“Earthquake?” Michael muttered absently. Smiley had known his name.
“I’ll bet that was an earthquake,” Mrs. Finche asserted. “All that rumblin’ underfoot near shook my carrots right up out the ground. Near gave me a coronary ta’ boot!”
His stomach was feeling better, good enough to get home, anyway. But what then? Smiley knew about the cat. Probably about the dollmen, too. He’d seen Michael’s silver eyes and witnessed the stonesong in action.
“An earthquake, in Flintville of all places,” Mrs. Finche gushed. She lifted the spade to her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Is that Emmitt Jenkins coming out of his house? Sure, it is. Emmitt, get your carcass back in there and call the mayor! We got us an earthquake to report!”
Michael glanced down at his feet and spied the broken syringe lying on the grass. Why try to drug him? What did Smiley want?
A rickety old man came down from a porch two houses away. Cane in hand, he hobbled toward them with a sour look on his face. “An earthquake?” he blustered. “Have you finally gone senile, Judith? There’s nothing out here but a busted water main. I heard the pipe rupture clear in the living room.”
Mrs. Finche glared at the old man. “You’re the one who’s daft, Jenkins. Was a quake, I tell you. Ask the Wiffles’ boy if you don’t believe me.”
Emmitt shook his cane like an unruly snake. “You don’t think I know the difference between a water main and an earthquake? Let me tell you, I—”
“I have to go,” blurted Michael.
Mrs. Finche gasped and dropped her spade as he rushed past her. He didn’t stop to pick up the garden implement as he sprinted for home.
Smiley had known his name, and that meant he probably knew where he lived. He’d only been a block from home when Smiley stopped him.
In seconds, he was cutting across the Wiffles’ driveway and up the porch. Flinging open the door, he burst into the living room. “Mr. and Mrs. Wiffle? Is anyone here?”
Barbara stepped out of the kitchen, a dishrag in one hand and a bottle of glass cleaner in the other. “Karl’s still at work, dear. Dear you hear that crash? Was there an accident?”
Michael ignored the question, slumping against the door in relief. Everything was okay. Smiley and his goon hadn’t been here yet. He still had time.
Barbara gave him a puzzled look. “Are you all right, dear?”
Michael forced a smile. “I’m just a little winded, Mrs. Wiffle. The library was closed. So I decided to run back.”
“In this heat?” Barbara clucked her tongue. She seemed to have already forgotten questioning Michael about the noise outside, which was fine, since he had no good answer to give her. “You’re going to end up with heatstroke if you’re not careful.”
“Yeah, it was kind of hot today.” Michael reached behind him and quietly engaged the deadbolt. “I’m beat. I think I’ll take a nap, if that’s okay with you.”
Barbara waved her rag at him and went back into the kitchen. “As long as you’re down here for dinner, dear.”
“No problem.”
The time had come to leave Flintville. Smiley was coming for him, not the Wiffles. Michael wasn’t about to let them get hurt trying to protect him.
“That reminds me,” Barbara called after him. “I was planning on making my meatloaf tonight, but you didn’t seem to care for it much last time. Did you want me to make something else?”
Michael stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He still had to wait until dark before he left. “Meatloaf would be great, Mrs. Wiffle. In fact, how about I hold off on the nap and help you with dinner?”
Barbara’s surprised face popped out of the kitchen into the living room. “That would be wonderful, Michael. And call me Barbara.”
“Sorry, Mrs.…Barbara.”
He really didn’t like meatloaf, but he didn’t want to spend the time he had left with Barbara cooped up in his room. After supper, in the dark and whether the Wiffles were asleep or not, he was leaving. As he stepped into the kitchen, a crow cawed. The bird sounded close.
Barbara looked toward the patio door and grimaced. “Do you hear that? To tell you the truth, I’ve always hated those filthy birds. My grandmother used to call them the Devil’s eyes.”
The crow cawed again, and the stonesong twitched.
“Maybe she was right,” Michael said quietly.
