“Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” He struggled up and looked at the snowy gazebo before he turned back to his sister. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised it goes to the neighboring yard.”
“Where did you think it would go—Narnia?” she asked, smiling. “C’mon, let’s go inside.”
IF I WERE BAD, WHAT would I do? Bruno opened his computer and searched for the world’s biggest bank. Then he took a piece of paper, drew a large box, and labeled it Bruno’s Room. Next, a smaller adjoining box he designated as his closet. Adjoining the back wall of his closet, Bruno drew a second small box, which he labeled Vault, and then a larger box on the far side, in which he wrote BNP Paribas.
Is this the type of thing that would turn me Unkind? Bruno figured if he had to ask, he knew the answer. He crumpled up the paper and threw it away.
What about someplace just to look? Bruno was itching to use his powers again. The discovery at the Fourads’ had happened so quickly, he almost wondered whether it really had happened. He didn’t want to go back to Suburban, though. There must be something more exciting to do.
He took another piece of paper and redrew his room and his closet, then added a small box against the back of the closet. This time Bruno wrote Coatroom in it, and Louvre on the far side. Then he broke the line from closet to coatroom.
“I’m just going to look,” he said softly, opening his closet door.
Bruno pushed through his clothes and felt a tangle of empty metal hangers, some of which clattered to the floor. He stepped through them and caught a whiff of new air. Is this what France smells like? The coatroom was larger than he expected, and almost completely dark. He saw a faint light from a long window with a countertop on the far side of the room and made his way toward it.
He stopped for a moment, wondering what time it was. He hadn’t thought about how many hours’ difference it was between France and the United States. Just because it was night at his house didn’t mean it was still night in Paris. But everything was quiet and still, so he figured it must be early morning. It would have been bad if he had shown up after the museum staff arrived.
As Bruno reached the counter, a beam of light swept across the far wall of the hallway outside the coatroom. “Qui est là?” a voice said, and without knowing what that meant, Bruno could tell the man who had said it was afraid.
Before Bruno could react, the man came into view and swung the flashlight directly into Bruno’s eyes. Then there was yelling from both of them, and Bruno was charging back through the coatroom, knocking more hangers to the floor on the way back to his closet.
He closed the door behind him, returned to his desk, and redrew the line to close the French connection. Then he tried to stop grinning.
Fifteen minutes later, Bruno took his pencil and started over once again. Large box, small box, small box, large. This time Bruno wrote Celia’s Bedroom in the larger box.
He knew nothing good could possibly come of it. It was bad enough that he had lurked in her backyard, hoping to see her in her bedroom window, and never told her. He would not do this. He would rob a bank before he did this.
Bruno went to his closet door and put his hand on the knob, then stood, unmoving, for a minute. His body felt light, ready to flee again. He imagined the darkness behind the door, the press of his clothes against his face, then the press of her clothes. What if she opened her closet door and caught him there? What if she was undressed? What if she wasn’t alone?
He turned the knob, knowing it was wrong.
He opened the door just a crack. Nothing but blackness in the small space, and the faint sound of music. Bruno pushed his head into the closet, pulling the door as far closed as he could, as if that would somehow prevent the rest of his body from following. And there it was: the mysterious song he hadn’t heard since before school. Bruno stepped into the closet and pulled the door closed behind him.
Her closet door must have been ajar; he could see a sliver of light beyond the bar filled with his clothes. He didn’t need to go any farther; he could hear the song well enough now, and the lyrics felt like the sound track of his life.
Bruno retreated. Closing his closet door, he returned to his desk and tore up the map to Celia’s bedroom. He went to his computer, and in a moment he had the answer: “Song to the Siren.” The first version he found was sung by a man, but soon enough he found This Mortal Coil. A mystery he had stopped trying to solve was suddenly laid bare, and it stirred up the ache in him. He wondered if he was any better off now.
14
a time for fear (who’s afraid?)
ON THE FIRST DAY back to school after the break, Bruno considered the janitor’s closet across from his locker with new eyes. He hadn’t tried his new power again since the night he had gone to Paris and Celia’s bedroom closet. But he had thought about it plenty. He supposed he would never have to pay for a plane ticket if he traveled alone. But for now, his powers seemed best suited to stealing, or violating someone’s privacy. What was he supposed to make of that? Was this strange new universe of the Kind trying to turn him into a jewel thief, or a spy? He closed his locker and looked down the hall as the rest of the students filtered into their homerooms.
Mariette stood at the far end, where the science wing adjoined the first year hall. She was looking at him, but like always, she was far enough away that he couldn’t see her face clearly. She held up a piece of paper, and he thought she was beckoning to him. The bell rang, and Bruno crossed the hall to his homeroom.
Later that morning Bruno stopped by the library. Over the break Lois had had a gate installed at the mouth of the main aisle into the stacks. It wasn’t really going to stop anyone; it was only four feet high, with a gap underneath like a saloon door, on a hinge with a spring so it swung back into place. There was no lock on it, but a sign read ONLY LIBRARY STAFF PAST THIS POINT. “I didn’t know what else to do,” she told him. “It’s not like I can wall it off, but at least this way if someone else gets lost, I can say, ‘I told you so.’”
