Dess stared at the device, suddenly thirsty, her right thumbnail between her teeth. The only problem was how to borrow it. The thing wouldn’t work in the secret hour—even if Jessica’s flame-bringer voodoo sparked it up, a lone GPS receiver was worthless without those twenty-four satellites pinging away up in space. Dess would have to use it in normal time.
Which would be tricky, unless she just…
Dess swallowed. Certainly her father hadn’t bought this. He wouldn’t spend good beer money on a toy. He was a foreman now; the company must have just given it to him. He probably wasn’t even using it. Dad hated all forms of fancy technology unrelated to football instant replays.
She looked down at the glowing numbers again.
“Pretty…” she whispered. And damn it if geostationary wasn’t a tridecalogism, thirteen letters exactly!
At worst, she’d have to hide the GPS carefully and listen to the old grouch rant and rave and turn the house upside down for a few hours. Like that didn’t happen every time he lost his car keys.
No sense sitting here in the dark, Dess decided. She already knew what she was going to do. Her dreams had shown her what she needed.
But Dess paused a moment at that thought. Why had she dreamed about the Global Positioning System when her awake mind hadn’t had any idea that her father owned one of these things? That was something to consider.
In the meantime, though…
She closed her hand around the device and whispered, “Mine.”
4
9:45 a.m.
CORIOLIS FORCE
“Morning, Beth.”
“What’s so good about it?”
Jessica turned to face her little sister, who was holding a piece of wheat bread in her hand.
“I didn’t actually say ‘good morning,’ Beth. Just ‘morning.’ So I don’t have to explain why it’s good.”
Beth stared up at Jessica through narrowed eyes, her little brain racing as she took a sip of orange juice. “I didn’t say you said it was good. I was just asking a simple question.”
“That is so lame. Dad, tell Beth that’s lame.”
“Girls,” Jessica’s father murmured in an abstractly threatening way, not bothering to look up from his newspaper.
“He can’t help you, Jess. He’s not actually hearing what we say,” Beth explained. “He only reacts to our tone of voice. Sort of like a dog.”
“I heard that,” Don Day said, giving Beth an actually threatening look. She hid behind her orange juice again.
Mom breezed in dressed for work, which was usual for Sunday mornings these days. Her new job at Aerospace Oklahoma was what had brought them all to Bixby.
“Morning, Mom. Want anything to eat?” Jessica turned to pop the bread into the toaster.
“Hey, guys. No thanks, Jess. We’re having breakfast at the meeting.”
“So when does your new job become an old job, Mom? And you get to stay home on the weekends?” Beth asked.
Jessica turned around and saw that her father was also waiting for an answer.
Her mother looked at the three of them and sighed. “I don’t know. Today’s my fault, though. I volunteered to be on this committee about the new runway.”
“Never volunteer,” Dad said, his eyes dropping back to his newspaper.
Jessica’s mother glanced at him in that new way that had evolved over the last few weeks, a cold look that probably had something to do with the fact that he didn’t have a job here yet. Waiting up late for the secret hour, Jessica had heard them arguing about him taking temporary noncomputer work to make some extra money and to get him out of the house.
Donald Day didn’t see the look, though. He never did.
“I saw a dust devil last night,” Jessica said, trying to break the tension.
“Last night?” Beth asked sweetly.
Jessica looked down, buttering her toast. “Night before last, I mean. On the way home from school. It was really big, like a hundred feet tall.”
“This is tornado country,” Dad said, his paper rustling as he looked up. “It’s because of the Coriolis force. I saw this thing on the Weather Channel—”
Beth groaned. “Not the Weather Channel again.”
Jessica stuffed toast into her mouth. Unemployment had caused her father to become addicted to some strange activities.
“What’s wrong with the Weather Channel?” he asked.
“Two words, Dad: weather… channel.”
