“Maybe he would have,” Milo chided her, “if you hadn’t told him we were demon-summoning warlocks.”
“Warlocks aren’t real.”
“Neither are transmutational lake monsters –” Milo rapped his knuckles on her notebook – “yet here we are.”
The chimes at the front entrance tinkled, followed by the sound of stomping boots. Marietta Corbin?
Lucy and Milo peeked round the bookshelf.
“It’s that guy from your dad’s band,” Milo whispered.
Lucy’s stomach did jumping jacks. Scruffy Steve. He was one of them. Why was he here? It couldn’t be a coincidence. Pretenders of a feather flock together.
“Heya, Kenzo.” Steve removed his soggy raincoat and hung it by the door. “You’re looking as grim as the storm out there.”
“I’ve seen brighter days, as have we all,” replied Kenzo. He set the vase on the tarot table and gave the flowers a fluff. “But the skies will soon clear, if all goes according to plan.”
Plan? What plan? Is this Kenzo dude one of them too?
“Has anyone else arrived for the meeting?” asked Steve. “I was told there would be cookies.” He rubbed his belly.
“You’re the first to arrive, my friend,” said Kenzo. “Though there are a couple of customers lurking about.”
Steve stood on his toes and peered across the room. “Is that purple hair I see?” He ambled over. “Lucy Goosie!”
He patted her on the back so hard she dropped her notebook to the floor with a FTONK. It flopped open to a page filled with scribbled names and hand-drawn pictures of the Pretenders in their various forms.
Criminy peatmoss! Lucy quickly kicked the book behind her.
“H-hi, Steve,” she stammered. “What are you doing here?”
“Little a’ this, little a’ that.” Steve side-stepped the question. “Hey!” He pointed a couple of finger guns. “If it isn’t Milo Fisher, the Kayak Kid.”
“Hi, Mr Kozlowski.” Milo stooped to pick up Lucy’s notebook.
“No!” Lucy smacked the book out of his hands.
Milo scowled. “What’s the matter with you?” He picked it up. The book lay open in his hands.
Crud! Crudcrudcrudcrud… “Please don’t read that,” she urged.
“I wasn’t planning to.” Milo shot her a scathing look.
“Are you guys here for the secret meeting?” Steve scratched his scraggly beard. “Seems a bit premature…”
Secret meeting? “Uh, we were just here to, to…” Lucy searched for a lie, any lie…
The chimes on the door jingled once more.
“Anybody home?” called a gruff female voice. “I wasn’t sure what to bake, so I’ve brought gingerbread people of various persuasions.” The Other Mrs Stricks set her picnic basket on the table next to the black roses. “Sladan?” she said, spotting Lucy. “What’s she doing here? And why has she brought the boy?”
Lucy gulped. The place was filling up with Pretenders, all meeting here for some unknown purpose. She was starting to feel like she and Milo had accidentally stumbled into a beehive.
Mrs Stricks came into view, shaking off her umbrella. “Lucy?” She glared at Steve. “Did you tell her about this?”
“I thought you two invited her.”
“And why would we do that?” said Mrs Stricks.
“I dunno.” Steve scratched his head. “Nobody told me what the plan was.”
“Shhhh!” hissed the Other Mrs Stricks. “Not in front of the boy!”
“We were just leaving,” Lucy cut in.
She turned to Milo, whose eyes were glued to her open notebook. He looked green.
With a yelp Lucy snatched the book from his hands. “I told you not to read that!”
Milo took one look around the place, clocked the faces in the room, then bolted towards the door, knocking over the dreamcatcher stand on the way out.
“Be careful,” the Other Mrs Stricks warned. “You wouldn’t want to bring the whole place down, would you?”
Milo slammed the door behind him with a jangle. Lucy hurried after him.
Mrs Stricks looked concerned. “Lucita,” she said. “What’s the matter with Milo?”
“Oh, nothing.” Lucy slid past the older ladies as politely as she could. “He’s just, uh, allergic to sage.”
“I told you we should hold the meeting at our house,” said the Other Mrs Stricks as Lucy scurried past.
“And I suppose you’d have done the dishes, dear?” Mrs Stricks scoffed.
