Moggie took off after it like a furry gray missile.
“Moggie, stop!” Eliza yelled.
The dog didn’t seem to hear. She bounded across the street after the mutt, her long pink tongue billowing. Eliza clutched the leash with both hands and hung on for dear life. They whisked through traffic, down busy blocks, around trees, past rows of trash cans, chasing the mutt. At last, Eliza threw herself behind the stone wall of someone’s front stoop. Moggie, who couldn’t pull a whole staircase along, jerked to a stop. The mutt swerved into an alley and disappeared.
Eliza leaned on the stoop, panting.
The sky had turned from gray to black. Eliza had no idea where they were, except that they were somewhere deep in an unfamiliar city. In her stomach, a cold clump of panic started to form.
“Now what?” she whispered.
Moggie sniffed at Eliza’s hand. Then she turned and tugged toward the left. With nothing else to do, Eliza followed.
They turned a corner, and then another. Soon they were passing a familiar Thai café lit by silk lanterns, and a coffee shop with a familiar mural, and just ahead of them loomed the familiar pointed turret of Carrolls’ Gardens.
They may not have found Tommy, but at least Moggie had found the way home.
Tired and defeated, Eliza opened the heavy glass door. The bell jingled.
The lights in the store were out. The glow from the street was just strong enough for Eliza to see that she and Moggie had the room to themselves. Moggie, not used to being leashed indoors, wriggled impatiently in her collar. Eliza bent to unclip the leash, and the dog trundled off into the plants.
Eliza made her way toward the stairs. Leaves rustled around her. The sounds from the street grew fainter with each step.
Behind her, in the dimness, there was the click of a door.
At the same moment, Moggie let out a Woof!
Eliza whirled around.
A silhouette slumped through the greenery. Eliza recognized its saggy shoulders and messy hair. Tommy.
Relief shot through her, followed by confusion. Because the only door that could have made that sound was the one to her mother’s workroom.
“Tommy!” she called, hurrying closer. “We tried to catch up with you on your walk, but we couldn’t find you. You must have just beaten us back here.”
“Oh,” mumbled Tommy. “I guess so.”
It was hard to tell in the dimness, but Tommy seemed to be shaking slightly. A faint sheen of sweat gleamed on his skin.
“Were you in my mom’s workroom?” Eliza asked.
Tommy gave her a quick, sharp look. The details of his face were blurred by darkness, but she could still catch the glint of his eyes. “I wanted to check something,” he said. “One of the plants your mom and I talked about. I had an idea about its family.”
Eliza pictured a set of plants arranged in a cozy circle around a dinner table, but she knew this wasn’t the kind of family Tommy meant. She took a step toward him. “Are you feeling okay?”
Tommy stepped back. “What do you mean?”
“At dinner, you said you weren’t feeling well. And earlier today, when your aunt and uncle were gone, you said you had a weird, cold feeling….”
Tommy stiffened. “So you followed me?”
“I just wanted to talk to you. Because I think I know what’s going on here.” She dropped her voice, even though no one but Moggie was there to hear. “Tommy, this place is haunted. And today, I talked to the ghost.”
Tommy was quiet for so long that Eliza wondered if he hadn’t heard her. He took another step backward. “Um…,” he said. “Okay.”
Eliza’s heart plummeted. “You don’t believe me?”
“No. I believe you. I just…” Tommy shuffled sideways, toward the stairs. “I guess I’m still not feeling so good. I’d better get to bed.”
He turned toward the flower department. The lights of a passing car sliced through the shop, coating Tommy’s face with just enough light that for an instant Eliza could see every feature in perfect, colorful detail.
That was when she noticed his eyes.
They had been hazel before. She’d caught their color on the rare occasions when he’d made direct eye contact with her: a speckled greenish-brown. It had seemed funny that someone who loved plants would even have plant-colored eyes.
But in that moment, before Tommy turned away, Eliza saw something else.
Tommy’s eyes were yellow.
Turn to this page.
ELIZA FILLED SEVERAL PAGES of her research notebook that night.
