Nightbooks

by J. A. White

  “Tell me,” she said. “Before I forget to ask nicely.”

  “Yasmin was helping me with research for a story,” Alex said. “I want to make sure I get all the details right.”

  “Research?” Natacha asked dubiously.

  “That’s right,” Yasmin said, going with it. “Research. A whole lot of research.”

  “Research about what?” Natacha asked.

  She kept her eyes glued to Yasmin, waiting for an answer.

  “You know,” Yasmin said, shifting from foot to foot. “About . . . well, Alex came to me. At breakfast. We had oatmeal. And he asked me—he said—no, he asked, if I could help him learn some things . . .”

  “About magic oils,” Alex said. He folded his arms across his chest to hide his trembling hands. “I wanted to get all the little details right. Yasmin’s the expert.”

  Natacha’s face tightened. The pencil-snake, sensing its master’s discomfiture, bared its lead fangs in Alex’s direction.

  “The expert?” Natacha asked. “That girl doesn’t know a single thing that I didn’t teach her.”

  “I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Alex said. “I think Yasmin might have picked up some really fascinating techniques on her own. Who knows? Maybe she could teach you a thing or two!”

  “What?” Natacha snarled, glaring at Yasmin. “She’s not even a witch!”

  Yasmin shot Alex a nervous look: What are you doing?

  “True,” Alex said in a pacifying tone, stepping between them. “Obviously Yasmin wasn’t my first choice, only I couldn’t go to you for research. I want the story to be a surprise! Otherwise what’s the point?”

  This seemed to mollify Natacha somewhat. The anger that faded from her face, however, was quickly replaced by a fiendish grin.

  “You wouldn’t be telling me a story, storyteller,” she asked, “would you?”

  “Of course not.”

  “We’ll see about that,” she said. “Lenore!”

  The cat leaped gracefully off the desk and landed at Natacha’s feet.

  “Tell me what these two were really doing.”

  Alex looked at Yasmin. She was trying to keep her face as impassive as possible, but he could see the panic swirling in her eyes. What do we do? he thought. If they ran, they would just be admitting their guilt—and where could they go? On the other hand, if they stayed here and Lenore told Natacha they had been planning their escape . . .

  There’s no way out of this, Alex thought.

  Natacha traced a line in the air from her ear to Lenore’s mouth. As she did, a narrow tube of swirling green water appeared. Lenore meowed into the bottom of the tube, over and over again, and tiny bubbles floated through the water and up to the witch’s ear.

  It’s an animal translator, Alex thought.

  Unfortunately, Natacha did not look pleased by whatever Lenore was saying. Alex and Yasmin shared a concerned look.

  “Really?” the witch asked, her tone more accusatory than surprised. “That can’t be right.”

  More meowing.

  “Are you sure?”

  Some final meows, more insistent this time, as though Lenore was getting annoyed with her master. Natacha, for her part, looked like she wanted to kick the cat across the room.

  “So be it,” Natacha said.

  She waved the translator out of existence and faced the children.

  “Lenore tells me she’s been here all morning,” Natacha said through gritted teeth, “and that what you just said is the absolute and total truth.”

  Alex clamped his mouth shut so his jaw didn’t fall open in shock.

  Lenore lied for us, he thought.

  “After all the trouble you two caused with the danglers,” Natacha continued, “I decided to make a surprise visit to check up on you. Looks like you’ve learned your lesson. Now make sure you don’t forget it.” She reached for the doorknob and then looked back over her shoulder at Alex. “I look forward to your story tonight. Hopefully all that research paid off.”

  “That particular story isn’t finished yet,” Alex said. “Maybe tomorrow or the next—”

  “Tonight,” Natacha said with a threatening glare. “I can’t wait.”

  She left the room.

  “I am so confused right now,” Yasmin said. “I thought Lenore was making all that noise to tell Natacha what we were up to, but—”

  “She heard Natacha come home early,” Alex said. “She was warning us to get down from the tower. Less suspicious that way.”

