Poor Martin.
Whether he believes us or not, the three of us are now closer than ever. Everton and I return to school, and we’re inseparable. Martin and Jez hang out with us at lunch and between classes, and on the weekends the four of us spend most of our time together, either studying at the library or visiting Mr. McGillies’s bottle garden. Between the three of us, Martin, Everton, and I fill Jez in on everything that happened, and it’s so, so nice not to be the only one to bear the burden of the truth.
Or the telling.
For the rest of the school year, every Saturday Martin and I collect bottles along the main street and donate the money to the men’s homeless shelter. We’ve donated about $75 now. It’s good to spend time with Martin, he’s so normal.
He tutors me right until the end of school, and I pass everything with a respectable B average. I even create a six-piece set of leak-free goblets in pottery class, which makes Chas ecstatic. I give them to my mother as an end-of-school gift from her eldest, and she seems to like them. I think she might even use them.
Apart from the abduction by an ancient fallen Spirit and a journey among the terrified dead of the Shade, grade nine really wasn’t that hard.
We all slip into summer and this year, I get a job. I hang out at Miles Motors so much with Everton that his brother ends up hiring us both. I wear a huge oil-covered jumpsuit (which I adore), and I learn how to change a flat tire, how to start a dead car battery, and how to top up the windshield wiper fluids. It’s fun and practical. Mom brings her car by a lot for some reason and sits and has coffee with Emerson while Everton and I top up her already full windshield wiper fluid bottle.
They seem to have a lot to say to each other. I hear a lot of laughter between them at the table in the front window of the store, and when I ask Everton about it he smiles and whispers, “Emerson isn’t that much younger than your mom.” Which is cryptic, until I get it and then think ohhhh! Then … Well, that might be okay actually.
As soon as school is over, Everton and I fly. Every night. We just fly. Sometimes Jez and Martin follow below on their bicycles, sometimes not. But soon they can’t keep up, since we go further and further from our little town, and one night Everton and I get halfway to the city before we stop. We sit on a huge hill looking toward the bright lights that seem so close.
“One day soon I’m going to live there,” I say. Everton is chewing a huge wad of gum. He smiles.
“I want to travel. There are Night Flying communities all over the world. What about flying in … Hawaii?” He snuggles a little closer and stops short of putting his arm around me. We’ll always be close. No matter what happens, as the only two teenage Night Flyers in town, we’ll be spending plenty of time together. A lifetime, probably.
The sky is pink in the east before I get home, tired but rejuvenated.
Soon it’ll be time for the Midsummer Party.
But before that happens, there’s one more important thing I have to do.
Forty-Two
I’m in the hospital waiting room perched on a hard plastic chair. It’s boiling outside, a hot summer day, and the air conditioning fan blasts cold air onto my head.
“Come on, Gwen,” Martin says. “His room is right there.” Martin has no idea why I’m stuck in the chair. I can’t move. “He wants to see you.”
After we collected bottles today, Martin dragged me here to see Mr. McGillies, and I couldn’t think of a lie fast enough to say no. He’s been back and forth between the shelter and the hospital for a while. I’ve lost track of how many times.
THINK, GWENDOLYN! What on earth are you going to say to the man who killed your father?
No, my reasonable voice says. He didn’t kill your father. The Shade did that.
Martin touches my arm.
“Are you okay?” he asks gently.
“I really don’t like hospitals. You go in first. I’ll go in after you.”
Every single part of me doesn’t want to be here. Suddenly all I can think of is springing out of the chair and lighting out for the territories. But I’m not Huckleberry Finn. People know me, understand me — even care for me.
What would my father want me to do? What could I possibly do to make him proud of me?
I stood up to Abilith the Rogue. I was all manner of monster, I survived the Shade, and I stood judge over a Rogue trial. What’s so scary about a little old man?
