by L. J. Smith
Dee’s voice, from the back door. As Dee appeared, narrow-eyed and moving like a jaguar, Jenny reached out quickly to Angela. “It’s okay. She’s my friend. You can show us both.”
The girl hesitated, then nodded, giving in.
To Jenny’s surprise, she didn’t head for the front door, but led them out back. Cam followed them through the foxtails. The backyard sloped down to dense brush; there was far more land here than Jenny had realized. Beside an overhanging clump of trees was a warped and leaning toolshed.
“There,” Angela said. “That’s where P.C. went.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” Jenny caught Dee in mid-lunge and held her back. “This isn’t the time to be yanking doors open. Remember the Game?” She herself was trembling with anxiety, triumph, and anticipation.
Angela was fumbling with a large old-fashioned locket she had tucked into her tank top. “You need this to open it, anyway. I locked it again—afterward. It was our secret place, P.C.’s and mine. Nobody else wanted it.”
Jenny took the key. “So you saw him go in that morning. And then . . . ?”
“Slug went in, too. P.C. climbed the porch and woke me up to get the key. That’s my bedroom.” She pointed to a second-story window above the porch roof. “Then he and Slug went down and unlocked the shed and went in. I could see everything from my room. I waited for them to come out—usually they just stashed stuff there and came out.”
“But this time they didn’t.”
“No . . . so I waited and waited, then I got dressed. When I came down here, the door was still shut. So I opened it—but they weren’t inside.” She turned on Jenny suddenly, her dark eyes huge and brilliant with unshed tears. “They weren’t inside! And there aren’t any windows, and they didn’t go out the door. And the key was on the ground. P.C. would never leave the key on the ground; he always locked up and gave it back to me. Where did they go ?”
Jenny answered with a question. “There was something else on the ground, wasn’t there? Besides the key?”
Angela nodded slowly.
“A . . .” Jenny took a breath. “A paper house.”
“Yeah. A baby thing. It wasn’t even new, it was kind of crumpled, and it was taped up with electrician’s tape from the shed. I don’t know why they took it. They usually took stuff like—” She broke off.
Dee cut a glance at Jenny, amused at the admission.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jenny said. “At least we know everything now. And it should still be inside if this place has been locked ever since that morning.”
Angela nodded. “I didn’t touch anything, even though—well, I sort of wanted to look at the house. But I didn’t; I left it there on the floor. And nobody else has a key.”
“Then let’s go get it,” Jenny said. Deep inside she was shaking. The paper house was here. They’d found it—and no wonder it had eluded them so long, sitting in a locked toolshed used by juvenile delinquents for hiding stolen goods.
“Monster positions?” Dee suggested with a flash of white teeth. She was clearly enjoying this.
“Right.” Jenny took up a position beside the door. Dee stood in front of it in a kung fu stance, ready to kick it shut. It was the way they’d learned to open doors in the paper house. “Stand back, Angela. You, too, Cam.”
“Now.” Jenny turned the key, pulled the door open.
Nothing frightening happened. A rectangle of sunlight fell into the dusty shed. Jenny blocked it off with her own shadow as she stepped into the doorway. Then she moved inside, and Dee blocked the light.
“Come on in—I can’t see—”
Then she did see—and her mind reeled.
The blank white box was on the floor, open. Beside it was the paper house Jenny had described to the police. A Victorian house, three stories and a turret. Blue.
Dee made a guttural sound.
When Jenny had last seen the paper house, it had been crushed flat to fit in the box. It was different now. It had been straightened and reinforced with black tape. But that wasn’t what made Jenny’s head spin and her breath catch. That wasn’t what made her knees start to give way.
The paper house was exploded.
In shreds. Roof gone. Outer walls in tatters. Floors gutted.
As if something very large had burst out from the inside.
On the floor nearby, scratched impossibly deep into the concrete, was a mark. The rune Uruz. A letter from a magical alphabet, a spell to pierce the veil between the worlds. Jenny had seen it before on the inside of the box that had led them into the Shadow World. It was shaped like an angular and inverted U, with one stroke shorter than the other.