“I think it’s good,” he said.
In her office, she said, “First, I should tell you that I haven’t been able to find You Are Here again; it really did disappear.”
“I thought so.”
“I spent some time over the break going through some old books I have, which include some legends about the Kind. I never really took them very seriously; most of them are compendia of weird tales written back in the fifties and sixties, and the chapters on the Kind are next to stories about sea monsters and ectoplasm, so it’s hard to tell how reliable the information is. But there are a few bits about Ambassadors. They receive only limited power themselves, but they make it easier for the Kind to coexist with everyone else, partially by keeping their secrets and partially by making connections that members of the Kind may not perceive themselves.”
“Yes, exactly. Celia’s done that for me,” Bruno said.
“And Ambassadors are harbingers—they can glimpse the future and give the Kind vital information that helps them with their admonitions. Has Celia ever done that?”
Bruno thought of Cassandra, who demonstrated that power almost every time she opened her mouth. “I don’t know. She hasn’t for me.”
“And, if the Kind become too involved with an Ambassador, the Ambassador may drain their power away. Wait”—Lois saw Bruno’s irritation—“hear me out. Last year Celia was best friends with a girl who was Kind, and that girl died under mysterious circumstances. Celia says an Unkind killed her, but no one else was there. Do you understand why I’m concerned?”
“What about Tomasi? He trusts her.”
“Not everyone obeys the rules. Bruno, I’m trying to look at this fairly. I don’t want to just open the floodgates and risk making myself vulnerable to someone who, as well intentioned as she may be, might hurt me, or hurt someone I care about.”
“But her drawing stripped Van of his memory and his powers. And her drawing healed me!”
“It seems like t
hey did, doesn’t it?”
“Would you just talk to her, please? She’s done so much for me—more than you have!” Bruno stopped when he noticed Lois’s eyes had grown watery. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s just, everything that’s happening at Suburban—finding out there are other Kind and Unkind here, and something so severe happened last year that a student was killed . . . that the Ebentwine seems to have removed the back wall of the library, and is messing with my head and now everyone else’s—it all makes me pretty sure something big is happening here. Something much bigger than anything I’ve ever known. And honestly, it scares the hell out of me. And if that figure, the one who abducted Van, shows up here, there’ll be no doubt.”
“I think you’re right,” Bruno said gently. “But we’re here to do something about it. We have to be ready for it, whatever it is. Celia can help us.”
“I’ve been looking for another job,” Lois said. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
“What? You’re leaving?”
“I haven’t found anything yet. But you need someone braver than I am. Someone stronger.”
“If you leave, it’s not like the next librarian is guaranteed to be Kind, too! Do you think they’ll interview candidates about their library science degrees and oh, by the way, are you Kind, and have you ever dealt with Unkind and Ambassadors?” Bruno knew he was being harsh. He couldn’t tell whether he felt more betrayed by Lois or sad for her.
“I know! I didn’t want to tell you because I knew you’d be angry. But I’m in over my head here.”
“You think I’m not?”
“I’m sorry . . . Can we just leave things as they are for the moment? I need to think about all this.”
“Okay.”
He lagged in the hall on his way to class, trying to come up with anything that might make it easier for Lois. He’d probably taught her more than he’d learned from her, but he didn’t want to see her go. Bruno turned a corner and found Gwendolyn, acting as if she hadn’t been waiting there for him. It was no longer a surprise to see her dressed all in black, a black ribbon on her ponytail. “Hi, Bruno! Where are you headed?” He almost wished she would go back to looking lost all the time.
AT LUNCH CELIA ASKED, “How do you like your new powers? Have you used them again?”
Bruno thought of the song floating to him through her bedroom closet. “I haven’t figured out how to use them in a useful way.”
“I guess so. You have to be on the lookout for your next admonition, too. You haven’t received it yet?”
“No.”
“It can come anywhere, at any time. I don’t think you’ll have to wait too long; the moment you get new powers, the process starts all over. I’m concerned about that mysterious floating person again. Something bad is happening, and we have to stop it. I mean, I don’t know who else could.”
“How do we do that?”
“I have no idea. The worst part is, Van probably knew all kinds of things that could have helped us, but between me erasing his memory of you and then whoever-it-is erasing the rest of it, there’s no way he could help us now, even if we convinced him he should.”
“Probably,” Bruno agreed.
“Tell me everything he told you.”
“He said he was new to being Unkind. He had just found out about all of it at the beginning of the school year, like I did. And he said there’s someone else at Suburban, another Unkind who was helping him, the way you and Lois have been helping me.”
“So we have an Unkind hiding at Suburban, and you’ve seen a map with a skull in the technology wing,” Celia said. “I can’t help but feel like those two things are connected.”
“I thought the skull meant someone was going to die there. You think someone in the technology wing is the killer?”
“I don’t know. But I would like to figure it out before it’s too late,” Celia said. The bell rang. “If you think of anything, let me know.”