  “And look at what she did with the books,” Yasmin added, gesturing toward a neat stack on the table. “Like total idiots, we left them open to the Unicorn Girl entries. Lenore closed them all so Natacha wouldn’t see. She wasn’t tattling on us. She was saving us. But why?”

  Both children turned toward the cat, who hopped up on the table and lay down as if nothing had happened. Yasmin’s ointment had done its work; her wounds were almost entirely healed.

  “Because we were kind,” Alex said. “And kindness beats cruelty every time.”

  He reached down and stroked Lenore’s head. She let him.

  “You’re a prisoner just like us, aren’t you?” Yasmin asked, bending down. “We’re going to escape—or try to, at least.” She rubbed the cat’s stomach. “Do you want to come with us?”

  Alex wasn’t sure how many of the words Lenore understood without a magical translator, but it must have been enough. She began to purr.

  Alex and Yasmin looked at each other and smiled.

  Now they were three.

  15

  Dangerous Lies

  Alex hadn’t been lying to Natacha; in order to write his next story, he really did need to ask Yasmin some questions about magical oils. By the time they were done, he had filled nearly two pages with notes.

  “Why did you make it seem like I know more about this stuff than she does?” Yasmin asked. “We both know that isn’t true.”

  “I wanted to see how she reacted when I questioned her expertise,” Alex said. “Have you heard her grill me after I read a story, say I don’t know this or I don’t know that?”

  “Yeah,” Yasmin said, stifling a grin. “I’ve noticed how much that gets under your skin.”

  “It does not,” Alex said. Yasmin raised her eyebrows. “Okay, maybe a little bit.”

  “More than a little bit.”

  “The important thing is that Natacha’s a know-it-all. And when I claimed you know more than she does, she couldn’t take it. She reacted just the way I hoped.”

  “You wanted to get her mad?”

  “Yes,” Alex said. “Angry people don’t think clearly. They let things slip. We can use that to our advantage.”

  “There’s a few disadvantages to getting Natacha mad, too. Like she might lose her temper and turn us into a matching pair of socks.”

  “I know,” Alex said. “But if we really want to escape, we need to start taking some risks.”

  He explained the rest of his plan. Yasmin listened with growing incredulity.

  “I don’t know,” she said when he had finished. “It might work. If we’re lucky. But wouldn’t it be safer to search the books in the library first? Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Unicorn Girl did write the missing ingredient somewhere.”

  “Even if she did,” Alex said, “it could take weeks for us to find it. So many bad things could happen before then. I might not be able to think of a story. Natacha could wake up on the wrong side of the bed and decide she’s tired of both of us. The sooner we get out of here, the better.”

  “But if Natacha figures out what you’re trying to do—”

  “She won’t,” Alex said. “I’ll be careful. Like a word ninja.”

  “You better be,” Yasmin said. “Or this is going to be the shortest story you ever told.”

  After that, Alex settled into his chair and started writing. The story came easily. It turned out that he wasn’t suffering from writer’s block after all; he just wasn’t ready to write his ghost sto
ry yet. Once he changed gears the words flowed like running water.

  He finished just before dinner.

  Yasmin had outdone herself: honey-glazed ham, scalloped potatoes, corn bread, and fresh applesauce. There was far too much food for one person to eat, and Alex knew that afterward he would have to dump most of it into the trash. Natacha didn’t eat leftovers, and she refused to allow the children a single bite. It was the worst of her casual cruelties.

  As Alex refilled the witch’s glass, the succulent smells of the feast teasing his empty stomach, he imagined her taking a sip of lemonade and falling face-first into her potatoes, sound asleep.

  The image brought a tiny smile to his lips.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Natacha snapped, turning in his direction. “Why are you happy?”

  “Just looking forward to tonight’s story,” Alex said. “I think you’ll like it.”

  Natacha shrugged and tore off a piece of corn bread. Alex was no longer surprised by her indifference, though he still found it puzzling. Despite her impressive library, Natacha had given no indication that she truly loved stories the way that he did. They were there to serve a purpose, like a hastily prepared meal.

