agreed. “But I’m not taking the shortcut.”
The shortcut was a mossy fallen log that lay across a narrow point in the river. A person with good balance and little fear could climb across it, make a leap to a jut of exposed rocks, and jump from there to the other side.
Hazel’s annoyance with her sister returned in a flash. “But it’s so much faster!”
“The water’s too high,” Pearl argued. “Besides, Pixie is scared of it.”
The dog whined softly.
“Fine,” Hazel sighed. “We’ll take Parson’s Bridge. But you had better keep up.”
The girls dashed through the woods, to Parson’s Bridge, back to the edge of town, their shaggy dog bounding ahead of them. Behind them, the shadows stretched like the far larger, far more terrible secret that waited to wrap them both in its dark arms.
That was the end of the chapter.
Fiona ran her fingertips down the page. She imagined Pearl and Hazel rushing across an old wooden bridge, their matching choppy hair floating on the wind. Arden would never cut off a hank of hair to save Fiona. She wouldn’t let herself look less than perfect on the ice even if it saved Fiona from a year of groundings.
Somewhere in the mystery room, a floorboard creaked.
Fiona glanced up.
She couldn’t see anyone, but a person could easily have been hidden by the bookshelves. Fiona listened. After a moment, she caught the creak of another step, and then a tired-sounding sigh, barely more than an exhalation.
Holding her backpack close, Fiona scooted around the end of the shelf, into the corner. She didn’t feel like facing any more strangers. She huddled against the shelf, waiting.
But now there was only silence.
Fiona turned to the next chapter. If there was another breath, another creak, another pair of eyes watching her from somewhere in the room, she was soon too absorbed to notice.
Chapter Four
Everything changed when the carnival came to town, the book went on.
A train delivered the animals and acrobats, the striped tents that popped up at the edge of town like monstrous mushrooms, the carousel, and the wheezy calliope that sent tendrils of music through the summer air.
During its stay, Pearl and Hazel practically lived at the carnival. Pearl loved the tightrope walkers and trapeze performers. Hazel loved the trained bears and horses. She even befriended two young animal caretakers, a twin brother and sister named Mae and Matthew, whose father was the carnival’s animal doctor.
The twins were fourteen, far closer to Hazel’s age than Pearl’s. They were bold and wild, quick to start trouble, and even quicker to run from it afterward. Pearl, smaller and slower, could not keep up. She could only watch as Hazel dashed off, seldom pausing to throw Pearl a backward glance.
Hazel and the twins pilfered fruit from the Millers’ orchards without inviting Pearl along. They stole boats to fish in the lake, rowing away from the docks before Pearl could climb inside. More than once, they took a trio of carnival ponies for a ride on Joyous Ridge without even telling Pearl where they had gone.
Fiona stopped.
She knew just how Pearl must have felt: small. Unwanted. Excluded. A little like Fiona always felt while sitting alone in the back seat of the car.
And there was something else familiar about what she’d just read. Joyous Ridge. Had she heard that name somewhere before? Frowning slightly, she fell back into the story.
Late on the festival’s last night, after the last call of the barkers and the final bow of the acrobats, after the grand lighted carousel had finished its very last spin, Hazel and Pearl watched the carnival close down.
They lingered on the meadow’s cool grass, nibbling popcorn from paper sacks as the starry sky grew darker, and the great striped tents billowed to the ground. The trained bears and the prancing ponies were marched onto waiting train cars. Roustabouts wound ropes and collapsed metal posts. Colored lights winked out.
Watching the carnival vanish made Pearl sad, although the thought that Mae and Matthew would leave with it lessened this sadness considerably. She glanced from Hazel’s face to the deepening sky above. Pearl hadn’t forgiven Hazel for the way she’d behaved all that week. And naturally, Hazel hadn’t asked to be forgiven. She never did. But at least they were alone again, just the two of them.
It must have been nearing eleven o’clock, Pearl realized. Long past their nine o’clock curfew. Their mother and father were away at a gala in Hartford, but Mrs. Rawlins would be awake and waiting.
And she would be furious.
By now, she may have even sent Mr. Hobbes, the groundskeeper, out to search for them. Mr. Hobbes was more affable than Mrs. Rawlins, but his chattiness had its drawbacks. Come morning, half the neighbors and their household help would know that the sisters had disgraced the family once again.
“Hazel.” Pearl nudged her sister’s arm. “We had better get home.”
Hazel’s eyes didn’t leave the vanishing circus. “Just wait. I want to stay until they’re done. I have to say goodbye to Mae and Matthew.”
Pearl felt a prickle of annoyance at waiting for Mae and Matthew, when they had certainly never waited for her. Still, she obeyed. She traced the constellations in the stars above. She folded her empty paper popcorn bag into a tight square, tapping her foot impatiently. Minutes slid by.
In all of those minutes, Hazel didn’t speak to Pearl. She merely went on watching the roustabouts, waving at Matthew now and then when he looked up from his work and caught her eye.
At last a determination that had been forming inside of Pearl grew too solid to ignore.
She turned toward her sister. “I’m going home.”
Hazel didn’t give her a glance. “I told you to wait.”