Right now she was looking at it upside-down, so that it should have looked like a regular U. But this particular rune was very uneven, the short stroke very short. From where she was standing it looked almost like a squared-off J.
Like a signature.
Even as Jenny turned toward Dee, she felt herself falling.
“We’re too late,” she whispered. “He’s out.”
“Okay,” Dee said, some minutes later, still holding her. “Okay, okay . . .”
“It’s not okay.” She saw Cam and Angela peering in the doorway, and her head cleared a bit. “You two get back.”
They came forward. “Is that it? What you’ve been looking for?” Cam squatted by the ruined house, his eyes as large and blue as Summer’s. Light from the doorway made his dandelion hair glow at the edges. “What happened to it?”
Angela’s dark eyes were huge—and despairing. “What happened to P.C.?”
Jenny looked at the house. It was gutted, every floor shredded. Her eyes filled again and she swallowed.
“I think he’s probably dead,” she said softly. “I’m sorry.” The sight of Angela’s misery cleared her head a little, brought her out of herself.
“Are you going to tell the police? About P.C. and me and this place?”
“The police,” Jenny said bleakly, “are useless. We’ve learned that. There’s nothing they can do. Maybe nothing anybody can do—” She stopped as an idea came to her. A desperate hope. “Angela, you said you didn’t touch anything here—but are you sure? You didn’t see anything on the floor, did you—like any jewelry?”
Angela shook her head. Jenny searched for it anyway. It had been inside the box; maybe it had just rolled away. It wouldn’t make the police believe them, but it might just save her—if they could find it and destroy it—
She looked in the opened box and all around on the concrete floor. She shook out the ruins of the paper house.
But it wasn’t anywhere. The gold ring that Julian had put on her finger, the one she tried to throw away, was gone.
CHAPTER 8
What can we do?”
They were at Audrey’s house, in the second-best family room where no adults would disturb them. Michael was looking at Jenny, his spaniel eyes glazed.
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it?” Zachary said crisply. “What can we do?”
“I don’t know,” Jenny whispered.
The paper house—or rather its remains—sat on the coffee table. Jenny had brought it with them, to keep it safe. Although what they were going to do with it, she had no idea.
She’d taken both Angela and Cam by the hand before they left Angela’s house. Scared as she was, she wanted to thank them—and to give them what comfort she could.
“I know it wasn’t easy to help us,” she said. “Now you need to forget all about this, if you can. We’re the ones who have to take care of it. But I’ll always remember what you’ve done—both of you.”
Then she and Angela, the soshe and the Crying Girl, had hugged.
Outside, on Filbert Street, she and Dee had found Tom. His RX-7 was parked behind Dee’s jeep. Clearly, he’d been following them, although Jenny still didn’t understand why.
Now he sat beside Jenny, his hazel eyes thoughtful. “You know, I don’t think they’ll hurt you,” he said to her. The emphasis on the last wo
rd was slight but noticeable.
“What do you mean, they ?”
“The wolf and the snake. What did Julian call them? The Lurker and the Creeper.”
Everyone stared.
“Tom, what are you talking about?”
“They’re out, too. It was the wolf that followed you and Audrey on Monday. The Shadow Wolf. I only got a glimpse of it that night, but it wasn’t a dog.”
Audrey choked. “I’ve got wolf scratches on my car?”
“And that snake—I think maybe it’s been around, too.”
Jenny shut her eyes, remembering the dry sliding on the computer room floor. The brush against her leg. The hiss.
“Oh, God—then it’s all been real,” she said. “And the phone calls—oh, my God, oh, my God. They were real. They really were saying—” She couldn’t finish.
“Models in your brain, my ass,” Dee said to Michael.
Michael looked wretched. He bent his head, clutching his rumpled hair with his hands.
“And the dreams?” Audrey said thinly. “You think they were real, too? There was some—thing—in my bed with me?”
“Sounds like,” Zach said, with morbid satisfaction. “Or maybe Julian can just make us dream what he wants.”
“We have to do something,” Dee said.