  All she cares about is keeping the apartment calm and under control, he thought, feeding it darkness like you’d toss hunks of meat to a wild beast.

  Alex wished he understood more about the nature of apartment 4E. Why couldn’t Natacha use her magic to control it? Did it have a mind of its own? For the most part, the apartment helped Natacha by giving her the extra space she needed and bringing new captives to her door. But there were other times, especially when the apartment was in earthquake mode, that Natacha seemed almost afraid of it.

  Perhaps solving this mystery would help them, perhaps not. Right now, Alex had to remain focused on the task at hand. After Natacha finished her second slice of pecan pie, they moved into the living room. Every movement he made seemed forced. Every word he spoke sounded wooden and exaggerated. He felt like a bad actor in a horror movie.

  It’s just your imagination, he thought. There’s no way the witch has any idea—

  “You’re not telling me everything,” Natacha said.

  Alex nearly dropped the nightbook in his hands. His throat suddenly felt as dry as a sandstorm.

  “What are you talking about?” he asked.

  “Don’t play stupid with me,” Natacha said. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

  Alex hesitated, afraid to speak.

  “There’s a reason you wanted to destroy your nightbooks!” Natacha exclaimed. “Something happened! Something that gave you that final little nudge. Maybe that very same day.”

  Alex let out a slow sigh of relief. This isn’t about tonight’s plan at all, he thought.

  “Nothing happened,” Alex said. “I just decided that it was time for a change.”

  “I wonder if I can make your nose grow like Pinocchio,” Natacha said, staring at his face with a thoughtful expression. “I’ve never tried it before. Something might go terribly wrong.” She reached over and poked the tip of his nose. “But you know me. I’m always up for a little experimentation.”

  Alex swallowed nervously. Why is she bringing this up now?

  “It’s not worth talking about,” he said.

  Natacha squeezed the arms of her chair and pulled herself forward. She grinned with triumph, her eyes popping out.

  “So something did happen!” she exclaimed. “You admit it!”

  If Alex and the witch had been alone, he would have just told her. Living through that morning again would have been humiliating, but in the end Natacha’s opinion didn’t really matter to him. The problem was Yasmin. Once she discovered the truth, he was afraid that she wouldn’t want to be his friend anymore.

  “Tell me,” Natacha said. “Now.”

  “No,” Alex said.

  Natacha’s mouth fell open in a look of such exaggerated surprise that Alex almost laughed. He wondered how long it had been since someone refused her.

  “I’m not asking,” she said, her face growing flushed like a spoiled child. “You either tell me, or—”

  Yasmin shrieked and jumped to her feet.

  “You feel that?” she asked.

  Natacha gave her a quizzical look. “Feel what?”

  “The floor just trembled,” Yasmin said. “I think the apartment is about to have one of its earthquakes.”

  “I didn’t feel anything,” Natacha said, but there was a slight quiver in her voice. I was right, Alex thought. The apartment does frighten her.

  “There!” Yasmin exclaimed. “Another one! I don’t think you can feel it because your feet aren’t on the floor.”

  Alex’s feet were on the floor, and he felt nothing. It was clear that Yasmin was lying. She had seen that Alex was treading in dangerous waters and made up an entire “earthquake” as a distraction.

  “I felt it too, Natacha,” Alex said, opening his nightbook. “I should probably start. It feels like it’s going to be a bad one.”

  The witch spun in his direction.

  “Then what are you waiting for?” she screeched, clawing nervously at her hair. “Read!”

  Alex paused a moment to meet Yasmin’s eyes—thank you—and began.

  Neverworm

  The Great Monster had terrorized the land for as long as anyone could remember. It swatted away armies and laughed at fire. Nothing could stop it. In desperation, the witches joined forces and cast a special sleeping spell. No one really thought it would work. But it did. The Great Monster closed its eyes and toppled over. A thousand trees fell beneath its weight.

