CHAPTER SEVEN

The Boy with Silver Eyes

Danny stood there, staring at the ash on the floor, hands held out in front of him like potentially dangerous knives, until he heard the door to the attic creak open and footsteps on the stairs. Miss Grace’s voice called out to him.

“Danny?”

“What?” Danny said, voice high and tense. He forced his voice into normalcy. “I mean, yes?”

Miss Grace came to the top of the stairs looking fussed and frowning.

“How would you like to go downtown with me and Ali for a bit?” she asked. “I need to print some things out for the transfer of assets, and your uncle doesn’t have a damn thing in this house, not a printer, no internet, not even a television…why are you standing like that?”

Danny quickly put his hands in his pockets. He shrugged nonchalantly.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked, eyes narrowing.

“Big spider,” he said. He waved a hand at the floor.

“Ah,” she said, as if in total understanding. Her dislike of bugs was well documented. “Your uncle was always a bit of a luddite. He hated machines, and I need a printer. Ali says we need some supplies, too, he says he can’t find any toilet paper. You feel like coming out with us to the library and the grocery store? Have a little bit of normal life?”

Yes, that’s what I need, Danny thought. Yes, please.

“Sure,” he said.

“Oh,” Miss Grace said, “I thought it would be harder to talk you into it than that. I know how much you hate grocery shopping. I was prepared to bribe you with pizza for dinner.”

“You can still bribe me with pizza,” Danny said.

She smiled. “All right, then, come on downstairs.”

“Be right there,” Danny said.

After she’d left, Danny swept up the ashes of the photo and dumped them in the trash. He sat on the bed heavily and gingerly probed his lower ribcage. Something inside him vibrated gently and then went still.

“You won’t make me a bad person,” he said. “I can’t be evil unless I want to, right? I mean, you can’t be evil by accident, can you?”

Not sure who he was trying to convince, he grabbed his coat and ran downstairs to the kitchen. Mr. Murray was flipping through the journals and having a glass of wine. Danny thought he still looked a little upset. He gave Mr. Murray a hug.

Mr. Murray pulled him in, kissing him quickly on the side of his head. “Don’t forget to read these journals, Danny. Take them up to your room and have a good look. This is your story, too.”

“Yep,” Danny said, “I’m the latest chapter in the crazy-ass tales of the Wildwood family.”

“Language,” Mr. Murray gently chided.

Danny sighed. If he swore a little bit, was that really the worst thing he could do? Especially now he knew he might be some kind of ticking time bomb to homicidal tendencies.

Danny heard the Volvo’s horn honk impatiently from the driveway.

“Is she in the car already?” Danny asked.

Ali dashed through, pulling on his gloves. “You know Gloria,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Get me some tea, please,” Mr. Murray asked. “That Earl Grey I like if they have it. Loose tea, not bags.”

“Roger,” Danny affirmed. He dashed after Ali. “Over and out!” he yelled as he banged through the swinging doors.

Silas Murray smiled and chuckled.

He loved that boy like he was his own. He hadn’t meant for that to happen. He’d tried to stay as detached as possible, assuming Grace and Ali would do most of the raising, but he’d gotten involved in spite of himself.

The first time he’d had to destroy something he loved, he’d been cornered and forced into it. This time he’d made a choice to put himself in this position.

He hoped fervently it would never come to that. He put his chin in his hands and closed his eyes.

“The problem with being the eldest,” he said to the kitchen, “is that everyone expects you to know what to do.”

He sighed heavily and rolled himself back to the library to look at the other journals, the ones Gaten had kept locked up tight. The ones he had no intention of ever showing Danny or anyone else.

The ones he wished he’d never seen, either.

***

“Here's the library,” said Miss Grace.

Danny looked up as they pulled into the parking lot of an enormous old building with deep red bricks, arched windows, and wide concrete steps. It was surrounded by low hedges that huddled around its foundation like small animals trying to keep warm. It looked ancient.

“Wow, it's huge,” Danny commented. The little modern library building in Easton didn’t seem worthy of the name anymore. This was a library.

It looked potentially haunted. Danny liked it immediately.

“It's one of the oldest libraries in the state,” said Miss Grace. “The whole country, in fact. Did you know that New Hampshire had the very first public library in the United States?”

“Neat,” Danny said. He filed that fact away for the next time he had to seem clever.

