Nightstruck

by Jenna Black

  I patted Bob’s head and told him to stay. He made a high, thin whining sound when I walked away, and I wasn’t sure if he was complaining about not getting his walk or if he was just worried about the crackling tension he sensed in me. At least he stayed put. He was still ultrasensitive to the Nightstruck and the constructs, and the last thing I wanted was for him to catch a glimpse of something and go berserk while I was trying to sneak out.

  I put on my warmest coat and hat, sticking the gun in the coat’s pocket. I put a box of ammo in the other, though I figured if I needed the extra ammo I was already doomed. Trying to stifle the practical part of my mind that told me this was the stupidest plan in the history of the universe, I opened the door and stepped out into the freezing night air.

  Stepping outside felt like something momentous, but in reality the street was deserted, so nothing happened. I closed and locked the door behind me, then stuck my hands in my coat pockets in a vain attempt to keep them warm.

  Piper had refused to meet me right outside the house and had told me I had to come to Rittenhouse Square, to the place where Billy the goat stood during the day. It was only a few blocks—a short walk, under ordinary circumstances. But these were not ordinary circumstances.

  I forced myself to start moving forward, one foot in front of the other, getting my first good look at the changes that had taken place during the night.

  Everything was at least marginally familiar, the buildings all the same size and approximately the same shape. But that was where the resemblance to the day ended. I looked over my shoulder at the Gilliam house, which seemed perfectly normal and ordinary on the inside. On the outside, however, it was a nightmare come to life. Instead of being made of brick, as it was in the day, the house’s facade was constructed entirely of bones, some bright white in the moonlight, some yellow with age, some coated with dirt. Where the door knocker should have been, a naked skull leered out at me.

  I shivered and told myself to keep moving, and I tried to give myself tunnel vision, to only look at the pavement before me so I wouldn’t have to see my surroundings. However, I was also afraid that I would be attacked at any moment, and that made tunnel vision impossible.

  The streetlamps had all turned into gallows, the nooses swaying in a nonexistent breeze. The street signs looked fairly normal, until you read the words on them and realized they were encouraging acts of violence. The parking meters had eyes, and those eyes followed my every move. A toothy pothole cruised up and down Walnut Street like a shark awaiting unwary victims.

  I passed a shop that I knew flew an American flag during the day. Apparently the shopkeeper didn’t take the flag in at night like he was supposed to, and the thing had turned into a long, sinuous tongue that tried to lick me as I went by. I shuddered and hurried my steps.

  Sirens wailed in the distance, almost comforting evidence that I was still in the world I knew, that there were people out there who dared to travel these streets at night. The occasional sound of gunfire revealed what a struggle those people faced as they tried to fight off the depredations of the Nightstruck.

  I didn’t see any Nightstruck, and at first I didn’t see any constructs, either. Then, when I was about halfway to the square, I saw what I thought was a decorative trash can. I gave it a second look because it wasn’t the normal city trash can and in fact looked much more like the kind that were in the square itself. Instead of being solid and blocky, the trash cans in the square are circular and made out of strips of metal. The strips flare at the top, creating an almost flowerlike opening.

  Anyway, there was no reason for one of those trash cans to be sitting on the sidewalk on Walnut Street, and the thing was missing its requisite trash bag anyway. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, and I came to a sudden halt when what were supposed to be metal strips moved, the flared tops all turning like heads to look at me.

  They turned like heads because they were heads. Snake heads, to be exact. They hissed at me in unison, and the hydralike construct rose on stubby metal legs and trundled toward me.

  I stood frozen to the sidewalk, staring in wide-eyed horror. I’m not one of those girls who runs screaming at the very thought of a snake. But this was far worse than an actual snake, and my gun would be useless against it.

  It’s got short, stubby legs, I told myself. You can outrun it.

  It was between me and the square, so I would have to run past it instead of away from it, which was not a prospect I relished. Still, it was better than standing here waiting for it to reach me, so I darted forward, crossing the street at a diagonal to get as far away from it as possible.