  At long last, its reign of terror was over.

  The next step should have been to kill the Great Monster before it woke up. After all, the monster was not immortal. It could be slain like any other beast, with spell or sword or spear.

  Unfortunately, precious gems grew inside the Great Monster’s mouth like minerals in a cave. They would stop growing when the monster took its last breath.

  And people are greedy.

  Instead of killing the sleeping monster, the witches built a city in its shadow. Over the years, they grew rich and prosperous from the monster’s gems. They never went inside the mouth themselves. Each month they selected a young boy, always from a poor family, and tossed him into the gaping maw. Sometimes the boy returned to the city with treasure held high. Most of the time, however, the boy was never seen again. The Great Monster might have been asleep, but it still needed to eat.

  In time the original enchantment wore off, but the witches made sure that the Great Monster’s slumber continued. Every morning they scaled its body and funneled a powerful sleeping potion down its fifth ear. The recipe for this potion was as old as time itself. Rat bones dissolved in a pitcher plant. Widow orchid. Powdered beetle shells. The most important ingredient, however, was bindweed, a rare plant that grew in swamps and sucked up smells instead of water. Bindweed was the only thing in the world that could hide the powerful stench of the sleeping potion. This was important, because the Great Monster had as many noses as teeth. Without bindweed, the terrible smell of the potion would wake it up.

  A thousand years passed in this manner.

  And then one day all the bindweed withered and died.

  The wisest witches gathered together to pool their knowledge. Was there a different ingredient they could use in place of bindweed? Serpent’s tongue? Snail mucus? Charred plugseed? Nothing worked. The potion smelled worse than ever. So the witches called on the great warriors of the city. There was no other choice. They would have to kill the Great Monster, once and for all, before it was too late.

  That night, while the warriors sharpened their spears, the baker’s daughter entered the Golden Hall.

  She was small, both in stature and age, but very, very clever. The other witches had never met her before. She lived in the poor section of the city, where a proper witch never went.

  “I’ve found a replacement for bindwee
d,” the baker’s daughter announced. “It’ll take the smell away so you can put the Great Monster back to sleep.”

  “Nonsense,” said the eldest witch. “Nothing can replace bindweed.”

  “Nightberry juice,” proclaimed the baker’s daughter.

  The witches laughed. Nightberries made excellent pie, but they had no magical properties at all.

  “Foolish child,” said the eldest witch. “You know nothing of real magic.”

  “Let me prove it to you,” said the baker’s daughter. “Give me some of your famous sleeping potion.”

  The witch snapped her fingers and a servant brought out a vial of the potion. It smelled like a dead skunk that had been lying in the sun for days. The girl pinched her nose and withdrew a bottle of violet liquid from her cloak. She poured a drop into the vial.

  The smell went away instantly.

  “Impossible,” the eldest witch said. “Nightberry juice doesn’t hold that kind of power!”

  She ordered the servant to bring out a second vial of the sleeping potion. The baker’s daughter added a drop of liquid from her bottle. The smell vanished again.

  The eldest witch was convinced.

  “Tell the warriors to stand down!” she announced, snatching the bottle from the girl’s hand. “Our problem is solved! The monster will continue to sleep, and we shall mine its gems as always!”

  The baker’s daughter watched her with a curious expression.

  “Perhaps you were hoping for a reward?” the eldest witch asked with a cruel twist of her lips. “If so, you should have kept your ingredient a secret. You could have named your treasure, once you proved it worked. But now that we know it’s simple nightberry juice, there’s no reason to reward you.”

  The baker’s daughter bowed her head.

  “How foolish of me,” she said. “I wish I was wise, like a witch.”

  “On the other hand, we can’t have you telling people that you were the one who solved our problem,” the witch said. “You will leave at once and never return. A horse and supplies wait for you beyond the city walls. We will tell your parents that you drowned in the river.”

  “My mother and father are already dead,” the baker’s daughter said. “As is my brother.” There was a sharpness to her voice that had not been there before.