After glancing quickly around to be sure no one important was watching, Xandra hurried to catch up. When they were side by side, she punched Belinda with her elbow and whispered out of the corner of her mouth, “Didn't you get my note?”
“This note?” Belinda stopped walking and pulled the tightly folded piece of notebook paper out of the pocket of her disgusting jacket. “Yes, I read it.”
Reluctantly Xandra stopped too, long enough to inspect the note, which was hers, all right. And then to say in an exasperated tone of voice, “Then why didn't you come? I waited there for a long time.”
Belinda looked worried. “I couldn't,” she said.
“Why not?” Xandra was getting upset. So furious, in fact, that for a moment she forgot to worry about who might be watching. “What do you mean you couldn't?”
Belinda sighed. “Because I wasn't ready. I didn't get to talk …” She paused. “I didn't get to talk to …”
“Who?” Xandra demanded. “Who didn't you get to talk to? Your grandfather?”
Belinda shook her head but Xandra noticed that her hands were twisting nervously. “To a person who might know about …” Belinda paused.
“Who might know about what?” Xandra insisted.
“About why it happened the way it did.” She reached out, grabbed Xandra's arm and shook it. “Don't worry. I'll find out soon. Tonight, I think. And then we'll talk. All right?”
“No,” Xandra said. “It's not all right. I want to know right now. Why can't we talk right now?”
Belinda looked around, her worried frown changing to a teasing smile. “Right now? Right here?”
“Well.” Xandra looked around too and saw Marcie and a bunch of her friends heading toward them. “Well, when then?” she asked. “When can we talk?”
“Tomorrow,” Belinda said. “Maybe tomorrow after I've found out more about it. All right?”
It wasn't really all right but Xandra shrugged and said it was. Then she stopped to wait for Marcie while Belinda started down the hall. Started, but then suddenly turned and came back. Grabbing Xandra's arm again, she leaned forward to whisper in her ear. “Don't forget your promise not to do anything. Anything with the Key, I mean. It's terribly important.”
“Hey, turn loose.” Pulling her arm free, Xandra said, “Don't worry. I won't.”
As Belinda disappeared into the crowd, Marcie and her Mob of friends caught up and a girl named Katlyn said, “Hey, Alexandra. Who's your new friend?” And at the same time Marcie herself asked, “What was that freak telling you, Alexandra?” Marcie was laughing and so were all the rest of them. That was the way it was with the Mob. Whatever Marcie did, they all did.
Suddenly Xandra was angry at all of them. “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing you'd understand.” Then she turned her back on the Mob and stomped into the classroom.
EVEN THOUGH THERE was a lot to do at school the rest of that day, the hours crept by slowly. But the last class was finally over, followed by a frustrating bus ride home during which Belinda refused to talk about anything important. And then another long school day had to be lived through before Xandra could hope to get some answers to her questions. Answers to the terribly important questions about what had really happened in the basement, and what had only seemed to be happening, as well as what might happen next.
“Okay, what did you find out?” Xandra started before Belinda had finished stowing her book bag in the overhead rack. “What were those things? And what was going on? I mean, were those awful things real, or did we kind of dream them?”
Belinda stared at Xandra thoughtfully for a long time before she answered. “A dream? Maybe you could call it that.” She nodded. “Yes. Maybe that's how you ought to think about it.”
Suddenly Xandra was angry. “I don't want to know how I ought to think about it. What I want to know is what were they. What were those awful dark blobs full of eyes and teeth?”
Belinda shook her head, her eyes on the ground. “I don't know. That is, I don't know how to explain.”
“Why not?” Xandra insisted. “Because you really don't know how or because … Or maybe because your grandfather told you not to tell me.”
Belinda looked up quickly. For a long moment they stared at each other before Belinda took a deep breath and said, “No. Not exactly. He did tell me it was a mistake to show you how to use the Key. He said I made a mistake to ask him if I could, and he made a mistake too, because you were …” Belinda paused and then went on. “Because things were different than what he expected.”
“Different?” Xandra interrupted impatiently. “What does that mean?”