  I got past it easily enough, but I heard those stubby little legs clinking against the sidewalk as it pursued me. I ran as fast as I could, the cold air burning my throat and lungs. The construct kept up easily, and when I glanced over my shoulder I saw that it was only about a body length behind me, heads hissing and snapping at me.

  One thing I have never been is an athlete. Adrenaline was giving me an extra boost, but I wasn’t used to running, and though I kept pumping my arms and legs as hard as I could, I knew I was slowing down. I expected to feel the bite of those snakes’ metal fangs at any moment, but though I didn’t turn to check, it didn’t sound like the construct was gaining on me.

  Still I kept running, my pace getting slower and slower. And still the construct didn’t gain on me. Was it possible the thing was getting tired just like I was? Or was it maybe closer to dawn than I thought and the magic that animated it was fading? But that couldn’t be, because there was no hint of light in the sky.

  Eventually I couldn’t run anymore, and I came to a panting halt. I whirled around with my gun in hand, knowing it wouldn’t hurt the construct but having no better way to defend myself.

  To my surprise, the construct came to a halt as well, stopping when I was just out of reach of the closest snake heads. Its legs bent so that its bottom was resting on the sidewalk, for all the world like it was sitting down and waiting to see what I would do next.

  Keeping my gun pointed at it, I took a couple of steps backward. It followed, then sat again when it was just out of reach. I then tried taking a couple of steps to my right, and again it mirrored my motion. I couldn’t step any closer without being in striking range of the snakes, so that was an experiment I didn’t try. I did try a quicker move to the side, intending to try to dart past it and go back the way I’d come.

  I wasn’t entirely surprised when the construct moved way quicker than seemed possible, to block my way.

  It wasn’t here to hurt me. It was here to herd me toward Piper. Maybe she thought I’d get cold feet and change my mind about meeting her.

  I blew out a deep breath, searching for courage. There was no turning back now. But that didn’t matter, because there was no way I was going to change my mind. I knew what I had to do.

  I couldn’t stand the idea of having the construct at my back, so for a little while I progressed toward the square in a weird sideways walk-shuffle-hop that was both slow and tiring, after my frantic run. I finally decided to bite the bullet and walk normally, my shoulders tight with strain, my entire body tensed for an attack from behind. But the construct kept its distance, herding me inexorably to my fate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  During the day, Rittenhouse Square is a lovely, popular city park. Benches line the paths, and even in the winter the place is alive with greenery from trees and grass and bushes. At this time of year, the trees and streetlamps would usually be glittering with pretty white Christmas lights, but I supposed there was no point in putting up lights only the Nightstruck would see.

  The square is usually bordered by short ornamental iron fencing, but in the night that fencing had tripled in height and was topped with knife-sharp spikes. There would be no entering from anything but one of the paved paths—not that I’d been planning on hopping the fence anyway.

  I made my way around the square until I reached the entrance that was closest to the littl
e plaza where Billy the goat made his daytime home. The city streets were scary enough at night, but the square was somehow even scarier. I couldn’t help wondering if some of its other sculptures—like, say, the lion—had come to life in viciously altered form just like Billy. And, of course, I was worried there were more trash can hydras in there.

  The hydra that had been following me hissed and snapped, perhaps impatient with my hesitation. I triple-checked my gun to make sure it was ready to shoot. I wondered if I should just hold it in my hand as I marched into the square, but a gust of icy wind convinced me that was a bad idea. I doubted Piper being Nightstruck would make her any more punctual, and there was no point freezing my fingers off—maybe making them so numb it would affect my shooting.

  That said, I doubted my ability to do a quick draw when I had to fumble around my coat pocket to find the gun, and I might just as easily shoot my own foot before I got the gun out. So I compromised, sticking both the gun and my hand in the pocket, fingers wrapped around the butt and the finger guard.