He ignored her. “Anyway, the Coriolis force is caused by the earth rotating under us, leaving the air behind. It makes the wind blow harder in flat places like Oklahoma; there’s nothing to stop it.”
Jessica blinked. “Actually, that makes sense.” Maybe that was why wind didn’t blow in the secret hour: the earth had stopped spinning beneath Bixby.
Beth was staring at her, annoyed that Jessica was showing any interest. She just assumed her big sister was sucking up. “Yeah, Jess, like we never had any wind back in Chicago.”
The phone rang. Before Jessica could move an inch, Beth had spun around in her chair and reached up to answer it.
“Is that for me?” Mom looked at her watch and pulled a leather bag onto her shoulder, turning away from the fresh coffee she’d started.
“No, it’s for Jessica.” Beth held out the phone sweetly. “Someone called Hank?”
Jessica managed a thin smile. “Hank” was Jonathan’s code name when he called her house. Jessica was pretty sure Beth didn’t know this yet, but her little sister always acted like she knew something, just on principle.
“I’ll take it in the hall. Bye, Mom.”
Jessica didn’t say anything until she heard the reassuring click that meant Beth was off the line.
“Hello?”
Jonathan’s voice was ragged, like he was coming down with a cold, but it was good to hear him. He told her what had happened the night before, about the man driving away right after the secret hour ended. Then the big news: he’d been taking pictures at the exact moment of midnight.
“So, he knows,” she said softly. “He has to.”
There was a pause. “I guess so.”
“Okay, I’ll go tell Rex about it today.” Jessica sighed. She could let her father believe that she was going to Rex’s to study, although it would probably count as her one event per week of ungroundedness. Of course, anything was better than being stuck in the house all day with Beth, who still seemed to have found no friends here yet and envied her older sister for the ones she had.
“I’ll go with you,” Jonathan said.
“Really?” she exclaimed, but her happiness faded quickly The fact that Jonathan was willing to put up with Rex Greene’s company just showed how serious the situation was.
Jessica Day had human enemies now.
“Believe me,” Jonathan said, “you don’t want to go to Rex’s alone.”
“That’s comforting.”
“You know where he lives?”
She didn’t. Now that she thought of it, Jessica had never been to any of the other midnighters’ houses, not even Jonathan’s. Between the lethal dangers of the secret hour and the inconvenience of being grounded, there hadn’t been time for just hanging out. Normal life was still on hold—frozen.
Jonathan gave her the address and they agreed to meet in an hour.
As Jessica put the phone down, she glanced down the hall at the front door window. The day looked bright and cold. She shivered, realizing that the man might be out there at this very moment. At least when darklings had been stalking her, she’d had twenty-four hours of safety every day. But now the daylight had been invaded.
She’d only felt secure here in Bixby for one week before everything had changed again. Now it was back to danger mode.
From the kitchen she heard her sister’s voice. “Face it, Dad. There’s no Coriolis force. Oklahoma just blows.”
5
10:51 a.m.
ICE-CREAM SOCIAL
Jessica stopped her bi
ke and stared at Rex Greene’s house, which sat forlornly on the street, crowded by newer homes on either side, the front lawn reduced to dying patches of brown.
The place looked empty, as if it had been abandoned for years. But Rex’s father had answered the phone an hour before. He’d said that Rex was there and then hung up, not bothering to get him. From the other midnighters Jessica had gotten the impression that something was wrong with the old man, but no one had ever said exactly what.
She looked at her watch, still an hour fast from keeping time during the secret hour, and wished that Jonathan would show up already. She didn’t want to face the weirdness of Rex’s father alone.
“Jessica!”
She jumped, whirling to face the sound before realizing who it was.
“Man, Jonathan. You scared me.”
He emerged from behind the aging oak that cast an ominous shadow across most of the front yard. “Sorry.”
His voice was very scratchy. “I was kind of… hiding, in case your dad drove you. I didn’t want him to see me.”