They hurried through the cold, holding their breath as if traveling through outer space, and in through the front doors of the library, immediately greeted by warmth and quiet.

Danny wasn't much of a book reader, but he did like libraries. They were comfortable places, quiet and welcoming. Also, they offered movies to rent for free, which was a good thing if you loved movies and were chronically broke.

They walked up some short stairs into the main part of the library, and Danny immediately spotted the movie shelves, in a small room off of the main desk area. He sprinted for the rows of DVDs.

He was excited to see they had an impressive selection, old and new. He flipped through them, smiling happily, while Ali went off to the cookbook section and Miss Grace chatted with two of the librarians about using the printers and copiers.

Danny made an involuntary sound of delight, grabbing up a shiny new DVD. The new Russel McTiegen movie, Freaks of Nature. He’d been dying to see it.

Alien mutant spiders. Danny almost busted into a dance. No one did alien mutant spiders better than Russel McTiegen. The effects were always amazing. He wrote all his own music, too, and Danny loved the soundtracks. He hugged it to his chest and said a quick prayer of thanks for the existence of horror movies.

He took it over to the circulation desk to ask Miss Grace if he could get it, but she'd gone off already. He didn't see Ali anywhere nearby, either. Uncomfortable and exposed, he looked around nervously.

“May I help you?” asked the young librarian at the desk.

Danny had a minimally less awkward time talking to adults than to other kids. They were usually nicer, or at least not as mean.

“I wanted to check this out,” he said, showing her the cover, “but I don't have a card here yet? I'm moving here, though.”

“Oh!” said the librarian with a friendly smile. “Welcome to Eddystone.” She looked at the movie in his hands. “I hear that's a good one,” she said.

Danny nodded enthusiastically. “Is there any way I could check it out?”

“Well,” she said, “usually you have to have proof of residence or pay an out of area fee for a card, which is eighty dollars.”

Good grief, thought Danny. I could buy the movie for twenty, but I don’t have twenty dollars, either.

Then he thought of a solution. “Would, like, a will be proof of residence?”

“A will?” asked the librarian, curiosity piqued.

“My uncle left me a house here,” Danny explained. “That's where I'll be living, so I’ll be a resident, I promise.”

The young librarian laughed. An older librarian who had been ignoring him up until now suddenly pricked up her ears and gave him a sharp look.

He continued, “Would that be proof of residence? So I could check it out today?”

Because what he really needed right now, Danny realized, was pizza and some alien mutant spiders, and then everything would seem less alarming.

“What house?” asked the older librarian. Her voice was like a thin flute.

“Gnomewood Home,” Danny answered.

The two librarians exchanged a shocked glance.

“What is your name, young man?” asked the Elder.

“Danzellan Wildwood Hallow,” Danny answered.

Both of their mouths dropped open. They looked him up and down as if trying to really see him thoroughly. That had a certain satisfaction to it, Danny had to admit.

“Wow,” said the younger one, her smile returning. “A Wildwood. I didn't think there were any Wildwoods left to inherit that old place. I’m so glad.”

“I'm the black sheep of the family,” said Danny.

“Aw,” said the young librarian. “Surely not. You're too cute to be a black sheep.”

Danny's face burned hotter than the sun. “So would that work? The will?”

“I think we can work with that,” said the older librarian. “Are your parents here?”

“My Keeper has a copy, she just went off to use your printer,” he said.

The librarians looked slightly confused.

“Oh, was that your nanny?” asked the Elder.

“No,” Danny said very seriously, “she's my lawyer.”

They smiled, faces creased in puzzlement, and exchanged another glance. The older librarian went off to find Miss Grace and discuss the library card with her.

Meanwhile, Danny held on to the movie like it was precious gold. The younger librarian seemed prepared to chat with him forever, so he politely extracted himself and went over to busy himself reading the notices on the wall as if they were fascinating.

One of the flyers said something about Monster Hunt. Wasn't that written all over a lot of his mom's things behind the bed? She had books and papers and all kinds of crap that said Monster Hunt on it. Her bed. His bed. He leaned in to read it.

Want to play old-school tabletop RPG's? it read. Join the Monster Hunt Club!

It went on to reference Monster Hunt as something that was featured in a popular TV show that Danny had never heard of, claimed it was 'retro', and that interest in it was making a 'big comeback'. There was a large graphic of an ogre, and a still photo from the TV show, both captioned.