She made notes about Tommy’s behavior: the nervous way he’d acted after the black-cloaked ghost left the shop, his sneaking into her mother’s workroom. And the yellow eyes.
They weren’t pale hazel, or light brown, or any other color that belonged in people’s eyes. They were yellow. An inhuman, solid, burning yellow.
Exactly like the eyes that had stared in at her from the storm-soaked backyard.
But those eyes couldn’t have been Tommy’s. The face around those burning yellow eyes hadn’t been Tommy’s face. That face had been…barely human.
So there was more than one pair of yellow eyes lurking nearby.
That couldn’t be a coincidence. Could yellow eyes be contagious? Or—a breath caught in Eliza’s throat—could Tommy be possessed?
She pieced through the evidence. The ghost finally manifested itself in the shop. Tommy started feeling strange immediately afterward, and by night, his eyes had changed color.
It all made sense. Possession by spirits wasn’t uncommon. Eliza had never encountered it herself, but she’d spent years preparing to. She knew what possession meant: The ghost was using Tommy for something. But what? What did the ghost want?
Eliza scribbled until her hand was sore and her mother insisted that she turn out the lights. Even then, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, where she thought she heard the creak of footsteps.
The next morning, Eliza woke up burning with motive and curiosity.
Her mother, who always woke up burning with those things, had gone downstairs ahead of her. But the moment Eliza reached the shop floor, she knew that something had changed.
The door to the workroom hung wide open. Bumping and muttering came from inside. Eliza craned through the doorway.
Instead of bending over the worktable, her mother was crouched in the corner, shoving at a row of potted plants. “No,” Eliza heard her mumble. “No. No. No.”
“Mom? What’s going on?”
“Oh—sweet pea,” said her mother distractedly. “A plant is missing.”
“Missing?”
“I swear it was on the table when I left the room yesterday, and now it’s nowhere.”
Eliza glanced around at the greenery. “Which plant?”
“The one with the gold leaves and little red berries.”
With a snuff, Moggie stepped through the door and moseyed over to rub herself against Eliza’s leg. “That little birch-tree-looking thing?” Eliza asked, patting the dog.
“Unfortunately, it’s the one I’m still farthest from identifying.” Her mother heaved to her feet. She glanced over the specimens nearby. “It may never have been scientifically identified at all, at least not in this country. If it’s lost…” Her mother gave a sigh that was almost a growl. “I’ll just kick myself.”
Eliza’s mind started to whirl. She hadn’t seen any customers go into the workroom. But she had seen someone coming out.
Maybe this was what the ghost wanted: It had possessed Tommy in order to make him steal the plant for some reason. But why?
“Hey, Mom?” Eliza began. “I—”
A deep voice interrupted her.
“Good morning!” Mr. Carroll called from across the room. “Hope you two slept well! Camila’s gumbo always gives me wild dreams. Last night, I was playing basketball against two g
iant rats, and my teammate was a ficus tree.” He sighed. “Those rats wiped the floor with us.”
“Last night was fine,” Eliza’s mother called back distractedly. “It’s this morning that’s giving me trouble.”
“Anything a cup of coffee would fix?” Mr. Carroll offered, heading toward the floral department.
“I’m afraid not. One of the plants is missing. The specimen with the red fruits.” Eliza’s mother rubbed her forehead. “It was here when I finished work yesterday….”
“It’ll turn up!” Mr. Carroll called back. “A customer probably moved it, set it down somewhere it doesn’t belong.”
“You think a customer came into my workroom?”
Mr. Carroll laughed. “Customers will wander pretty much anywhere. Last year, we found three of them browsing the plants in our living room. I’ll put that coffee on, and then I’ll help you look.”
Eliza’s mother gave the workroom a last glance. “Strange,” she muttered. “Even the fruit I took from the plant is gone.” She headed out the door, Eliza and Moggie trailing behind. “I suppose Winston’s right. We’d better search the shop.”