Other people walk by the hospital room. Nurses, orderlies, doctors, quiet families. Everyone else is here for quite sad reasons, too. I’m not the only one. I bite my nails and squirm around on the terrible chair in the freezing air. Martin comes out of Mr. McGillies’s room. “He’s awake. I told him you were here to see him.”
I take a deep breath and stand up. “I’ll come with you, Gwen.” Martin says. But I shake my head.
Then I go into Mr. McGillies’s hospital room alone.
Life is never what you expect.
Mr. McGillies is so tiny in the enormous hospital bed. As soon as the door shushes closed behind me, I walk over and take his tiny brown hand. I don’t even hesitate, although I was expecting to stand by the door and stare.
Funny, that’s not what happens.
I hold his small, warm hand and look down at his shrunken face. He’s all yellow. He was never yellow. Machines are all around him beeping and shushing quietly, and there’s a gentle thump-thumping that sounds like a little bird heartbeat. I guess it’s his.
His eyes are closed. Just like him to make me speak first. I clear my throat.
“Mr. McGillies. It’s me, Gwendolyn Golden.” He doesn’t move or seem to hear me, but he never shows much emotion when I talk to him on the street. Why would now be any different? Although this being my first sickbed moment, I can’t say how people would behave.
Drip.
“I know my dad died saving you, Mr. McGillies.” It just tumbles out. Wow. It wasn’t even all that hard.
Drip.
“My mom deserved a husband. I deserved a dad. My little brother and sister did too,” I say. At the mention of C2, my voice trembles. But this time the faucet doesn’t burst. Sure the faucet drips, but just a little.
“But it’s not your fault. It was never your fault. I’m proud that my dad tried to save you. I want you to know that I know the truth, that’s all.”
There’s no reaction from him that I can see, which is making me a bit uncomfortable. I wait a few moments, but there’s no answer, although it’s possible that the gentle thump-thump of his heartbeat goes a tiny bit faster. I try to think of something else to say.
“Um, Martin is still collecting bottles for you every Saturday and donating the money to the men’s shelter. He probably told you that. I help him sometimes. And, um … I hear that you taught art to kids and were a chess champion. Maybe when you get out of here, you can teach me chess? Your bottle garden is really nice. We go there a lot. I hope you can see it soon. It’s pretty when the moonlight shines on it in the winter, but it’s nice in the summer moonlight, too.”
I watch his yellowed face a moment longer, but there’s still no answer.
“Goodbye, Mr. McGillies.” As I turn to leave, his brown eyes pop open.
“Gwendolyn.” It’s hard for him to talk. His voice sounds as hot and dry as sand, so I lean in a little.
“Yes, Mr. McGillies?”
“Why were you watching me all summer?”
I’m surprised he knows this. “Maybe I was looking out for you, Mr. McGillies,” I say, and it’s partly true.
“Like your dad,” he says. I gulp and nod.
He lies still and keeps his eyes closed, then he draws a deep breath.
“I was his Watcher, too.”
“Oh!” I’ve never thought about this before. I guess my dad would have had a Watcher, like me. I’m suddenly warmed by the thought of Mr. McGillies pushing his bot
tle cart around town watching after my Night Flyer dad when he was young, then doing the same thing for me years later. Mr. McGillies could probably tell me a lot of stories about my dad.
“Your dad took better care of me than I did of him, though.” Mr. McGillies sounds a little sad.
“No, that’s not true! You saved his daughter. You saved me from the Shade last year, Mr. McGillies. I think my dad would thank you for that, don’t you?”
He finally looks at me with those big, brown eyes, and then he smiles. Same old smile.
“Missy … needs a new Watcher,” he says, then falls back exhausted. He can’t speak anymore, he’s too tired.
“I don’t want a new Watcher,” I say.
Drip. Drip. I really have to get out of here.
“Goodbye, get better soon.” And I walk out of there as fast as I can.
Tears blur my vision, but there’s nothing wrong with my hearing. As I walk through the door a tiny, birdlike voice croaks, “Don’t fly away now, missy!”