THE NEXT MORNING IN THE parking lot, Bruno was saying hello to Celia and Marco when Regine brushed by. She locked eyes with Bruno for a second and spat out, “What’s wrong with your brother?” Then she stalked off toward the building, not waiting for anyone to follow her.
“Sorry?” Bruno asked, but she didn’t turn back.
“What’s going on?” Marco asked. “I could tell something was wrong in the car.”
“I asked her before we got to your house,” Celia added. “But she didn’t want to talk.”
“Do you know—” Marco started to ask Bruno, but then Sylvio was rushing away, too, and Marco put the pieces together. “Oh, God—they broke up.”
“I bet you’re right.” Celia watched Sylvio go. “He didn’t say anything to you?” she asked Bruno.
“No, but I think it happened last night. I heard him on the phone, and it sounded like a fight.”
“Great.” Marco sighed. “This is going to be fun.”
“It’s a shame,” Celia mused. “I thought they were a good couple. I wonder what happened?”
“Two proud, insecure people? It could be anything. It could be nothing.”
Bruno was struck by Marco’s assessment. It was sad to realize other people could see Sylvio’s faults that easily.
“ARE YOU OKAY?” Bruno asked his brother when he saw him later in the hall.
“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Sure. It’s none of my business.”
Sylvio scowled at the floor. “I’m sure Celia and Marco will take her side.”
“I don’t think they will, actually,” Bruno replied. “Especially if they don’t know what happened.”
“Regine will tell them.”
“What will she tell them?”
“That I broke up with her!”
“Did she do anything wrong?”
“No—I mean . . . no, she didn’t.”
“Did you do anything wrong?”
“No. I just . . . No, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“So why does anyone have to choose sides? It didn’t work out, is all.”
“Maybe. I guess we’ll find out. See you later.” Sylvio walked off, and Bruno tried to guess how his brother really felt. Relationships were like unexplored buildings—it was impossible to understand them from the outside.
“HOW WAS YOUR BREAK?” Mr. Williams asked Bruno at their first meeting of the new year.
“It was good. How was yours?”
“Quiet. But that’s how I wanted it. I like the winter’s desolate, dark weeks, even if it brings out the pessimist in me.”
“Were you alone?” It was a question Bruno’s father would ask.
“I saw some people. But I actually like spending time by myself. I think we’re similar in that regard, don’t you?” Bruno found himself nodding in agreement. “Did you receive anything good?”
“My parents gave me some drafting software.”
“That’s nice. I want you to work on your drawing skills, though. If you go into architecture or city planning or cartography, you’ll do most of your work on the computer. But the ability to communicate with a pen and paper is a critical part of being a designer, and I’d say it’s a critical part of who you are. So we want to develop those abilities, too.”
“Sure.” Bruno was struck again by the way Mr. Williams’s descriptions matched up so well with the things about Bruno that he couldn’t possibly know.
“MS. VONG WANTS THE HOME EC classes to do a fashion show,” Marco blurted out as soon as they sat down in the library. “And she wants me to do a small collection for the finale!”
“That’s perfect!” Celia said. “I bet you have a million ideas already.”
“Yes! It’s going to be so much work. I want to blow this school’s mind. Oh, and you’re both models,” Marco said casually.
“What?” Bruno and Celia said in unison.
“I need all of you! Silver and Regine—I’ll use Tomasi if he can get over here
for it. I need so many models!”
“This is going to be insane,” Celia said quietly to Bruno.
“I don’t know how to model,” Bruno said earnestly.
“Neither do I!”
“You have four months to practice!”
Celia gave Bruno a nudge, and he turned to see Lois hovering nearby.
When he went over to her, Lois pointed. “Can you deal with her?” Gwendolyn’s dark figure stood on the far side of the gate to the library stacks, her ponytail flicking back and forth as she looked around.
Bruno walked up to Gwendolyn. “Are you looking for a book?”
“Why don’t they put more lights back here?”
Bruno reached for a lie that felt plausible. “I heard it has something to do with the wiring. They didn’t put enough circuits in, and now they can’t add lights. No one reads most of these books anyway.”
“That’s a shame, isn’t it? If someone printed them, they must be worth reading, right?”
“I guess so.” They stood there at the beginning of the main aisle, the gate behind them, looking into the library, which Gwendolyn assumed stopped just beyond the darkness but which Bruno knew extended so much farther. “Did you like The Stranger? I read it when I was sick.”
“I don’t know. It’s definitely not a book you read just to be entertained. I felt different when I finished it. I think it changed me a little. Is that weird?”
“No, not at all. I felt that way, too. That’s a good way to put it.”
“I used to think everyone had a reason for everything they did. Now I think sometimes people don’t have a reason. Or maybe there is a reason, but they don’t know what it is.”
Bruno opened the gate so Gwendolyn would return to the reading area. He felt obligated to leave Celia and Marco and sit with her as some kind of reward for dropping her curiosity about the stacks, even if they just spent the rest of the period studying.
Pull Down the Night (The Suburban Strange) Page 20