Lucy quickly exited the store. Outside, the rain was falling harder than ever and the road was beginning to flood, the storm drains clogged with autumn leaves. Lucy splashed across the street, her glasses smeared with water. Milo was hunched over by the lamp post, struggling to unlock his bike.
“Fish,” Lucy called.
The bike came unlatched and Milo hopped on. Lucy grabbed the handlebars.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“What are those people?” Milo demanded.
Lucy was standing in the gutter, ankle-deep in water. She hesitated. “What do you mean? They’re my neighbours.”
“Stop lying.” Milo wiped his wet nose with his sleeve. “I was right, wasn’t I? There are more shapeshifters like Thingus, and they look just like us.”
Lucy stared at the water flowing over her boots. “I wanted to tell you,” she said. “But I couldn’t. You have to understand—”
“I don’t have to understand anything,” said Milo. “You lied to me. Again. After I told you everything.” He velcroed the front flap of his hood over his chin. “I stole from my father because you asked me to. I shared Thingus with you. You had a million chances to tell me the truth, and you lied.”
“It’s complicated,” Lucy insisted. “I had to lie to protect them.”
“Protect them?” Milo laughed. “From what?”
“From Nu Co.,” said Lucy. “From your dad!”
“Why is everyone so fixated on my father?” Milo shouted. “I wouldn’t have told him, anyway! You could have trusted me.”
“You wouldn’t talk to me!”
“Yeah,” sniffed Milo. “For good reason.” He pulled his bike out of her grip.
“Fish, wait,” said Lucy.
He stopped and glared at her. Lucy tried to think of something to say, but she was at a loss.
“We’re done, Lucita. Goodbye.” Milo took off, splashing her as he went.
“How am I supposed to get home?” Lucy called.
“Figure it out for yourself,” said Milo, disappearing round the bend.
Lucy kicked the puddle at her feet. Everything was ruined, once again.
“Are you okay, little one?” said a voice from across the street.
Lucy turned to look. A woman was walking her bicycle in front of The Woo Woo Store. Curly red hair poked out from under her hood.
Marietta Corbin. Lucy shook her head. The hot tears on her cheeks mixed with the cold rain.
“Would you like to come inside?” Marietta asked, gesturing towards her shop. Her teal rain poncho fanned out like the wing of a peacock.
Lucy stifled a sob. She shook her head again.
Ms Corbin waded across the road with her bicycle. “Feeling in over your head?” she asked gently.
Unable to contain her feelings any longer, Lucy began to cry in earnest.
“Here.” Ms Corbin rolled the bike towards her. “Why don’t you borrow this and get yourself someplace dry?”
Lucy took the handlebars with surprise. “But what about you?”
Marietta tilted her head skywards, letting the rain fall on her face. “Just bring it back tomorrow,” she smiled. “I have other ways of getting where I’m going.” She patted the bike and wandered into her store.
Lucy stood at the side of the road, unsure what to do about the multifaceted mess her life had become. So much for the Truth. Crestfallen, she hopped on Marietta’s bike and started riding, headed anywhere but home.
; Crodbarres
Milo pedalled through the rain, alone once again. The situation was clearly worse than he’d imagined. A single shapeshifter in Black Hole Lake was one thing, but, according to Lucy’s notes, half a dozen of the town’s residents were part of some kind of invading supernatural force. How could she have lied to him again, after everything they’d experienced together? Enough was enough. It was time to tell his father what he knew.
Mr Fisher had been right, after all. About Lucy. About Sticky Pines. Who knows? Maybe he was right about boarding school in Kansas not being awful, too, which Milo was going to volunteer for as soon as he got home. But, first things first, he had to say goodbye to Thingus. It wasn’t the poor creature’s fault that he was a member of a potentially dangerous inhuman race. Milo didn’t want to think about how much he was going to miss him.
Black Hole Lake was especially steamy this stormy November day. Fortunately, Milo was warm and dry inside his monsoon-grade rain gear. He hid his bike behind the usual bushes, pulled his kayak out from under the decrepit dock and hopped in.