The flier was really well done, someone had put a lot of work into it.

A girl’s loud voice came from behind him. “Do you watch Stranger World?”

Danny startled and spun, turning to see two kids about his own age standing a few feet away. They were watching him read the flier with an odd intensity.

The boy was skinny with sandy freckled skin, and fluffy blonde hair like a cloud of cotton candy. The girl had tight dark curls in a bunch, and a dark, glowing complexion. They were both bundled up for the cold- him in mismatched, worn gear, and her in an all-over snowsuit that looked like something Olympic skiers would wear.

Danny couldn’t speak for a second. He licked his lips nervously.

“What's, um, Stranger World?” he asked hesitantly.

They both goggled at him, at each other, back at him. They laughed. Danny tried not to flinch.

“You don't know what Stranger World is?” the girl asked, smiling brightly. She had the biggest smile Danny had ever seen. “Everyone watches it. Everyone. Where are you from, Mars?”

Maybe, Danny thought.

He shrugged and bit his thumbnail nervously. He was never in the loop with these things. He didn't watch TV shows much, just movies, and if something was popular it usually wasn’t his thing.

“Sorry,” he said.

“Stranger World,” the boy said, “it takes place when our parents were kids, right, like, in the 80s, and back then they played these games, like Monster Hunt.”

“Well, our parents didn't,” said the girl. She rolled her eyes and looked at the boy. “Can you imagine?”

The boy laughed. “No,” he said. “Definitely cannot imagine your parents or my mom playing an RPG.”

“RPG means role-playing game,” the girl explained.

Danny knew that already, but he nodded to be polite.

“But these aren't the video game kind,” she said, dark eyes sparkling. “These are so much fun, way better.”

“What kind are they?” Danny asked, desperate to keep the conversation going. He wasn’t timing it, but this may have been the longest conversation he’d ever had with people his own age since he was in a sandbox.

“You sit around a table in a group,” said the boy, “and you go on an adventure. In your imagination, kinda. There's stuff you can use on the table to help, y'know, to like, um…”

“Visualize,” prompted the girl.

“Yeah, that’s a good word,” said the boy. “But mostly you have one player who tells the story, and the rest of the players are, like, living it.”

“The Game Runner's in charge,” said the girl. “The GR leads the story and referees the action and rolls dice to see what happens.”

“The players roll dice too,” said the boy. “The best part is you get to make up a character to play as. You don't have to be you at all. You get to be your character the whole time. Like, acting.”

They both paused.

“I don’t think we’re explaining this too good,” the girl said.

Danny was very confused by their explanation, but it did sound like fun.

“I think my mom played it,” he said. “She has a lot of stuff that says Monster Hunt, books and things.”

“She has the books?” said the girl in a hushed tone. The two kids looked at each other, and then back at Danny hopefully. “Oh, we really, really need the books,” she said. “Please! They're super expensive and our parents won't buy them.”

“My mom says it’s dumb,” the boy said mournfully.

“It's really hard to play without them,” said the girl. “You can get the rules online, but the books have all the monster facts and stuff.” She looked frustrated.

“I can look and see what she has,” said Danny helpfully, and hopefully. Five minutes and they were still talking to him. This was going pretty well.

“Maybe she could help us,” said the boy. “If she remembers how to play.”

“Who?” Danny asked.

“Your mom,” the boy answered.

“Oh! Um,” said Danny. “She's away. On business.” Forever, he added silently

They both deflated.

“But I can look through her stuff and see if you can use any of it,” he said. “I’d be happy to. I mean, she’ll probably never use it again.”

The girl tried to look casual, flipping her bunch of hair around a little, sticking her hands in her pockets.

“Do-o-o-o youmaybewannaplaywithus?” she said, like it was all one word.

Danny looked over at the flier. It had pull-off tabs on the bottom for people to take, with a phone number on it. Only one had been taken so far.

He could join a club, he realized. He could even have friends. This could be a thing.

“Um, okay,” he said. “It sounds like fun.”

“Great!” said the boy. He lightly poked the girl on the shoulder. “Now we've got four people.”

“If Jenny can even play,” said the girl. “Her mother's still Googling to see if RPG's are the work of the devil or not.” She rolled her eyes. “So dumb.”