  Another hiss from the hydra got me moving again, and I passed through the entrance into the square. The hydra didn’t follow me, instead parking itself firmly in the middle of the path behind me, blocking the exit. I wondered if the other exits were similarly blocked and decided I had to assume the answer was yes.

  The night magic didn’t seem to affect living things, so the plants and the trees all looked the same. The park benches where people loved to sit and eat their lunches on a lovely day, however, had enlarged and now sprouted rows of teeth. They resembled nothing so much as Venus flytraps, waiting for an unwary insect to take their bait.

  Out of curiosity—or a desire to stall—I felt around my left coat pocket and found what was left of a pack of gum. I tossed it at one of the benches And even though I’d expected it, I still jumped and screamed when the jaws slammed shut with an eardrum-shattering bang. I hoped the damn things were as sedentary as they looked.

  Billy was normally situated on a plinth in the middle of a small circular plaza relatively close to the edge of the square. With all the streetlamps turning into gallows, there was barely any light in the square, and I moved slowly, hoping my eyes would adjust. The glow from all the high-rises surrounding the square at least meant it wasn’t pitch black. However, it was still dark enough that it would make shooting from any distance a challenge. I would have to get close enough to Piper that I couldn’t miss.

  I wasn’t surprised that Billy wasn’t on his plinth. Nor was I surprised that Piper wasn’t there waiting for me. But I wasn’t sure how I could bear to stand there alone in the dark, waiting for her to show up. I could barely see anything farther than about fifteen feet away from me, and I was chillingly aware of just how many bad things lurked in the darkness.

  Still, it wasn’t like I had a choice anymore. And with dawn now less than an hour away, there was only so long Piper could keep me waiting.

  There was a semicircular stone bench in the plaza, and to all appearances it hadn’t been changed by the night. I briefly considered sitting down, then decided I didn’t trust appearances. Just because I didn’t see any changes, it didn’t mean the bench was harmless. I was probably too restless and nervous to sit anyway.

  I saw no sign of any living creature, but I knew I was not alone. The square was alive with sounds, all of which came from somewhere beyond my limited range of sight. Many of them were the metal-on-brick sound of constructs walking on the paths. I could tell from the pattern of sound that some of them walked on four feet and some on two, but though I occasionally caught a shadowed glimpse of movement in the distance, I never saw anything clearly.

  None of this did my nerves much good. Every time I heard a sound I jumped and whirled, wishing I could have a wall at my back so that there was at least one direction no one and nothing could sneak up on me from.

  Thanks to the arctic blasts of wind, I couldn’t feel my ears or my nose, and my cheeks were burning from the cold. I stamped my feet in a vain attempt to keep them from going numb, and I paced around the circle to stay as warm as humanly possible. I checked my watch approximately every thirty seconds, but, astoundingly, that didn’t make Piper show up any quicker. If I weren’t convinced that the various constructs in the square wouldn’t allow it, I might have chickened out and left.

  Finally, after what felt like forever, I heard a little click-click-click sound that was all too familiar: the sound of Billy’s metal hooves trotting along the pavement. I turned toward the sound, straining both eyes and ears for any sign of Piper. I thought I heard the quiet thump of a human footstep, but Billy’s clicks were too loud for me to be sure. I canted my body so whoever or whatever was approaching couldn’t see my right side, then carefully eased the gun out of my coat pocket. I kept my arm down so that my leg blocked the gun from sight, holding my breath and waiting. I was shivering from cold and nerves, and in my heart of hearts I still wasn’t sure I’d actually be able to go through with my plan.

  Billy, in his almost demonic night incarnation, was the first to appear out of the darkness. Memories flashed through my mind, memories I had managed to keep mostly suppressed because I was unable to face them. I heard the sickening crunch of my father’s bones as Billy rammed him, saw the blood that dripped off those horns and spines, felt the crushing sense of helplessness I’d suffered as I’d watched.