There was a long pause. “My grandfather said he thought you—he thought the whole thing would be very different, that's all.” Belinda was silent for a moment before she took a deep breath and said, “He said we shouldn't—you shouldn't—use the Key like that anymore. Not ever.”
Xandra's frustration was about to boil over when Belinda reached out toward her and said, “Wait. You shouldn't get angry.”
“Why not? Why shouldn't I be angry? You and your witch doctor grandfather …”
Belinda glanced up, obviously checking to see if anyone had overheard. “Shhh,” she pleaded. “Don't say things like that.” There was concern, maybe even fright, in her voice and in her dark eyes.
Watching her closely, Xandra asked, “Like what? Like calling your grandfather a witch doctor? Isn't he something like that? He must be.”
Belinda shook her head decisively. “No. Nothing like that.”
“What is he, then?” Xandra demanded. “If he's not a witch doctor or some kind of wizard, how come he knows about things like my enchanted feather and what would happen to me if I used it?”
“He's just a very wise person. And he wouldn't have told me how to use the Key if I hadn't begged him to. It was my fault. And he didn't expect what happened. Not at all.” Belinda turned away and then slowly turned back. She was speaking hesitantly, uncertainly, as she went on. “Maybe it would be better if you asked him about it yourself. If I could take you to see him, would you go? Would you do that?”
A sudden rush of surprise wiped out Xandra's anger and left her feeling shaken and unsure. Shaken at first, but after a bit, curious—eagerly curious.
“Yes,” she said. “I do want to do that. When? When can I see him?”
Belinda thought for a moment before she asked, “How about tomorrow, Saturday? I could ask him tonight and if it's not all right I'll phone you from the service station and tell you not to come. But probably tomorrow would be good. Could you come then?”
Before Belinda had finished telling her where to go and how to get there, Xandra was nodding confidently. “Don't worry,” she said. “I'll be there. The old service station on Greenhill Road, around ten o'clock. I can do that.”
When Belinda asked what she would tell her folks about where she was going, she went on to say, “You're not going to tell them you're going to see a wizard, or anything like that, are you?”
Xandra shrugged. “Why would I do that? He's not a wizard, right? You told me he wasn't. And I don't think I'll have to tell anyone much about where I'm going.”
“Really?” Belinda seemed doubtful. “You won't need to tell anyone? How will you get money for the bus?”
“I have enough money,” Xandra said. “I always have my allowance and I have lots of money saved up. I don't use all of my allowance very often.”
Belinda still looked uncertain as they got off the bus, and she had only gone a few steps when she stopped and came back. “Where is it now?” she said, lowering her voice as if there were someone around to hear. “Where do you keep the Key?”
Xandra's hand went to her chest, over the place where the feather hung around her neck on its string. “Right here,” she said. “I always have it right here.”
“Always?” Belinda asked.
Xandra nodded. “Always.”
Reaching out, Belinda took hold of Xandra's arm. “But you won't try to
use it by yourself, will you? Something awful might happen if you do.”
Xandra shook off Belinda's hand. “No, I won't. I said I wouldn't and I won't. You don't have to keep reminding me.”
Belinda turned away again and this time she kept on going. Xandra watched until she was out of sight.
XANDRA HAD BEEN right about not having to tell anyone where she was going on Saturday. Saturdays were nearly always golf days for Henry Hobson, and lately for Quincy too, and Helen and Victoria had gone off early to shop for clothes to wear to the big Mozart recital. That left the twins, but not for long. A little later they left too, sounding like a whole herd of horses as they clattered down the back stairs in their baseball shoes. Nobody asked Xandra what she was going to do or where she was going. Nobody except Clara, and that hardly counted. It had been a long time since she and Xandra had paid much attention to each other. So when Clara was getting Gussie ready to go play in the park and asked Xandra to go with them, Xandra laughed and said no thanks. The “no thanks” was polite enough, but the way she laughed said what she really thought of the idea.