“Oh, so, hey,” the boy said, “what's your name?”

“Danny,” said Danny. “Danny Hallow.”

“I'm Unwen Shaw,” said the girl, jerking a thumb toward herself, “and this laid-back, Matthew McConaughey wannabe here is Church McGee.”

The boy smiled and waved. His teeth stuck out in a friendly way.

“How old are you?” the girl asked.

“Eleven,” Dany answered.

“Great!” she said. “We’re eleven, too. We’ll all be in the same grade. You're not a tourist, right?” the girl asked. “Like, from out of town? You live here, right? Are you new? We don’t get a lot of new kids around here.”

Danny felt like he was being grilled by a detective.

“I…do now,” Danny said. “I mean, we're moving here.”

The girl nodded in approval. “Awesome.”

“It's not usually this cold,” said Church. “I mean, it gets pretty cold in winter,‘cause it’s New England, but this cold is not normal. Just sayin'.”

“Good,” said Danny. “I was wondering if the air stabs you, like, all winter.”

They laughed like they thought he was funny, surprising Danny.

“So painful,” said Unwen. She pointed at Church. “Last week he walked to school with his hair wet and it froze. It was all like-” She held her hands by her head, fingers spread out in spokes like antlers.

“It was crunchy until I thawed out,” said Church. “I looked pretty punk, though.”

“New Hampshire brand hairspray,” said Danny, before he could stop himself. That was the kind of weird thing he was always blurting out that made people look at him funny, but to his surprise they both laughed again.

“Yes, you too can have this punk rock look,” said Church in a pretty good announcer's voice, pretending to hold a microphone to his face, “with New Hampshire hairspray. Easy to use, and all natural too!”

“Totally organic,” laughed Unwen. She pinned Danny with her interrogative stare again. “When do you start school here, Danny?”

“Good question,” said Danny. “I don't actually know.”

He caught sight of Miss Grace coming toward the circulation desk, zipping up her briefcase. She looked cranky.

“I can ask,” Danny said.

“Danny,” Miss Grace called over to him, “did you ask for a library card? Why do I sense it's not a book you want?”

Danny held up the movie and smiled winningly.

“That's what I thought,” she said, and turned back to the librarians.

Church leaned over to read the DVD cover. “Ooh,” he said, with a quick shiver, “I don’t like scary stuff.”

“I love it,” the girl said. “I watch all the murder shows.”

“Me too,” Danny said. “Scary movies, not murder shows.”

“She makes me watch them with her,” the boy said. “They’re so sad, I don’t get why she likes them.”

The girl scowled. “Why don’t boys ever like murder shows?” she grumped. “Y’all scared or something? That’s pretty funny, considering you guys do most of the murderin’.”

Danny considered that point. It was a good one. He just didn’t like those shows because real people were being hurt. Sad stories, like Church said. He’d rather see actors pretend to get eaten by fake werewolves.

“It turns out we have a current card on file for Enoch Wildwood,” the young librarian said, tapping away cheerfully on the computer. “Feel free to use that account until you have one of your own, if you’d like. I can make you a duplicate card, no problem.”

“Thank you!” said Danny. That was awesome. People were nice here. He hugged his movie again before remembering he was trying to act cool.

“Ooh,” said Ali, appearing down a spiraling metal staircase with an armload of cookbooks. “I’ll take these out too, then.”

The librarian looked confused. “Oh, ummmm-what?”

“Yes, please,” said Miss Grace to Ali. “Cook for me as much as you want. I don't know why, but my appetite has increased tenfold since we've come here. I could eat all day. Must be the cold.”

“Cold triggers survival instincts in all animals,” said Ali, plunking the pile of cookbooks down.

“Yes,” said Miss Grace, “and this animal is going to gain twenty pounds before spring.”

Danny ran over and added the movie to the pile.

“When do I start school?” he asked Miss Grace.

“That's getting a little ahead of things, Danny,” said Miss Grace. “Let me work out some other details first, please.”

Danny went back over to Church and Unwen.

“Nobody knows yet,” he said. “It’s all kind of new.”

They were looking at him oddly now, though, and his stomach dropped. What could he possibly have done already to reveal himself as a loser and a freak? His thumbnail wandered back to his mouth.

“Wildwood?” Unwen asked. “Did she say Enoch Wildwood?”