Forty-Three
A few days later, it’s midsummer, and I turn fifteen.
We have a surprisingly large birthday party out at Mr. McGillies’s bottle garden, which has now become a proper picnic spot for the town. Since the old cabin burned down, Bass Creek has taken an interest in the place and bought an acre of field from the farmer. It turns out that Mr. McGillies never actually owned the land he built his cabin on, but the farmer didn’t have the heart to evict him.
Now as well as the bottle garden, there are regular picnic tables, flowers in planters, and permanent barbecues, and families go to have picnic dinners and catch a breeze over the field. The farmer put up a hay bale maze for the kids, and the town is talking about building a wading pool. We need more fun in this town, so I applaud it. There are bottle donation bins, and every week they’re emptied and the money goes to the local men’s shelter.
My mom, C2, and I go out early and decorate the cornfield with a banner that says “Happy 15th GG,” and I get the barbecue going with a little help from Everton, who has shown up early. Mr. and Mrs. Forest arrive carrying a huge white cake with a marzipan angel just like last year, and Jez and Martin struggle out of the back of their car with plates and cups and party napkins.
Miss Moreau and Mr. Tupperman show up together, and they bring a badminton set and everyone takes turns losing the birdies in the cornfield. The nice people who run the men’s shelter come too, since I’ve gotten to know them pretty well from dropping off a donation every Saturday. I invited Jeffrey Parks when I saw him on the street a few days earlier, and he shows up with his uncle Adam, who outside his office is just a big, goofy happy guy, and they stay long enough to sing “Happy Birthday” and have some cake, then they’re going camping for the rest of the summer.
We barbecue hot dogs, play badminton, walk the hay bale maze, and I sit alone for a while by the arch and watch my friends having fun, Night Flyers and non-Night-Flyers together, and I know this is my community, all of them.
Mr. McGillies isn’t getting better, but he’s not worse either and one day soon Martin, Everton, and I are going to bring him here in Everton’s car and let him sit in his wheelchair and look at what all those years of collecting bottles actually accomplished. I look out at the trees, and although I can’t be sure, there may be a rustle of white feathers for a moment, and a gentle whisper of Gwendolyn in a voice I don’t mind at all.
Abilith is gone.
So is my dad, but I’ll always love him, and it’s okay to think about him whenever I want. So I do. And it’s mostly just happy little kid memories. At least I haven’t tripped over a sad one yet. I even start sharing some of my memories of him with my little brother and sister. They can’t get enough.
I watch my friends and family eat cake and play badminton. Everton and Martin are trying to teach Mrs. Forest how to play, and I can’t help but smile. The late afternoon sun shines on us, the new corn is growing high, and the bottles ring in the garden.
The big surprise for my birthday is my OWN phone. Jez helps me set it up, and the first text I get is from Everton, who is standing alone in the bottle archway.
It says, You were a beautiful dragon.
Forty-Four
After my birthday party, it’s time for the Night Flyer Midsummer party.
It’s 12:03, and I wait by my open bedroom window. I’m fiddling with my own golden feather, the one from my box-book under the bed, the one all Night Flyers take to the party.
I’m dressed all in white, just like last year. Everton shows up a few minutes later, and we drift gently out of town. It’s a gorgeous night, and I have to say that Everton looks quite nice in a white tuxedo (bit of overkill though, maybe). This year I have no trouble flying all the way to the forest where the Spirit Flyers will meet us, and as I drift along I think how different my first trip to the Midsummer party was. On this night last year, I had to keep stopping to rest and float on my back, and Mrs. Forest let me play in the corn when I needed a break.
I don’t need a break this year. Instead, we just float and soon enough we get to the huge, ancient trees and slowly float into the forest.
When we arrive at the clearing where I stood judge at a Rogue Trial not so long ago, all the Night Flyers from last year’s party are gathered: ancient Gramelda Insted, Chan, Rajiv, Dean and Drew Evershot and their daughter Diana, Sofie and Sarah, Mrs. Forest, Emerson, Everton, and me.