“Heaven forbid.” Barbara wiped her hands on her apron. “Now, how about we get started on that meatloaf?”
Michael nodded and pretended not to notice the continued cawing outside. He was leaving tonight. He only hoped he was not too late.
15
Visitors
During supper, Karl remarked on the broken sidewalk and made mention of Mrs. Finche’s earthquake theory. This provoked a lively discussion concerning flagging city maintenance, as well as the potential mental hazards of spending too much time around garden pesticides.
Aside from an occasional nod, Michael stayed out of the discussion. Mrs. Finche hadn’t mentioned seeing him at the broken sidewalk when she’d spoken to Karl. The old woman had probably forgotten about him completely in all the excitement. That was fine. Her senility kept him from having to give his own eyewitness account of the accident.
After supper, he helped clean the dishes and said goodnight to the Wiffles.
“Goodnight, dear,” Barbara said. “Thanks again for all your help tonight.”
Karl lowered the newspaper he was reading to give Michael an approving nod. “You should get out again tomorrow. Fresh air looks to have agreed with you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Wiffle. Goodnight.”
Michael left the kitchen and hurried upstairs. The dark had come, and though he had no money and no idea where he was going, he was leaving.
Once in his room, he pulled his backpack out from under the bed and began to remove his sheets. There was a long drop from the window to the deck, but tying the sheets together would make a serviceable rope. A shadow moved across his mattress.
“Take it out,” someone growled behind him.
Smiley!
He dove across the bed, but something snagged his collar, jerking him back and throwing him to the floor. A dainty foot pressed down on his chest, pinning him in place.
Michael’s jaw dropped. “Lina?”
The green-eyed girl from the park glared down at him. “You remember my name. That’s peachy. I remembered yours, too. Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” Dressed in a sleeveless blue hoody and blue jeans, she looked paler than he remembered, almost sickly, and there were long streaks of silver in her coal-black hair.
“Are you crazy?” Michael pushed at Lina’s foot, but she didn’t budge. “What are you doing here? How did you get in my room?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Well, I’m kind of in a hurry. Could you let me up?”
Lina shook her head. “Not until you tell me how to get it out.”
A crow cawed, and Michael looked fearfully toward the window. The Ven would be coming soon, them or Smiley. To keep the Wiffles safe, he needed to be gone when they got here. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I don’t care. Just let me up.”
Lina shoved her palm an inch from his nose. “I’m talking about this.” Covered in a lattice of silvery metal, a clear jewel glittered in the center of her palm. “I’m talking about your stupid necklace.”
“The waystone,” Michael breathed. He looked closer. The pendant seemed to have fused with Lina’s skin. “Oh man, this can’t be good.”
Lina’s foot pressed down on his sternum, and his ribs creaked. “Tell me how I get this thing out,” she said.
Michael groaned and pushed up against her foot, but the skinny girl weighed a ton. He couldn’t move her. “You’re hurting me, Lina.”
“Then tell me how to get it out.”
“I don’t know how,” Michael said. “You weren’t even supposed to have the waystone. Arghh!”
Lina leaned clo
ser, pressing harder on his chest. “Take it out.”
Unable to move, Michael felt panic welling up inside him. Slight as she was, Lina might not even realize she was crushing him. He tried to tell her, but he couldn’t breathe. A creeping darkness closed in on his vision.
“Release the Awoken, thief,” said a gravelly voice. “Or this one shall kill you.”
The suffocating weight abruptly lifted from Michael’s chest, and he gulped in fiery breaths of air.
Her gaze locked on the window, Lina backed toward the bedroom door.
“What is that?” she asked.
Crouched upon the windowsill like a pale gargoyle, a dollman glared at her with gleaming mercury eyes. “You shall not harm the Awoken, thief. This one will not permit you.”
Lina swallowed nervously and looked down at Michael. “What is that thing?”
“Relax.” Michael sat up. He paused to cough and clear his throat. “Relax, Lina. He’s just a dollman.”
“A what?”