“My uncle,” Danny said. “He was my uncle. I didn’t know him, a lot, or anything. He left me the house. We're moving into Gnomewood Home.” You are babbling, he scolded himself. STOP IT.

They stared at him. The silence was uncomfortable for Danny in the extreme.

Then Church said, “Gnomewood? Seriously? Wow.”

“Wow, what?” asked Danny uneasily.

“That's so cool,” Church said. “You're a freakin' Wildwood. Like, a kid Wildwood. At our school.” He turned to Unwen. “How did you not know about this?” He pointed to her. “She knows everything that happens around here. Absolutely everything.”

“Apparently not!” she said, throwing her hands in the air. “How did I not hear about this?” She crossed her arms.

“It kinda just happened,” said Danny. Unwen still looked peeved, as if she'd flunked a test.

“Those two grownups are staring at us,” whispered Church.

Danny turned to see Miss Grace and Ali watching them all with a little too much interest. As soon as they saw he'd turned to look they feigned disinterest, quickly looking away in different directions.

Danny turned back. “Those are my Keepers,” he said. “Two of them, anyway.”

“Keepers?” asked Unwen. “Sounds like you're in a zoo or something.”

“They're taking care of me while my mother's away,” he said. “They're her friends.”

“Where's your dad?” asked Unwen.

Something in Danny's face must have clued Church into the idea that this was an awkward question. He elbowed Unwen in the arm.

“Nosy,” he said accusingly. He turned to Danny. “Just tell her it's none of her business, Danny.I don't have a dad around either, it’s no big deal.”

Danny smiled in gratitude. “That’s okay,” he said.

Church reached over and pulled one of the tabs off of the flier and handed it slowly to Danny. “This has my number on it. If you want to play. Or just hang out or something.”

“Yeah,” said Unwen, “we could show you around and stuff like that.”

Danny took it. “Thanks,” he said. “I'll look through my mom's things and see what she's got for the game.”

“Cool,” said Church. He pulled his phone out, looked at it, and sighed. “We gotta go now.”

“Yeah,” said Unwen, “I have to be home by five o'clock.” She made a face. “My mom.”

“Yeah, her mom's really strict and weird about curfews and homework,” said Church. “See you around, Danny.”

They turned to go down the stairs to the entrance, looking back at him a couple of times. They waved. Danny waved back.

As they turned, Danny heard Church whisper, “Quit being so nosy all the time. He won't want to be friends with us.”

She said something in return but Danny couldn’t hear what it was, some kind of rebuttal judging by the tone. Danny had thought they wouldn’t want to be friends with him, not the other way around. He carefully pocketed the tab with the phone number on it and wandered back over to his Keepers, who were chatting with the librarians.

“Oh, yes, that place closed down while I was still in college,” Miss Grace was saying. She turned to Danny, handing him the movie. “Here you go, it’s all yours for thirty days.”

Danny hugged the movie to his chest. What a weird day, he thought. So much good and bad all mixed together.

“Making friends?” Ali prodded.

“I think so,” said Danny. “Maybe.”

The adults small-talked over his head as Danny looked around. The library was so big, the smell of old paper and ancient carpets scenting the air. Over in the stacks, there were several stairways leading up to other levels like black metal corkscrews, but only one stairway leading down.

The down staircase had a yellow plastic chain across it and a sign that read Staff Only in bright red. So it surprised Danny to see a slim, black-clad figure noiselessly slink up the stairs and deftly duck under the chain, a hand held out to quiet it. Clearly not library staff, the demeanor was that of a practiced thief.

The figure was a boy, taller than Danny, wearing a battered black leather jacket. Under the jacket he wore a black hoodie, the hood pulled up over his head, dark reddish brown hair spilling out at the edges. His black jeans and boots looked dirty and dusty, a battered black backpack over one shoulder.

The boy was smoothly tucking something under his hoodie, zipping up his coat over it, looking around him with the subtle skills of a professional cat burglar. As he zipped up the coat, Danny saw he had a small pair of binoculars hanging around his neck.

The rooftop spy, Danny realized. It had to be the same guy.

During the boy's scan of the area, he became aware of Danny staring at him. He made eye contact and his face became softly and effectively threatening. The look should have made Danny turn away, but it didn’t.