Jessica rolled her eyes. “Not that he knows what you look like. Anyway, ever since he and Mom decided that I was only mostly grounded, he hasn’t been as paranoid.” Although as predicted, Dad had counted this visit as Jessica’s weekly get-out-of-jail-free card. She hoped that her mother would overturn the ruling after work tonight if she wasn’t too exhausted.
Jessica walked her bike up to the sagging front porch and began to lock it to the iron rail.
“You don’t really have to do that here,” Jonathan said.
Jessica threaded the chain through her spokes and snapped it shut. “Humor me. Big-city habits die hard. Besides, I like to have Anfractuously around.”
“ ‘Anfractuously’? That’s your bike lock’s name?”
“Thirteen letters. And because you’re about to ask, it means ‘snakily.’ ”
Jonathan blinked. “ ‘Snakily’? Did Dess come up with that?”
“Who else?” She clicked the lock into place. The way its metal links coiled through the frame of her bike did kind of remind her of a snake.
When she turned back to Jonathan, he stepped forward and gathered her into a long hug. She pressed against him, enjoying the warm solidity of his body. In the midnight hour Jonathan felt so slight, almost fragile in his weightlessness, as if he weren’t really there. Midnight might allow them to fly, but in some ways it cheated her of Jonathan’s substance.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“Sure. Not much sleep. How about you? You sound like you’re getting sick.”
He shrugged. “Forgot to bring a jacket last night. It was a cold walk home.”
“Oh my God.” She looked up at him. “I forgot…” She hadn’t thought of Jonathan walking home—she never imagined him walking anywhere. “But it was freezing last night.”
He smiled and croaked, “Tell me about it.”
Jessica stared at the ground. She’d been afraid, but at least she’d been warm and inside. It was miles back to his house. She looked up into his brown eyes and said quietly, “You know, you could have come—”
The front screen door was wrenched open with a shrieking of rusty springs.
“Where are they? You seen them anywhere?”
They both turned to face the clamor. Emerging from the dilapidated house was an old man, his face weather-lined and unshaven. Hands shaking wildly, he spread his fingers and stared down at the porch, grasping at something invisible.
“They got away!”
“I’m sorry” Jessica spoke up. “Um, who did?”
“My babies.”
His eyes swept up to her, squinting through a film of milky white. A look of confusion overtook his panicked expression, and a bright line of drool on his chin sparkled in the sunlight. Tufts of white beard poked out along his wrinkles, as if his razor couldn’t reach into the crevasses of his ancient face.
“It’s okay, Dad, I’ll find them.”
Through the screen door, Jessica saw Rex’s pale bespectacled face come into focus. The rusty springs screeched again as he reached out to take his father’s shoulder firmly.
“You just sit down in here and we’ll look for them.”
Rex pulled his father in through the door, the old man’s words reduced to mutterings at his touch. The screen door swung closed behind them, bouncing to a stop in a series of claps against its frame.
Jessica reached out and squeezed Jonathan’s hand. “Did I say thanks for coming, by the way?”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he croaked.
Footsteps returned, and Jonathan dropped her hand.
“Was it you guys who called earlier?” Rex opened the door and stepped out, squinting in the sunlight. He waved them over to a trio of lawn chairs at the far end of the porch. He was dressed in the same uniform he wore every day to school: dark pants and a collared shirt so black that his pale face had seemed to hover in the air behind the screen door. His heavy boots clumped along the porch, the metal chains around the ankles jingling and flickering in the sun. He’d told Jessica the anklets’ names a few days before—tridecalogisms like Conscientious and Dependability.
“Yeah, that was me.” The wooden steps bowed slightly under Jessica’s feet as she climbed up onto the porch. She noticed that Jonathan waited until she was all the way up before following, not wanting to test the old planks with their combined weight. He seemed to be limping. What had happened to him on the way home last night?
“Sorry about my secretary,” Rex said dryly. “He’s a bit distracted lately.”