Michael rubbed his aching chest with the flat of his hand. “A dollman, one of the good guys…I think.” He sighed and pushed himself to his feet. “I swear it’s frigging Grand Central Station in here tonight.”
“Does he bite?” Lina asked nervously.
“Only cats, that I’ve seen. Sounds like he’s willing to make an exception in your case.” Michael rubbed his chest again and gave her a sour look. “To tell you the truth, I just might let him. You could have killed me.” He turned to the dollman. “What took you so long? I thought you were coming back when things were safe.”
The dollmen hopped down from the sill. His claws scritch-scritched against the floor as he trotted over to the bed. “This one followed the thief, Awoken. The Fallen are near. The People must retrieve the waystone and flee.”
Lina began to look more confused than afraid. “What’s he talking about, Mike? And why does he keep calling me a thief?”
The dollman bared his glassy fangs at her. “Return what was stolen, thief. The waystone is of the People, birthright of the Awoken.”
“I think I understand,” Michael said. “That thing in your hand is called a waystone, Lina. The dollmen left the jewel with me. I guess he figures you stole it.”
“I didn’t steal anything,” said Lina. “I found the necklace beside the fountain. Tell the little freak I never wanted his stupid waystone. I just want it out of my hand.”
The dollman leapt onto the bedpost, balancing on the smooth wooden ball while still keeping his alien gaze on Lina. “May this one kill the thief, Awoken?”
A low growl rumbled from Lina’s throat, and Michael quickly placed himself between the dollman and the girl. “Whoa. Everybody just chill out for a second. Lina didn’t steal the waystone. I lost it. Plus, the Wiffles have a rule about killing people in the house. So keep your claws to yourself.”
The dollman bowed to him. “As the Awoken commands. This one will not kill the thief.”
“Whatever,” said Michael. He glared at Lina. “And you need to calm down. Believe me, it’s a good thing for us this little guy showed up.”
Lina looked less than convinced. “Why?”
Michael slipped his backpack over his shoulders.
“You need that rock out of your hand. I need the waystone to help me control the stonesong. The dollmen are probably the only ones who can help either of us.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Not really,” said Michael. “Listen, ah… buddy,” he said to the dollman, “the Ven or some other really bad dudes are probably on their way here. So, we need the waystone out of Lina’s hand, like yesterday.”
The dollman cocked his head. “The Awoken needs the waystone to control the stonesong. The thief must release the waystone to him. The Ven are near.”
Lina clenched her fists. “Well, that’s just brilliant. If I could take this thing out, I would have done it already. Or does this runt think I normally break into boys’ bedrooms at night?”
Michael rolled his eyes at her. “Will you be quiet and let me handle this?”
“He’s not making any sense, Mike. I need to find out how to get this rock out of my hand.”
“I know, but you’re not helping.”
“The thief must release the waystone, Awoken,” the dollman said. “The Ven are near. The People—”
“Must flee,” Michael finished. “I feel you, bro. Now, how do we get the waystone out of Lina’s hand? Aside from me letting you kill her, I mean.”
The dollman’s forehead wrinkled as he appeared to consider the question. “The Awoken wishes to retrieve the waystone without harm to the thief?”
“Exactly. How do we get the waystone out without hurting her?”
“The thief is bloodbound to the earth and bone, Awoken,” the dollman said. “Only the elders of the People can unbind the stone from the thief’s flesh. If you would not harm the thief, we must go to them, in the city of the People.”
“I can’t go to some secret city,” Lina said. “For God’s sake, I’m supposed to be going to dance camp. Do you have any idea what kind of trouble I’m going to get in if I ditch that? No. I need this thing out of my hand tonight. There has to be something I can do.”
“She’s right,” Michael said. “I need to get out of here, but that doesn’t mean I want to go looking for a dollman city. Isn’t there another way?”
The dollman gave a glassy smile. “We can kill the thief and take back the waystone. Shall this one kill the thief, Awoken?”
“Let’s go, you bald monkey,” Lina lunged for the little man.
The dollman sprang from the bedpost to the dresser, knocking over a lamp as he landed. The lamp struck the floor and shattered, sending bits of glass and porcelain in all directions.