Except this year there are a few additions I wasn’t expecting.
Once Everton and I touch down and say hello to everyone, two Spirit Flyers lead five people gently into the ring. They’re blindfolded.
My mother removes her blindfold first, and then Christine and Christopher remove theirs. They come and give me a hug. Earlier tonight my mother and I told C2 the truth about me. They took it surprisingly well. They didn’t even ask any questions. I’m glad they finally know I’m a Night Flyer. It’s been hard to hide it, and I’m all about the truth these days. Jez and Martin take their blindfolds off too and look a little bewildered and shy. I guess I can see why. Spirit Flyers are tall and winged and brilliant white, and well … they’re spirits.
When we’re all arranged in a circle, the head Spirit Flyer begins.
Tonight is a very special time for us. We rejoice, we celebrate, and we also welcome Gwendolyn Golden, who has had one year to choose if she will become a Night Flyer for life, or if she will choose to be earthbound forever. There are wise reasons to choose either path.
The Spirit Flyer turns to Martin, Jez, and my family.
As Gwendolyn’s best friends and her family members, you have been invited to this sacred event, and we welcome you. First, we must allow Gwendolyn Golden to give us her answer. Please step forth.
I step into the middle of the circle, my heart pounding. I have tried very, very hard not to think about this moment. I know my mother would be happy if I decided to give up Night Flying. It scares her, and it should. She has already lost one loved one to the Shade, and it’s not an easy life. You’re always on the brink of being discovered. Not so long ago, I would have been burned at the stake. Plus, there are real dangers out there waiting for you.
I look over at my family, and my mom looks like she’d like to cry, but my brother and sister are both grinning at me. Jez and Martin, my non-flying friends, both look a little overwhelmed, to be honest. I look at Mrs. Forest , who is as happily married as anyone I ever met, and Mr. Forest isn’t a Night Flyer. Then I look at the rest of the people in the ring and stop at Everton.
Gwendolyn Golden, you must give us your decision.
The warm evening brushes past my cheek, and I look up at the stars.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I want to fly.”
There’s a gentle cheer and everyone comes over to hug me, even my mother, who holds me for a long time. The Spirit Flyers watch us for a while. I thin
k one of them is the Spirit Flyer who danced with me in the cornfield at the Midsummer Party last year, since he seems especially happy, but it’s hard to tell. They all seem happy, to be honest, even if I am a descendant of one of their disgraced Rogues. They seem to genuinely care that I have joined them, that I will be a Night Flyer for the rest of my life. We all stand and talk for a few minutes. I’m so relieved that my decision is made now. I don’t have to worry about it anymore.
But my night of decisions is not over. Soon the lead Spirit Flyer steps forward again.
Gwendolyn Golden, there is one more choice you must make.
We all stop and look at him. I notice that Martin, Jez, and my mom can’t look at him very easily. They keep shielding their eyes or turning their heads a little like you would at a bright light, but my little brother and sister stare at him with fascination.
With great sadness, your faithful Watcher, McGovern Everett McGillies the Third, has relinquished his sacred trust as your Watcher due to his illness. All Night Flyers require a Watcher, so you must now choose another to take this special job. Who here will be this Night Flyer’s Watcher?
The Spirit Flyer says this to the group and without hesitation, Everton steps up.
“I will. I’ll be her Watcher.”
I’m so surprised, I try to think of something to say. But I don’t have to.
“I will. I’ll be her Watcher, too.” It’s Martin. He steps forward, and for a horrible moment I hope that the Spirit Flyers don’t have some weird ancient duel planned for cases like this. But before I can worry too much a third voice says, “I will. I’ll be Gwen’s Watcher.”
And this time it’s Jez, my dearest, oldest friend.
Everton Miles Is Stranger Than Me Page 15