The boy's dark hair fell across his face like a shadow. His skin was dusky, from grime or sun Danny couldn't tell. It was hard to make out the boy’s features in the shadows, except for his eyes, which glittered a shiny light gray. Danny watched him, fascinated.

There was an odd sensation of all the sound around him being swallowed. The low noises of the library were gone. He was in a bubble, with this boy, as they stared at each other. The boy raised a finger to his lips, most likely meant to be a threat for Danny to stay quiet or else.

Danny nodded, a detached, fascinated feeling filling his head, taking the place of thought. The boy smiled a little, enough for Danny to see bright white teeth, nearly as china white as his own. Danny felt that this was meant to be threatening, too, but Danny felt distinctly un-threatened. Danny smiled back, which seemed to startle the other boy, as if he wasn't used to his threats being dismissed. As if he wasn’t used to being smiled at.

Danny felt his witchbone turn over and the bubble popped. The quiet sounds of the library rushed back in.

The dark boy walked quickly and quietly behind the circulation desk, through the little area behind it where they had some computers, expertly avoiding the librarian's line of sight. He turned back quickly to look at Danny with a scowly, quizzical glance as if something about Danny confused him. Then he turned and slipped down the stairs.

Like a damn ninja, Danny thought in admiration. I would have knocked something over if it was me, you could bet money on it.

“Did you see that?” cried the elder librarian.

“What?” said the younger one.

The Keepers looked around, trying to gauge what the woman was talking about.

“I just saw that Harker boy zip out of here like a thief in the night,” said the elder. “You know he took something. He always does.” She fumed, her glasses nearly fogging with her fury. “I'm going to catch him one of these days,” she said. “You mark my words, and when I do-”

“Who are you talking about?” asked Ali. He looked at Danny, who shrugged innocently.

“The Harker boy,” said the Elder. “That kid is no good.” She turned to Danny. “If you see that dirty child around, you turn and walk the other way, you hear me? He’s dangerous.” She shook her head and tut-tutted.

“Why, what's wrong with him?” asked Danny.

“He's a violent, thieving thug and a liar,” she said, “and I have it on good authority that he can barely read, though he's eleven years old, so if he's stealing books he's probably burning them or using them for bathroom tissue.” She shuddered at the indignities she imagined the boy visiting upon her library books.

“Harker,” said Miss Grace. “I don't remember any Harkers.”

“He came to live here a couple of years ago, the boy and a guardian of some kind,” said the Elder. “No one ever sees the guardian. He's disabled, I think, and has an impenetrable accent. He never leaves their trailer.”

“That kid,” said the Younger. “Always skulking around town. He's got those shiny, husky-dog eyes. They're not normal. He’s just a child, but he gives me the creeps, really.” She smiled uncomfortably.

“Don't we have to go to the grocery store before they close?” Danny prompted. He liked the younger librarian, but he was getting annoyed at the way they were talking about the other boy. It reminded him of the way his teachers talked about him.

His old teachers, he reminded himself. Now I'll have new teachers.

Miss Grace agreed it was getting late, and thanked the librarians for all their help.

“Sure, any time!” the younger said.

“What’s his first name?” Danny asked her.

“Who?”

“The boy,” he said.

“Ezra Harker?” she said, as if it were a question.

“Ezra,” Danny said. “Thanks.” He waved the DVD at her and smiled.

Danny made a mental note to find out more about Ezra Harker.

They drove to a grocery store that Ali insisted was the best in town. He ran toward the front doors yelling, “Market Basket, how I've missed you!”

“We don't know you,” called Miss Grace through cupped hands. She snorted. “Weirdo.”

Danny spied a small pet store next to the grocery store, warm light spilling from the windows. A neon sign above the door identified it as Rick’s House of Pets.

“There's a pet store next to the grocery store,” said Danny. “We could get cat food.”

“The grocery store also has cat food,” said Miss Grace sensibly.

“The pet store probably has better cat food,” said Danny.

She sighed. “Danzellan, do you want to go into the pet store? Is that it?”

“Yes.”

“Then why didn't you just say so?” she asked. She handed Danny twenty dollars. “Get some kind of decent cat food and then meet us in the grocery store. With change.”

“Okay.” Danny pocketed the money.

“Don't be long.”

“Okay.” Danny ran for the pet store. He'd never been in a pet store before. He wondered if they knew anything about bats.