It was a dull, gray day as Xandra caught the Heritage Avenue bus that wound its way down the wide street bordered on each side by big houses, tall trees and broad, well-tended lawns. Lawns, however, that at this time of year were turning a dull brown from frostbite in spite of everything gardeners like Otto could do. Closing her eyes to the dreary scene and drearier weather, Xandra concentrated on where she was going and the exciting things she might be able to learn before the day was over. At the downtown terminal she hurried—ran, practically—to the other side of the station, where the No. 70 bus left on its way out into the country and eventually on to the town of Grover.
She would not, however, need to go quite that far. Following Belinda's instructions, she waited until the subdivisions ended and the shopping malls gave way to farmland, and then began to watch for a mileage sign that said GROVER 19 MILES. Just beyond that sign a service station came into view. A small service station under a large weather-beaten sign that said JERRY'S AUTO SHOP. Xandra got off the bus a little uncertainly. It seemed such a strange place for anyone to live, such a long way from residential areas or shopping centers.
Feeling she might have made a mistake, she looked around nervously, but then there she was. There Belinda was, sitting on the bus stop bench just where she'd said she would be, looking a little bit different but not any less weird. Belinda's Saturday outfit was an ancient denim jacket covered with dozens of faded patches, and below that, a ragged pair of blue jeans, and her long straggly hair was pulled back into a loose braid. When she saw Xandra, her smile came and went quickly, and so did what she had to say.
“All right. Let's go,” was all she said before she led the way down a narrow country road. When Xandra asked how far it was, she only said, “Not very. Come on. Let's hurry.” They went on walking, passing a dumping yard for dead cars, two or three run-down houses and then some open fields. The tiny, deserted houses and the wide empty stretches of land made Xandra feel uneasy. She didn't know why, except that having grown up behind high walls and fences made the endless emptiness seem strangely threatening. Finally, when Belinda turned off the road onto a narrow lane between tall trees, Xandra stopped dead and demanded, “You didn't tell me we had to go way out into the country. I mean, where are we actually going?”
Belinda's answer, when it came, seemed to be to a different question. “I think it will be all right,” she said. “He doesn't always talk to new people but when I asked him he said he wanted to meet you.”
“Wait a minute,” Xandra said. “You only think it will be all right? Why didn't you tell me your grandfather doesn't like to meet new people?” Grabbing Belinda's sleeve, she pulled her to a stop. “What if he decides he doesn't want to see me? What will he do?”
Belinda shook her head. “He won't do anything. Sometimes he just won't talk. Even to people who have come a long way to see him. But he said he wanted you to come. He said he needed to find out …”
She paused then and interrupted herself, abruptly changing the subject. Pointing down the road, she said, “There. See that gate up there on the left? That's where we turn off.”
A few yards farther on, a sagging wooden gate opened onto an overgrown dirt road that led up a slope toward what seemed to be …a farm perhaps? Or perhaps only the remains of something that had once been a farm. The house came first. Halfway up the hill, almost hidden among tall trees, it was a tall narrow structure whose peeling paint, dangling shutters and weed-grown yard gave it a sad, deserted, almost haunted look. And beyond the house the lopsided, sagging roof of an old barn soon came into view.
The possibility that Belinda's grandfather was a farmer was, for some reason, a little bit reassuring. Xandra didn't know why, except that you don't often hear of farmers who are also wizards or witch doctors. Xandra was about to ask Belinda if she and her family were farmers when she saw something that seemed to answer the question. An old man dressed in overalls and carrying a large pail was coming out of the barn and heading toward the house. A huge old man whose bearded face sagged into droopy wrinkles and whose long grayish hair was tied into a ponytail. When he saw Belinda and Xandra, he stopped and waited for them. His eyes, almost hidden under the bushy eyebrows, were small and fierce. He was not smiling.
“Now who's this?” he growled, looking from Xandra to Belinda.
“Just a friend of mine,” Belinda said quickly. “She's not here to … She's just here to see me.”
Xandra turned to stare angrily at Belinda. She was about to protest. To say, No, I came to ask you some important questions, when Belinda grabbed her arm and pulled her away.