“Like what?” Zach’s gray eyes shone with devastating logic. “What can we do against Julian? Plus that snake and that wolf. Don’t you remember what they looked like?”
“I think they’re the ones who got Gordie Wilson, incidentally,” Tom said quietly. “I went up to the place where they found him.”
“Oh, great. We don’t have a chance,” Michael said.
“Look, we’re all in shock now,” Dee said. “Let’s get together this weekend at somebody’s house and make plans. We can spend all Saturday thinking.”
“At Tom’s, maybe,” Michael said. “I’m going to be there anyway; my dad’s going to New York for a week.”
Audrey looked at Jenny, then at Tom. Her camellia skin was pink, and she rubbed at her spiky lashes with one hand.
“I hate to say this, but we can’t,” she said. “At least Jenny and I can’t. You’re forgetting about the senior prom.”
Tom looked up. “. . . What?”
“Jenny and I,” Audrey said helplessly, “are going to the senior prom.”
“With Brian Dettlinger and Eric Rankin,” Michael said, in a misery-loves-company voice.
Tom was staring at Jenny. His face was perfectly white, and the green flecks in his eyes seemed to flare. Something seemed to have gone wrong with his mouth—it was trembling. Jenny looked back at him in absolute horror, her mind a thundering blank.
Then Tom said, slowly, “I see.”
“No,” Jenny whispered, stricken. She had never seen Tom look like this. Not when his grandmother died, not even when his father had had a heart attack. Tom Locke the invulnerable didn’t have a face like that.
“It’s okay. I should have expected it.” He got up.
“Tom —”
“You ought to be safe enough. Like I said, I don’t think they’ll hurt you.”
“Tom—oh, God, Tom —”
He was walking out the door.
Jenny whirled on Audrey and Michael, lashing out in her misery. “Are you happy now? You made him leave!”
“Do you think that means he doesn’t want me for the weekend?” Michael asked, but Dee spoke seriously.
“He wasn’t really here, Jenny. He’s not with us anymore, Sunshine, and you can’t make him be.”
Jenny waited a moment while Dee’s words slowly sank in. It was true. There was no way to deny it. Jenny hadn’t lost anything just now, because she had nothing left to lose.
She sat down and said dully, “Obviously not. And somehow I don’t think going to the prom with Brian is going to help, either.” She looked at Audrey.
Audrey, however, refused to be fazed. “Who knows? He might feel differently when he sees you actually doing it.”
“I’m not going to be doing it.”
“So you’re going to call Brian and dump him at the last minute?”
“Yes.” Jenny fumbled in her purse for her address book. She went to Audrey’s gold-and-white antique phone and dialed.
“Hello, Brian? It’s Jenny—”
“Jenny! I’m so glad you called.”
Jenny faltered. “You are?”
“Yeah, I was going to call you—look, I’m so stupid. I forgot to ask you what color your dress is.”
“My dress?”
“I know I should have asked before.” His voice was full of eagerness and—oh, God—boyish enthusiasm. “It’s not that I haven’t been thinking about you. The limo’s all lined up, and I made reservations at L’Avenue—do you like French food?”
“Oh . . .” Jenny felt limp as seaweed. “Oh . . . sure.”
“Great. And your dress is what color?”
Audrey had come over and was leaning her copper head close to the earpiece. “Tell him gold,” she whispered.
“Gold,” Jenny repeated automatically, then looked at Audrey. “Oh, no, not that one,” she whispered fiercely.
“What? Gold’s great. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jenny hung up dazedly. She hadn’t been able to do it.
“You see?” Audrey said grimly. “I’m stuck, too. Stop looking like that, Michael. I don’t care about Eric—much.”
Dee stretched. “When you get down to it, what difference does it make where you are? They can get into our houses if they want.”
It was true. It wasn’t much comfort. Jenny still didn’t see how she could go—or how she could get out of it now.
“I can’t wear that dress,” she said to Audrey. “Tom wouldn’t even let me wear it with him. If he hears I wore it with Brian, he’ll have a fit. . . .” Her voice trailed off as new hope ignited suddenly in her chest.