The pet store was warm and humid, like a rainforest, a relief after being in the bitter cold outside. There was a low hum of aquariums bubbling, birds cheeping, and small animals rustling. It smelled like pine, hay, and the faint whiff of hamster urine. Danny loved it instantly, even though his allergies started revving up a low-level warning hum.

There was a tall cage with a multicolored bird the size of Danny's arm. It stared at him disconcertingly, pupil size fluctuating wildly. “Hello,” it said.

“H-hello,” said Danny.

“Screw you!” the bird yelled, and then laughed like an unhinged Bond villain. The hipster dude behind the counter looked up from his phone.

“Belial!” he said. “Stop being rude.”

The bird whistled innocently.

“What kind of bird is this?” Danny asked.

“He's a blue and gold macaw,” said the dude. “Watch him, he bites. He's sneaky too. Look out, he's almost got your coat.”

Danny looked over quickly to see Belial reaching his black, long-toed foot through the bars, trying to reach Danny's sleeve. Danny jumped back.

The bird laughed again. “Bahahahaha! Screw you!”

“Belial!” the dude yelled. He sighed. “We are never going to sell him. Want a bird for cheap, kid?”

Danny laughed, declined the offer, and then explained he was looking for cat food. He described the bag that he'd emptied that morning so they could figure out what kind Marcus had been eating. He asked for any advice the guy had to give him for cat care, and by the way, did he know anything about bats? The dude, who turned out to be the actual Rick who owned the store, Googled for info and presented Danny with a cup of live mealworms from a small fridge behind the counter.

“Do these have to be in a refrigerator?” Danny asked, wondering how he was going to talk Miss Grace into that.

“You can store them at room temp, little man, but they’ll turn into beetles eventually.”

“Cool,” Danny said, and thanked Rick. Even better if they turned into beetles, Max loved crunchy things. He decided to keep it a secret that he was buying actual bugs to have in the house from Miss Grace.

Danny walked around exploring, checking out the animals and aquariums. He attempted to deliberately try to communicate with the gerbils, but they weren't talking. He tried the parakeets too, with no success.

He managed to get something from one of the tarantulas. An impression of darkness, warmth, juicy crickets. Whatever floats your boat, Danny thought, and edged away.

He was wandering through the low-light bubbliness of the fish room when he heard a small voice. “Hi.”

Danny turned to see the little girl from the lawyer's office that morning. Ellie. She was watching him with huge hazel eyes, her face solemn.

“Oh, hey,” he said. “How's your dog?”

“The vet says she can come home tomorrow,” said Ellie. She fiddled with her ponytail.

“That's good,” he said, smiling. “She'll probably be okay then, right, if she can come home so soon?”

“Mom says she'll be okay,” said Ellie. “She knows everything about dogs. She says Daisy's a tripod now, and lots of dogs get used to being tripods.”

Tripod, thought Danny. That's funny. He didn't want to laugh, though, because Ellie looked so serious.

“I'm glad she'll be okay,” he said. “Oh, hey,” he added, “I'm moving here. We decided to stay at Gnomewood.”

Ellie's face brightened, a ray of sun slipping through the gloom. “Yay,” she said. “You can help with Daisy.”

“I'd be happy to,” said Danny.

Her mother came into view, a small orange shopping basket in her hands. “Oh!” she said, surprised. “It's Danny, right? Enoch's nephew.”

Danny nodded.

Ellie piped up, “They're moving into Gnomewood,” she said.

“That's nice,” said her mother, as if she really meant it. “Someone should live there. I'd hate to think of it being empty.”

“We used to go see Enoch there sometimes,” said Ellie. “He'd let me slide in the ballroom in my socks.”

“Yes, we'll miss him,” her mother said. She sniffled a little. She looked like she'd been crying a lot. She had eye makeup smeared under her eyes. “We have to go, sweetie,” she said to Ellie. She took the little girl by the hand. “It was nice seeing you again,” she said to Danny, and they walked off.

It occurred to Danny just then that he'd lost track of time, and had probably been in the pet store for a lot longer than he was supposed to be. He swore and dashed up to pay for his things, then ran out the door.

“Buh-bye!” called out the parrot. “Screw y-”

“Yeah, screw you too!” Danny said, and pushed out the door. He bolted through the cold to the grocery store.