“I’ve been waiting. It’s getting cold, and it’s late, and we’re going to be in enough trouble as it is.”
Hazel lifted her chin. “Well, I’m not leaving.”
“Fine,” Pearl replied. “I’ll go home alone.”
Hazel’s hand flashed out and grasped Pearl’s arm. “You can’t go alone. You’ll tell Mrs. Rawlins everything.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Just wait until I’m ready to go with you, and then I’ll get us both out of trouble.”
Pearl pulled back. “I’m tired of waiting for you. I’m tired of you always being the one who decides.”
Hazel only grasped her tighter.
“Let go of me,” Pearl demanded, her voice rising.
“I won’t.” Hazel’s voice stayed low and dangerous. “Because you’re acting like a silly little tattletale who wouldn’t know what to do by herself anyway.”
Pearl wrenched her arm free so suddenly that Hazel’s fingernails left red tracks on her flesh. “I’m not going to do as you say anymore.”
Hazel’s eyes narrowed. “If you leave now, you’ll be sorry.”
After a week of other cruelties, Hazel’s threat struck Pearl like a spark on dry tinder. Anger flared inside Pearl’s chest.
“You’ll be the one who’s sorry.” Pearl whirled around. She broke into a run, hoping to gain a head start.
But Hazel did
n’t follow.
Pearl dashed across the dark meadow, its grass trampled by hundreds of departed carnival-goers. The sounds of roustabouts at work and the brays of animals faded away behind her. She reached the edge of the meadow and turned onto the deserted curve of Turnpike Road.
Hazel was so sure of Pearl’s loyalty. She was so sure Pearl would always be there, doing as she was told, tagging right behind. Well, perhaps Hazel was wrong.
Pearl raced along the wide dirt road. This late at night, there were no automobiles and no carts. Pearl was glad of this. No one would see her running alone down the road, far past the hour when young ladies should be safely in bed. But as the road wound into a grove, and the starry sky of the meadow vanished behind the fans of thickening trees, she grew less glad. And as she neared the rolling land of the cemetery, Pearl felt unhappier still.
She was not afraid of cemeteries. The town’s cemetery was like a large private park, with tree-lined avenues and leafy nooks. She and Hazel had often gone there together, playing hide-and-seek among the headstones, picnicking on the family plots. They had even climbed to the roof of one mausoleum and taken turns leaping off onto the emerald moss.
But Pearl had never passed the place alone before, and not in the dark, so near midnight. She had always been with Hazel. And being with Hazel always made her twice as big and brave as she was on her own.
Pearl felt a flash of longing. If her sister were here, she wouldn’t worry. She searched for the flame of her anger, hoping that it could strengthen her, but it had dulled with the lengthening distance from Hazel, like a coal pulled from a fire.
The cemetery gates loomed ahead.
Pearl ran faster.
Behind the stone arch and high iron bars, headstones gleamed a pale gray. Pearl didn’t look at them as she passed. She kept her gaze fixed on the deserted road instead.
When the very corner of Pearl’s eye spotted something moving at the edge of the cemetery grounds, she didn’t look at that either. Looking would mean that she believed it was there, and she knew that it wasn’t. She was imagining things. She was letting silly fears overtake her. And this was all Hazel’s fault.
Pearl ran on.
Turnpike Road rambled past the cemetery, and then along the Millers’ orchard and Edmund Crain’s horse paddocks before reaching the edge of town. Pearl had some distance to go. She ought to come up with a plan in the meantime, something she could tell Mrs. Rawlins that would put everything right. But each time her thoughts began to coalesce, they were scattered by the sense that there was something behind her.
It was something black. It was something quiet. It was following her down a deserted road, still too far from the houses of town for anyone within them to hear.
Half-remembered stories filled Pearl’s mind: tales of the Searcher whispered by Charlie Hobbes, the groundskeeper’s son, the lore the older children traded around the Halloween bonfires, the warnings of a dozen housemaids. Once the Searcher found you, no one else ever would.
Now here she was, alone in the darkness. And this was Hazel’s fault too.
Her shoes made quick, hard clops on the road. Her heart pounded harder still.
She had passed the Millers’ orchard now. The paddocks lay ahead. If she could make it to the end of that fence, she’d be nearly to Rose Lane, and its little cottages would spring up around her. Next, she would cross Lilac Lane, and then she would be just a few streets from home.
If she could only run fast enough.
At the edge of her vision, the shadows flickered.
Something that may have been only a lock of her own hair, or that may have been the edge of a long black sleeve, trailed across the side of her neck. Pearl nearly screamed aloud.
There: the first cottage of Rose Lane stood just ahead, past Edmund Crain’s barn. Pearl flew over the final yards, meeting the intersection of Turnpike Road and Rose Lane like a racer crossing a finish line. She glanced sideways, catching sight of her rushing reflection in the windows of the nearest cottage.
She hadn’t imagined it after all.
There was something just behind her.
Chapter Five
Fiona gripped the book tight.
Years ago, on a trip to one of Arden’s skating competitions, the Crane family had stayed at a hotel with a water park. Fiona had been too young to read the warning signs around the pools. She’d trusted Arden to read them for her. When Arden had pointed to part of one pool and said it was the shallow end, Fiona had hopped in.