  My shaking hand rose of its own volition, and for a moment I wasn’t sure I was really present in my own body. My mind knew with perfect clarity that I should keep the gun hidden until Piper was close enough to shoot, that it was possible she’d flee if she realized what I was planning to do. My mind also knew that a bullet couldn’t hurt a magical construct made entirely of metal. But my body seemed to be a little fuzzy on the facts.

  I took aim at the goat, which came to a stop and just stood there staring at me, its head cocked to one side like a curious dog. My finger tightened on the trigger, and I’m pretty sure I’d have squeezed it all the way if Piper hadn’t made an appearance just then.

  She looked terrible, her clothing torn and dirty, her hair sticking out at all angles. There was a smear of darkened blood on the ratty peacoat she wore unbuttoned over ill-fitting camo pants. But for all the ugliness of her outward appearance, there was a healthy glow to her skin and she had obviously gained some weight, which looked good on her. She looked like a street person with an unusually healthy and plentiful diet.

  “I wouldn’t recommend shooting at Billy,” Piper said cheerfully. “Who knows where the bullet would end up after it bounced off?”

  Her words reminded me that it wasn’t Billy I was here to shoot. If it were, I wouldn’t be such an emotional wreck.

  I shifted my aim and willed myself to pull the trigger the moment I had Piper squarely in my sights. I knew that the more I thought about it, the less likely I was to go through with it.

  Piper’s eyebrows arched in surprise when I pointed the gun at her, but she didn’t look overly concerned. “It’ll be kind of hard for me to initiate you into the night if you shoot me. And it would be bad manners.”

  My hands shook and my aim wavered. All I had to do was pull that damn trigger and Luke and his family would be out of danger. I had brought that danger upon them, and it was my responsibility to save them from it.

  So why wasn’t I doing what I had to do?

  “Come on now, Becks,” Piper said. “We both know you’re not going to shoot me. You may have an inner bad girl just dying to come out, but she’s not that bad. My inner bad girl was much closer to the surface, and even I had to become one with the night before I could actually kill someone. So let’s cut the bullshit, okay? If you’re still pissed at me when you’re one of us, then you can go ahead and kill me. You won’t even feel bad about it.” She shrugged as if it hardly mattered to her.

  I knew better than to listen to her, and I especially knew better than to talk to her, but that didn’t stop me. “I thought it was going to be all unicorns and fairies after I changed,
so why would I still be pissed at you?”

  Piper laughed. “Unicorns and fairies? That’s not what I said, Becks. I said you would feel a whole lot better and that you’d stop hurting. Big difference. Believe me, you can still feel angry. I know, because I’m feeling just a bit irritated that you’re standing there holding a gun on me.” She grinned hugely. “But anger can be a real rush sometimes. The only thing that sucks about anger is having to keep it in because no one lets you express it. That’s what changes when you join the night. No one’s going to tell you you shouldn’t be angry or that you shouldn’t act on what you feel.”

  “And how would I do that, exactly? Join up, I mean.” Yes, I was stalling, still fighting to make myself do the right thing. But if I was going to stand there in a welter of indecision, I might as well see if I could get any information out of Piper. Maybe she would say something that could help others in Philadelphia avoid becoming like her.

  Piper crossed her arms over her chest. “Put down the gun, and I’ll show you. It doesn’t hurt or anything. I promise.”

  My arms were getting tired from holding the gun out in front of me, and my hands were going numb from the cold. If I aimed for Piper’s torso, I could probably hit her without having to try too hard, but I wasn’t any closer to pulling the trigger now than I had been when she’d first appeared.

  I had already failed, though I didn’t yet want to admit it to myself. My only chance had been to fire the moment Piper first came into view. Before I had a chance to think. Before I had a chance to see her, hear her, remember what she had once been. No matter how bitchy she was being now, no matter what my recent memories, I couldn’t forget the girl who was my best friend, and that meant I couldn’t shoot.

  Shuddering, I lowered the gun, though I wasn’t about to drop it as Piper had commanded. Maybe I didn’t have the guts to shoot her, but that didn’t mean I was going to join up, and I had a feeling she might object when she realized that.