“Uh, sure. But he told me you were home. So we came over.”
Rex took off his glasses, looking into Jessica’s eyes with an intensity that made her look away. Without the glasses, she knew, the world was a blur to Rex in normal time. But the faces of other midnighters were different: he could see them perfectly, daylight or midnight.
“I thought you were still grounded,” he said.
“Yeah, but I can see friends once a week.”
Rex sat down and then glanced at Jonathan. “I’m honored.”
Jessica eased herself carefully into a lawn chair, half expecting it to collapse. Its aluminum frame was cold even through her wool skirt, and the arms were sandpapery with brown rust.
“Something happened,” Rex said simply. He knew they hadn’t come by for a chat.
Jessica looked up at the window next to their heads. It was open, chill gusts sucking the loose mosquito screen in and out as though it were some living membrane.
“Don’t worry about him,” Rex said, smiling faintly. I keep no secrets from Dad.”
“We saw something last night,” Jonathan said. He gave the word night the subtle emphasis they all used when they meant the secret hour.
Rex nodded sagely. “Animal, vegetable, or darkling?”
“Human,” Jessica said. “Frozen across the street from my house, pointing a camera at my window.”
Rex frowned, boots scraping along the porch as he drew himself up smaller in the lawn chair. Suddenly he looked the way he did at school: nervous and indecisive. His swagger only appeared in the secret hour or when midnighter business was being discussed. The mention of an ordinary human had deflated him.
“Like a stalker?”
“Nothing that normal,” Jonathan said.
Jessica glanced at him sidelong. Stalkers were normal now?
“I watched him after the hour ended,” he continued. “The guy was taking pictures exactly at midnight. He had one of those cameras that…” He held up an invisible camera in his hands and sucked his teeth, making a series of hissing noises. “You know, takes a lot of pictures in a row. I think he was trying to see if anything… changed at midnight.”
“You exposed the film, right?”
“Um…” Jonathan and Jessica looked at each other.
“No?” Rex smiled, put his glasses back on, and tipped back in his chair, as though on familiar ground again. “Well, it’s no big de
al. The pictures might reveal a shift at midnight. I mean, you probably moved your curtains during the secret hour.” He shrugged. “People tried something called “spirit photography” back in the early 1900s. Especially here in Bixby. But it doesn’t really show anything.”
“How can you act like this is no big deal?” Jessica cried. “The guy obviously knows about midnight!”
Rex nodded, rocking his chair slowly. “It’s not unprecedented.”
“What do you mean?”
He stood, clumping to the screen door and opening it with a screech.
“Let me show you something.”
Even with all the windows open, the house had a smell. More than one, in fact. There was old-person smell, like the rest home outside Chicago where Jessica’s grandmother was quietly growing senile. And there was also the distinctive scent of spent cigarettes marinating in water-filled ashtrays. “It’s a safety thing,” Rex said when she raised her eyebrows at a bowl of soggy, disintegrating stogies. “Dad isn’t very good at putting his butts out. The water helps.”
Under everything else was the insistent smell of cat piss. A big tom splayed across a well-clawed couch watched them pass, managing to look bored, annoyed, and regal at the same time.
Rex’s father was stationed in a big wing-backed chair, his eyes locked on an empty aquarium with scratched glass sides.
“Where are they?” he asked feebly as Jessica tiptoed past.
“We’ll find them,” Rex called. “They must be around here somewhere.”
“What?” she whispered as they turned into a dark hallway. “His fish?”
Without looking back at her, Rex shook his head. “No, his spiders.”
She glanced at Jonathan, who shrugged.
Rex’s room was at the end of the hall and had a different smell from the rest of the house. The mustiness here was of old books and museum exhibits. Piles of notebooks and unbound paper were arranged precariously in towers, and rows of books covered every wall. One bookshelf blocked the room’s sole window—it certainly seemed as if Rex was more afraid of the light than the dark.
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