“Hey,” Xandra said as she let herself be led toward the barn. “I thought you said he was going to talk to me. To explain about—”
“Shhh,” Belinda interrupted. “That's not my grandfather. That's just Ezra.”
When Xandra looked back, the decrepit man named Ezra had turned away and, still carrying the pail, was heading toward the equally decrepit house. “Ezra?” she asked. “Who's Ezra?”
Tugging Xandra along after her, Belinda didn't answer until they had reached the far edge of the barnyard. It was there they stopped to watch the old man climb some rickety stairs and disappear into the house.
“Does he actually live there, in that haunted house?” Xandra asked.
Belinda nodded. “Ezra has lived right there in that same old house all his life, I guess. My grandfather has known him practically forever. A long time ago my grandfather lived here in the commune. So last summer when we had to get out of …” She paused and began again. “When we needed to move, Ezra said he could come here again, at least for a while.” Belinda turned and pointed down a sloping dirt road that led to a large grove of trees. “Down there where the commune used to be.”
“The commune?” Xandra asked.
“Yes, you know. When a lot of people kind of live and work together,” Belinda said. But Xandra didn't know, so Belinda went on to tell about how it had been a popular thing to do for a while, for people to move out to the country and live together in large groups that were sometimes called communes. “There was a famous commune right here on Ezra's farm,” she said. “Some people called it Ezra's Eden. It was a big one, almost a hundred people sometimes, and my grandfather was part of it for a while. So when we needed a place to live, Ezra let him come back.”
“One hundred people?” Xandra was incredulous. “Right down there?”
Belinda nodded. “Come on. You'll see.”
They went on down a steep slope, and as they entered the grove of trees, Xandra noticed two tiny, roughly built houses and then a slightly larger one. Only three un-painted, run-down cabins, each one with cement block steps leading up to a rickety front porch. A thin plume of smoke was rising from the chimney of the larger house, but that was the only sign of life. “One hundred people?” Xandra asked again, not believing it for a minute.
“For a while
there were,” Belinda said, “a long time ago. There were a lot more houses then. And tents too. Some of the people lived in tents.”
“And who lives here now?” Xandra asked. “Besides you and your grandfather.”
Belinda shook her head. “No one else,” she said. “Just us. We live mostly in that biggest house but we can use the others too.”
Xandra checked out the three cabins. They all looked pretty shabby and dilapidated and so small that even the biggest would probably fit into the Hobson family room.
As if she were reading Xandra's mind, Belinda said, “I know. They're nothing much, but they do have electricity and the big one has a kitchen and real bathroom.”
“A kitchen?” An interesting thought came to mind. “Who does the cooking? Your grandfather?”
Belinda shook her head, smiling. “Not much. Sometimes we eat at Ezra's, and I can cook a little.”
“Wow.” Xandra was impressed. “I can make sandwiches but that's about it.” A related question occurred to her. “And how about the rest of it? Like shopping and house-cleaning. Do you do that too?”
Belinda shrugged. “Ezra shops but I do most of the housework. Sweeping mostly. There used to be a vacuum cleaner but it broke.” She looked around for a minute, and then, sounding surprised almost, as if she'd never noticed before, she said, “I guess it does look pretty trashy, but I do have my own house and that's the best part.” She pointed toward the nearest cabin, a tiny shack with lots of missing shingles and a broken window. “This one is mine. I keep all my own things in it. You want to see?”
Xandra shrugged. “Sure,” she said. “Why not?”
A screen door, and then a creaking wooden one, led into a room that had, to Xandra's surprise, a strangely familiar feel. Like her own room in the Hobson Habitat, it was full of books and pictures. Lots of books sat on long shelves made of bricks and planks, or were arranged in neat stacks near an ancient saggy couch. And, most amazing, the walls were covered with pictures, and some of them were the same kinds of pictures Xandra had been collecting all her life. Pictures of beautiful forests where trees had living faces, of strangely beautiful creatures half animal and half human and of people who were obviously characters from fantastic fairy-tale worlds. Walking around the room staring at the pictures and reading the titles of the books, most of which she had read too, Xandra was beginning to feel almost at home.
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