“Good morning, everyone!” Mrs. Carroll swept out from the floral department, the fluttering hems of her long skirt swishing behind her. “Good morning,” she told a fern. “Good morning, you beauties,” she sang to a table of orchids. “And good morning, handsome.” She rose onto her tiptoes to kiss Mr. Carroll’s cheek. “What’s going on down here?”
“We’ve got a runaway plant,” Mr. Carroll answered. “One of the specimens Rachel was working on. I’ve heard of strawberry runners, but I’ve never seen a shrub make a break for it before!”
“Oh, Win.” Mrs. Carroll twittered. “Next you’ll tell us it decided to make like a tree, and leaf.” She gestured around the sunny room. “I’m sure it’s lost in this mess somewhere!”
“Yes,” Eliza’s mother answered, heading toward one vine-draped corner. “Nothing else is missing. It does seem likely that it was just misplaced.”
Eliza hurried after.
Once they were out of the Carrolls’ earshot, she whispered, “Mom…yesterday evening, after dinner, I saw Tommy coming out of your workroom.”
“What?” Her mother thrust her head under a table. Several baby spider plants drummed against her back.
“I saw Tommy coming out of your workroom,” Eliza repeated.
Her mother glanced up through the spider plants. “Did he have the missing plant?”
“No. But he was acting suspicious.”
“How so?” Her mother crawled toward the next table. “Did he say anything about what he was doing?”
“He said you two had been talking about some plant’s family, and he wanted to take another look.”
“That’s true,” said her mother, from beneath a rack of spiky plants. “We had a great discussion about moonworts.”
Eliza, who didn’t think the words great discussion and moonworts belonged in the same sentence, made a skeptical face. “That’s not the only suspicious thing.” She dropped to her knees beside her mother. “When I asked Tommy what he’d been doing in your workroom, I noticed—”
Just then, Tommy himself shuffled into the shop.
His face was pale. Purplish crescents hung under his downcast eyes. His shoulders were so high and his head was so low that he looked like a shaggy tortoise, one who wished he could disappear straight into himself.
Eliza felt a thump of pity. Poor Tommy. She had to release him from the ghost’s hold. And she had to learn what the ghost wanted in order to free the ghost itself.
“I’ll tell you later,” Eliza whispered to her mother.
She kept a close watch on Tommy for the rest of the morning.
Tommy was slower and even quieter than usual. He sagged through his chores like someone half asleep…or like someone under a possessive power. In the late morning, Eliza was huddled just outside the flower department, watching Tommy dust leaves in the rare plant room while Moggie panted into her ear, when suddenly Tommy froze.
He swayed on his feet for a moment. Then, with a stumble, he lurched toward a pot on a high shelf.
Eliza recognized the delicate purple flowers trembling inside. It was monkshood, or wolfsbane, or whatever Tommy had called it. The plant that was poisonous even to touch.
Tommy took down the pot. He seemed to be examining the flowers—maybe even smelling them. Would just inhaling them be enough to make you sick? Eliza was still wondering this when Tommy lifted one hand toward the purple blossoms. Eliza shot to her feet, ready to stop him—but at the last second, Tommy reached up and shoved the plant back onto the shelf. Then he turned, his head bowed even lower, and shuffled out of the room.
That was when Eliza made up her mind.
She found Mr. and Mrs. Carroll in the floral department. Mr. Carroll had just said something that made Mrs. Carroll laugh and smack him on the arm with an overblown tulip. The two of them looked so happy, Eliza hated to spoil it. But Tommy was clearly in danger. She had to tell them why.
Spotting Eliza, Mr. Carroll gave her a quick grin. “Back me up, Eliza,” he said, turning toward a high cabinet. “That was an unfair fight. One against tu-lip.”
“Oh, Win!” giggled Mrs. Carroll.
“Um…Mr. and Mrs. Carroll?” Eliza began. Moggie bumped a damp nose against her hand. “I need to talk to you. About Tommy.”
“Tommy?” repeated Mrs. Carroll, bending over a floral arrangement. “Is it a hygiene thing? Because I’ve already talked to him about daily showers.”