Running footsteps sounded in the hall outside his room. “Michael?” Barbara’s muffled call was alarmed. “Michael, are you all right?”
Everyone froze.
Michael broke from the paralysis first. “I’m okay,” he called back, but the footsteps grew louder. “Hide,” he hissed. “I’ll try to stall her.”
Michael sprang for the door as it swung open.
“What’s going on in here?” asked Barbara. She glanced over Michael’s shoulder and her hands leapt to her mouth. “Good heavens!”
Michael winced. This day just got better and better. “Please don’t freak out, Mrs. Wiffle. I can explain.”
Barbara’s hands dropped from her mouth to her ample hips. “I should hope so. What have you done to your room?”
“My…my room?” Michael turned. His bedroom was empty. Lina and the dollman had disappeared.
Barbara stomped past him toward his dresser. Standing over the rumpled sheets and broken lamp, she tapped her foot expectantly. “Just look at this mess. What in the world were you doing in here?” She frowned. “And why are you wearing your backpack?”
“I was…I was…” He fumbled for a believable excuse, but his mind was a blank until he spotted his Morbius comics next to the nightstand. “I was setting up a tent.”
“A tent?” Barbara pushed at the sheets with her toe. “You were trying to build a tent with your sheets?”
“Sure. It’s like camping, only indoors. I used to do this all the time at my old foster home.” A stream of crumbled plaster fell onto his cheek. Brushing it away, he glanced up.
Side by side, Lina and the dollman clung from the ceiling above him like human spiders.
“No freaking way!”
Barbara looked up from the messy floor. “What?”
Michael jerked his gaze from the ceiling. “I mean, uh…no freaking way should I leave my room like this. I’d better clean that up right now.”
Barbara clucked her tongue and smiled. “I’ll help you,” she said. “But next time you’re camping in your room, try to be more careful.”
“I’ll clean up myself, Mrs. Wiffle.” Taking her by the arm, Michael ushered her to the door. “I’m the one who broke the lamp.”
“Well, if you’re sure.” Barbara sounded uncertain, but didn’t resist as he pushed her into the hall. “Just make certain you pick up all the glass. You wouldn’t want to cut your foot.”
“No problem, Mrs. Wiffle. I’ll get all the glass.”
“Barbara, dear.”
“No problem, Mrs. Barbara,” he said hastily. He started to shut the door, but Barbara held it open. “Is that plaster on the floor?”
Michael’s heart jumped. “No. I don’t think so.”
“I think it is.” Barbara squinted at the white powder on the floor. “Now, where did that come from?” Her gaze began to lift toward the ceiling.
The doorbell rang.
“There’s someone at the door!” Karl called from downstairs.
Barbara rolled her eyes. “Would it kill him to get up and answer the door himself?”
“Barb!”
“I’m coming, you old goat,” she muttered. “I had better get that before Karl gives himself an aneurism. Make sure you clean up all the glass, dear.”
Saved by the bell, literally.
“No problem, Mrs. Wiffle.”
Barbara nodded and started down the hall, and he shut the door.
Lina and the dollman dropped to the floor as gracefully as cats. Above them, deep finger holes marked where they had dug into the plaster to maintain their precarious grip, where they’d clung, using only the strength of their arms to support the weight of their entire bodies as they clung to the ceiling.
“That was close,” Lina said.
“No kidding,” Michael said. “How did you do that?”
Before Lina could answer, the dollman seized Michael’s pants leg and, with an incredible display of strength, began dragging him toward the window.
“Hey!” Michael struggled to keep his balance, hopping on one leg behind the dollman. “Knock it off.”
“We must flee, Awoken,” the dollman said. “The Ven are near. This one will show you the way.”
“Don’t blow a blood vessel, Sméagol,” Michael said. The dollman didn’t look much like the pathetic ring-obsessed creature from Lord of the Rings, but he certainly seemed as single-minded. “I’m on my way out already. So let go of my leg.”
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