Audrey smiled knowingly. “Then maybe,” she said archly, “the prom will do some good after all.”
Jenny picked up the handful of liquid gold, put it down again. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.
On the other hand, Dee was right. What difference did it make where Jenny was? There was nowhere safe. At least the Monarch Hotel was a large public place. She and Audrey would be surrounded by people.
Last night and today had been very quiet. No dreams, no disturbances. The calm before the storm? Or maybe . . . maybe some miracle had happened and all the bad things had gone away. Spontaneously popped back into the Shadow World. Maybe Julian was going to leave her alone from now on.
Don’t be ridiculous, Jenny.
She sighed and shook her head. Too much worrying had sapped her energy and put her in a fatalistic mood.
She picked up the liquid gold again. It was the Dress.
The material was gold foil, which showed a subtle pattern of flowers and leaves when the light hit it the right way—almost like tapestry. The colors were rich and shimmering, and the thin fabric was silky-soft. Audrey had been crazy over it, but Audrey only wore black and white.
“You have to get it,” she’d told Jenny, tilting the shining fabric back and forth under the lights and ignoring the bevy of trailing saleswomen—saleswomen always trailed when Audrey shopped.
“But Tom—”
“Forget Tom. When are you going to stop letting him tell you what to wear? You must buy this dress. With your gold-y skin and hair it will be exquisite.”
So Jenny had bought it. But she’d been right; Tom wouldn’t let her wear it to the junior prom. It was too short, too clinging, molding itself to her like a shining skin. Her legs looked as long as Dee’s underneath.
Now she put it on and reached for a brush. She bent over, brushing, then stood, flipping her hair back. She ran her fingers through her hair to fluff it.
Then she stepped to the full-length maple mirror. She had to admit it; the dress was a masterpiece. A glittering, shameless work of art. Her hair was a mass of dark gold around h
er face, different from her usual soft look. Her entire image seemed touched with gold.
She looked like a crown princess. She felt like a virgin sacrifice.
“Jenny.” Her mother was tapping at her bedroom door. “He’s here.”
Jenny stared at herself for another moment hopelessly. “Right,” she said and came out.
Brian’s jaw dropped when he saw her. So, unfortunately, did Mr. Thornton’s.
“Jim, now, Jim,” her mother said. She led Jenny’s father off into the kitchen, talking to him about how responsible Jenny was and how Brian’s mother was a member of the Assistance League.
“Are those my flowers?” Jenny said, since Brian was still gaping at her. He held out the corsage box dumbly.
The plastic was clouded with mist, but when Jenny opened it, she saw an ethereal bunch of palest lemon miniature roses. “But they’re beautiful!”
“Uh. Um.” Brian blinked at the flowers, then shook his head slightly. He took them out, looked at her low neckline. He reached toward her doubtfully, pulled back. “Uh . . .”
“I’ll do it,” Jenny said and fastened them on her shoulder. Then she put on his boutonniere and they left.
The limo was champagne-colored, and they weren’t sharing it with anybody. Brian looked nice, blond and handsome, with a royal blue cummerbund and tie. All the way to the restaurant Jenny concentrated on the tiny shiny buttons on his tux in order to keep from crying.
She’d never been out with any boy besides Tom.
Dinner was uneventful. Brian was awed by everything she said and did, which made him easy to get along with. He wasn’t smart like Tom, but he was a nice guy. A really nice guy.
Palm trees lined the private drive of the hotel. It was a beautiful and dreamlike setting, a cliff above the sea. Mercedes and Cadillacs were parked everywhere and bellhops in red uniforms were running around.
As Jenny got out of the limo, she began to realize something. The senior prom was like a junior prom some fairy godmother had waved a wand over. Everything grander, bigger, more glittery. More grown-up. It was scary, but kind of wonderful.
They walked between marble columns into an enchanted world. Acres of Italian marble. Huge urns of flowers—all arranged in exquisitely simple good taste. Persian carpets, silk wallcoverings, Bohemian crystal chandeliers.