“No, it’s not that.” Eliza took a deep breath. “The other night, when he went for that walk…I think maybe he just said he was going for a walk and actually never left at all. Because when I got back to the shop, I caught him coming out of my mother’s workroom.”
Mr. Carroll shuffled supplies in the cabinet. “What was he doing in there?”
“He said he was just looking at something. But today, after that plant disappeared, he was acting even weirder. It’s like he’s sleepwalking. Or hypnotized.” The tendons in Eliza’s neck drew tight. “It’s like something is affecting him. Something big. Something he’s trying to hide.”
The Carrolls exchanged a look.
“We’ll talk to Tommy,” said Mrs. Carroll. “Thank you, dear.”
“But—”
Apparently she wasn’t being clear. The Carrolls weren’t recognizing the danger. “I think something is forcing Tommy to act this way,” Eliza said intently. “Maybe it forced him to steal the missing plant. And now it’s trying to hurt him. According to my observations…” She paused for emphasis. “I think Tommy is possessed.”
She’d expected some kind of reaction. Disbelief. Confusion. Maybe even insulted anger.
What she hadn’t expected was nothing.
The Carrolls simply went on with their work. Mr. Carroll kept tidying the cabinets. Mrs. Carroll continued arranging the flowers.
Eliza started to wonder if she’d only imagined saying the words out loud.
At last, Mrs. Carroll gave a gentle nod. “Don’t worry,” she said. “We’re keeping an eye on him, too.”
“That’s the other thing,” said Eliza. “His eyes—”
But she didn’t finish.
Mrs. Carroll had just completed her floral arrangement. With a sigh of delight, she placed a final sprig of greenery and then turned to face Eliza. Her smile was as sweet and twinkly as always.
And her eyes…
Her eyes were not.
Eliza choked on a breath. She rocked backward, bumping into Moggie’s squat, solid form.
Yellow.
Yellow eyes.
“Tommy sure is lucky to have you worrying about him,” put in Mr. Carroll, giving Eliza a kindly smile.
Mr. Carroll’s eyes had always been deep brown. A warm, gleaming, polished walnut brown.
Not anymore.
Eliza’s head spun. Her body felt like ice.
Don’t panic, she told herself. Don’t let them see you panic, anyway. Now GET OUT OF HERE.
“Okay.” Eliza forced the word out. “Well, if you’re keeping an eye on Tommy”—she shuddered. A yellow eye!—“then—um—good.”
She bolted around the corner and nearly collided with her mother, who was just coming out of the restroom.
“Mom,” Eliza whispered desperately, grabbing her mother by the arms. “Meet me up in our room in five minutes. It’s important.”
Her mother’s left eyebrow rose. “All right,” she said. “I was about to take a lunch break anyway.”
Eliza tore up the stairs.
In their room, she threw herself down on the bed with her research notebook. She scribbled down everything: Tommy and the monkshood. The Carrolls’ reaction to her theory. The color of their eyes. For most of the morning, they’d been distant enough that Eliza hadn’t noticed the change. Had the Carrolls’ eyes been yellow all day? If she could identify exactly when the change had happened, maybe she could find out where and how they had been possessed. Maybe she could learn where the ghost was right now.
From above, there came a soft shushing sound.
Eliza glanced up at the ceiling. She held her breath, keeping perfectly still.
But the stillness was broken by the opening door.
Before her mother could even step inside, Eliza swooped on her like a starving vulture.
“Mom,” she said, locking the door and dragging her mother toward the bed. “Can you please sit down? I need to tell you something.”
Eliza told the whole story, from the very beginning. She told about the sounds from the attic and the voices in the basement. Mr. Carroll and his secret plant delivery. The black-cloaked ghost. Tommy’s secretive behavior. The yellow eyes. She showed her mother her pages of detailed notes. Finally, out of breath, she sagged back on the mattress.
Her mother was quiet for several seconds. She reread Eliza’s notes, her gray eyes slicing over the pages.
“This is excellent work,” she said at last. “Very thorough.”
The Story Pirates Present Page 7