The wind picked up as Milo paddled towards the Siren’s Lair, rain hammering the lake’s surface like fistfuls of gravel. It was late afternoon, but the sky was so darkened by heavy clouds it seemed night had fallen early.
“PHEW-EEEE-OOO,” Milo whistled. He hoped Thingus could hear him over the din. He slapped his oar on the surface. Come on, buddy. One last time, please.
Miraculously, Milo heard a bubbly response below: “PHBEEWWW-BEEEEEEE-BWOOOO.” A moment later, a pair of small leathery hands emerged from the lake and clung to the front of the boat. Thingus, in the form of a river otter, climbed aboard, his cat-like teeth showing through a wide grin.
“Hey, pal,” said Milo. “I like your new shape.”
Thingus scampered down the length of the kayak and leapt into Milo’s arms.
Milo hugged the otter close. “It’s good to see you, too.” The furry being wrapped itself round Milo’s neck and chittered in his ear. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”
Thingus scurried to the tip of the kayak and stood on his hind legs like a sailor searching for land.
When they reached the island, Milo pulled the boat on to the shore and followed Thingus under the shelter of some trees just off the shallow beach. The rain pattered the evergreen branches and everything smelled like mud. Milo pulled back his yellow rain hood. Oof. This is going to be hard.
“Thingus,” he began. Goodbye, my friend. I have to go away, now. C’mon, just say it. “I, um…”
The otter spun round in a circle, then stood up and clapped his webbed hands. He held them out like a duck-fingered orphan, hope radiating from his soft brown eyes.
“I’m sorry, pal. I don’t have any candy.”
Not one to take “no” for an answer, Thingus quivered, slimed and grew until he was as tall as Milo’s waist. He scampered in a circle, showing off his new size, as if to say, “Look, I did a trick! Now give me some candy.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?” said Milo, his voice catching in his throat.
The otter took a two-footed step forward, but tripped on his thick tail. Milo caught him before he landed in the mud.
“Nice try,” Milo chuckled, “but your legs are too short.” He set the creature back on his feet.
Thingus gazed up at him and held out his hands again.
Milo looked away. “I have to tell you something,” he said, his tone serious. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go away. Probably forever.”
Thingus’s smile faltered. He seemed confused. Milo felt a blow to his heart.
“I just… I can’t live here any more.” Milo punched a tree trunk, skinning his knuckles. “This whole town is crazy. Sticky Pines makes people crazy. There’s no one I can trust. No one I can talk to. I have to leave. Now.” He turned to go back to the shore, but Thingus wrapped his arms round Milo’s leg.
Milo scratched the furry creature between the ears. “I’m sorry, little guy. It’s not your fault. It’s everyone else. It’s Lucy. And my f-father.” He slumped to the ground and buried his face between his knees, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
A breeze ruffled the hair on the back of his neck, and Milo felt a hand on his shoulder. Huh? He raised his head and found himself staring into a pair of blue eyes very like his own. What the– Who?
Smiling down at him sympathetically, stooping under the low branches, was a boy about his age. Though the humanoid child’s lips and brown skin tone mirrored Lucy’s, the rest of his facial features resembled Milo’s. His hair, though, was unique: thick, shaggy indigo curls falling down to his jawline. The kid appeared to be wearing yellow rain gear like Milo’s, but his “clothes” had no fasteners, wrinkles or any other myriad details of Milo’s own attire. The creature must have grown the clothing, like he’d grown hair and feathers before.
“Thingus?” Milo gasped.
The new kid grinned, a gap between his front teeth, like Lucy’s.
“Since when did you learn to do this?”
Thingus held out his perfect human hand, and with a graceful strength, helped Milo to standing.
“Crodbarres,” said Thingus. His otherworldly voice was a touch deeper than Milo’s and vibrated like he was speaking through a spinning fan.
Son of a stockbroker. “Do you mean, ‘crudberries’?” asked Milo.
The newly verbal being laughed.
His first word was “crudberries”. Lucy would be so proud.
“Thingus,” said Milo. “What are you?”
Thingus scrunched his nose and worked his jaw, still feeling out his new features. “Crodbarres,” he said again.
A juddering, chopping sound interrupted Milo’s thoughts. What is that?