She’d sunk straight through the water.
She hadn’t expected it to close over her head, so she hadn’t been holding her breath. She could still remember the terror she’d felt, with nothing to grasp or push off from—just that thick, silent water enveloping her like liquid glass, no air to scream with, and no one to hear her anyway. And then her dad’s steady hands had dragged her back to the surface.
Of course Arden had been scolded. But she hadn’t been punished. Not after she’d burst into tears that were even louder than Fiona’s, anyway. Their mom and dad had had to calm Arden down, saying they knew it was all just an accident, that Arden would never hurt Fiona on purpose. Meanwhile, Fiona had glared at her sister across the turquoise water, her throat and eyes still burning, and almost wished that she had drowned. Because getting Arden into that much trouble might have been worth it.
Stupid Hazel, Fiona thought now, rushing on to the next page. If anything bad happened to Pearl, Fiona hoped the guilt would eat Hazel alive.
Pearl did not stop running.
The reflection in the cottage window was dim and blurred. She raced past too swiftly for a good look, but Pearl was certain of what she had seen: a dark, looming figure, far taller than she was, reaching out with one blackened, twisted hand.
She glanced over her shoulder.
The figure was no longer there.
Pearl felt no relief at this. It would be easy enough for something swift and silent and shadowy to dart behind a tree, and then to reemerge when she didn’t expect it, snatching her up in those terrible hands.
Dashing to the other side of the empty road, Pearl veered again at the crossing of Turnpike Road and Oak Street, trying to make her course erratic enough to confuse any followers. Still, she could sense the Searcher’s presence, the threat that could rear up anywhere.
Home waited around just one more corner. And there it was, its windows glowing with watchful lights.
Those lights had never looked so lovely to Pearl.
She leaped up the front steps, flew across the porch, and flung open the door. She slammed it again behind her.
Pixie, sprawled on the foyer rug, skittered onto his paws with a bark.
“Good heavens, child.” Mrs. Rawlins appeared in the great room doorway. Like the lights of home, the housekeeper’s big, broad-shouldered body and stern face had never appeared more welcoming to Pearl. “What can you be thinking, stampeding in here after—”
But she broke off with a good look at Pearl’s face.
“There’s something after me,” Pearl gasped.
Without hesitation, Mrs. Rawlins grasped a tall silver candlestick from a nearby table and threw open the front door. Pixie lunged to the housekeeper’s side, hackles rising, letting out a rumbling growl. Pearl scrambled backward.
Mrs. Rawlins examined the darkness. “What was after you, child?” She raised the candlestick like a club in one sturdy fist.
“It was—” Pearl managed. “It was the Searcher.”
“The Searcher?” Mrs. Rawlins turned back toward Pearl, her expression shifting from concern to exasperation. “Flying in here like a rabid creature, because of an old story? You’ve clearly scared yourself out of your own wits!”
She thumped the candlestick back into place and turned on Pearl with folded arms. Behind her, Pixie remained in the open doorway, huffing at the night air.
“And where is that sister of yours?” Mrs. Rawlins demanded.
“She was at the carnival, in the m
eadow,” Pearl panted. “She didn’t want to leave.”
“So, you abandoned her and flounced off on your own?” Mrs. Rawlins’s frown deepened as her voice rose. “I have two silly girls dashing around alone in the dark, hours past their curfew?” She shook her head furiously. “Charlie!”
The twelve-year-old boy who had been dozing in an armchair by the fireplace jerked upright.
“Charlie, go and fetch your father,” Mrs. Rawlins ordered. “He’s searching the woods along the lake. Tell him Miss Hazel is at the carnival.”
Charlie nodded. He threw a half smile to Pearl, clapped his cap over his white-blond hair, and darted for the kitchen door.
Mrs. Rawlins returned her frown to Pearl. “You had better hope that your sister is safe, and that there isn’t a spook from a silly old tale wandering around the town tonight.”
“It is out there. I saw it,” Pearl insisted. “And I tried to make Hazel come home with me hours ago, as soon as it got dark,” she went on, stretching the truth to cover her disobedience. “She wouldn’t. So I had to come home alone!”
“Leaving your sister, at night, with a crew of strangers and carnival types . . .” Mrs. Rawlins shook her head. “If your parents had any sense, they would give you both a good whipping, and then lock you indoors until you’ve gained some sense of your own.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Pearl’s voice crested in a shout. “It’s Hazel’s fault that I was alone out there in the dark and nearly got snatched by the Searcher!”
Mrs. Rawlins gazed down at Pearl from her considerable height. “Go up to your room immediately,” she said, just as she had a thousand times before. “Get straight into bed. Pray that Mr. Hobbes brings Hazel home safe and sound, or you’ll have abandoning your sister to add to your list of mistakes.”
“But Hazel was—”
“Go on,” Mrs. Rawlins commanded.
Pearl had known Mrs. Rawlins since the day she was born. She knew each one of Mrs. Rawlins’s frustrated, tired, and angry expressions, and she knew very well when there was no point in arguing.
She stomped toward the staircase.
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