Clearly unused to this new form, Thingus dropped down and crawled on his hands and knees towards the beach, spider-quick.
“Wait,” said Milo, wriggling through the trees in pursuit.
On the shallow shore, Milo threw his hands over his ears to block out the deafening racket. Waves churned at the waterline as the wind gusted and swirled, hurling up rainwater and dead leaves that stung Milo’s eyes. The wet stones glinted under the glare of a blindingly bright light. It wasn’t the sun; the rain was falling as thickly as ever.
Thingus stood on the beach, squinting skywards.
A small projectile whizzed through the air past the freshly formed child’s head. Startled, Thingus screamed like a banshee.
Milo turned to see a tranquilliser dart sticking out of the mud behind them. He whipped back round, finally realising what he was seeing. It was a helicopter. My father has found us.
Milo yanked Thingus back towards the shelter of the trees.
THWAP!
A dart hit Thingus in the leg.
“No!” yelled Milo.
Thingus fell to the ground, wailing in confusion. The young humanoid’s skin began to shimmer and, with more effort than usual, he transformed back into a stag, bucking and thrashing at the sky.
Milo ran out into the open, waving his arms at the helicopter. “Stop!” he shouted. “Please!”
The stag reared up at its attackers. Then he inhaled deeply and started to grow.
“Thingus, don’t,” Milo begged. “You can’t fight a helicopter.”
But the creature continued to expand until he was the size of a station wagon. Raising up on his hind legs, he released an angry bellow at the chopper.
SCHLUPPK! A massive wad of steaming pink goo shot from a cannon mounted on the side of the helicopter, hitting Thingus square in the chest and splattering across the deer’s neck and legs. Thingus swayed, disoriented. SCHLUPPK! Another wad smashed into the creature’s torso. Jerking and keening like the wild animal he’d become, Thingus desperately tried to shake off the unknown substance without success. Stumbling about, he shimmered, trying to shift his shape, but he was now unable to change form.
Milo inhaled a nauseating scent, both acrid and sweet. Nucralose. This is what his father
had been working on all this time. He’d re-engineered the tree sap once again, targeting the Pretenders. Somehow, he’d found a way to prevent them from using their shapeshifting powers. How long has Dad known about them? Milo now realised what his father had meant when he said he’d found a way to solve the “Sticky Pines problem”.
Milo waved his arms at the helicopter, hollering for it to back off, but as he did so Thingus was hit with another tranquilliser dart, this time directly in the neck. The giant stag’s muscles seized up and he fell heavily on to the rocky beach.
“Thingus!” Milo cried.
The helicopter hovered over the shore, black ropes dropping down from its side.
Unsure what to do, Milo grabbed the mighty deer by its goo-splattered forelimbs and tried to drag him into the trees. It was no use; the creature was far too heavy.
“Step away from the target,” a megaphoned voice barked from the helicopter.
Four muscular figures in black tactical gear slid down the dangling ropes. One of them, a square-jawed man wearing an infrared visor and helmet, tackled Milo and pulled him into the bushes. He propped the boy up on a fallen log while the other security professionals strapped Thingus to an oversized stretcher.
“Stay here,” the man ordered Milo. He spoke into a device on his wrist. “Eaglet is disentangled. Rogue Deviant is neutralised.”
The sturdy squaddie ran back to join his compatriots. Milo watched in horror as the men threw a set of thick nylon straps round Thingus.
Milo mentally kicked himself. How could he be so reckless? Of course his father had tracked him to the island. He must have known about his visits to Thingus for days, if not longer. Milo had tried to be so careful, to inspect his shoes, to only wear clothing he had stored in his locker at school. Sure, he’d only wiped his phone’s memory the one time, but there was never any reception in Sticky Pines, so he didn’t think–Blue blazers. Milo opened his mobile. Sure enough, an app he’d never noticed before was tracking his location. Stupid, stupid, stupid…
He ran towards the lake and – “NYAH!” – threw the device into the choppy water with all his might.
“Hey, kid,” yelled the squaddie. He was busily fastening a harness around Thingus. “Get back here!”
The Thing At Black Hole Lake Page 11