When he caught up to Miss Grace and Ali in the produce section they were both a little annoyed with him for taking so long. They made him carry a gallon of milk in addition to his pet store purchases as penance.

“But it's heavy!” he protested.

Ali picked up an apple and stumbled a few steps with it, exaggerating the burden. “Oh, this apple,” he said. “It's so heavy, I-I-I can't do it, I just can't!” One hand flew to his head dramatically.

“Oh, fine,” said Danny. “Be that way.” He hefted the gallon of milk and tried to look competent.

The checkout line was always a big challenge for Danny, who had issues with waiting and close proximity to sugar.

“Put that down,” said Miss Grace. “Stand still. Stop fiddling.”

“Can I have a candy bar?”

“No, you may not.” She glared.

“I'm so bored,” said Danny. “Can we go home?”

“We're going home,” she said, exasperated. “We have to pay first, obviously.”

“I know that, I'm not two years old,” Danny said. He thought, she's going to say then don't act like you are.

“Then don't act like you are,” she said.

Knew it, he thought triumphantly, mentally chalking a point in his column. Don’t even need to be psychic for that one.

He and Ali shared a ride on the shopping cart, sailing over to the Volvo on wobbly wheels. He helped them load groceris into the back, and they all piled in, shivering.

“So, are we getting pizza?” Danny asked.

“You buyin'?” asked Ali.

“I gave all my millions to charity, man,” Danny said. The Keepers laughed, and Miss Grace unclenched a little bit.

Miss Grace made good on her bribe and stopped for takeout pizza, something they hardly ever did. Danny guarded the boxes in the backseat. The smell of it tortured him all the way home.

After a very informal dinner of pizza and mozzarella sticks, Danny wanted to explore the house more but he was told it was too late.

“It's dark,” said Miss Grace. “I don't want lights burning electricity all over the place. Explore it tomorrow, in daylight.”

“Fine,” said Danny, heaving a great sigh. He was given big hugs all around by the Keepers and told to go to bed.

“Good night, little monster,” said Mr. Murray affectionately. Danny could tell he'd had more than his usual two glasses of wine. Poor Mr. Murray, Danny thought. He seemed a lot more traumatized by the telling of the Atticus Incident than Danny was to hear it.

“He's not so little anymore,” said Miss Grace.

“He's still little,” cried Ali, dismayed. He grabbed Danny, who kicked and protested, laughing. “I'll squish him so he doesn't grow.” He lifted Danny up in the air and pretended to crush him WWF style.

“No, no!” said Danny, squirming out of Ali's grasp. Ali didn't pander, he would never let Danny escape easily, just like Mr. Murray never let him win at games. They made him work for stuff, he had to earn it. He wiggled free and fell to the floor, crawling to safety. “Good night!” he yelled, and bolted up the back stairs.

“What a day,” he heard Miss Grace say as he retreated.

No kidding, he thought. No argument from me.

Once he was in the attic, he checked on Max right away. He was going to be constantly paranoid about Marcus the cat getting up there, for sure. Max was fine, just stirring a little. It was time for him to wake up. Danny took the mealworm container from his pocket and set it on the floor.

He pulled the phone number from the library flier out of his pocket, and laid it carefully next to the photos on his nightstand. Climbing up onto the bed, he started rummaging through the shelves behind it.

At least two whole shelves were dedicated entirely to dusty Monster Hunt equipment. There were books, folders, and packets of graph paper. He found a decorative box that contained colorful game dice in all different shapes.

Awesome, he thought. I have something to offer the club. He pulled the books down and laid them on the bed. Game Runner's Reference. Monster Dictionary A-Z. Castles and Caverns. Player's Guide. He flipped them open. The glossy pages were full of charts and graphs.

“This looks complicated,” he said.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Max swoop by, flapping. He looked up to see the bat fly directly into the tower room. He followed him up into the tower, bringing the mealworms and the player's guide he'd been looking at.

Max was sitting on the reading bench by the window. out?

“It's really cold out there Max,” he said. “Better not. I got you some bugs at the pet store, that’ll keep you busy.” He shook some worms out of the container and Max clumsily waddled over to eat them off the floor. He seemed happy and content.

Danny flipped on the soft ceiling light. He walked over to the rocking chair, picking up the worn gray bunny that occupied it. Its long limbs and ears flopped in his hands, black candy-button eyes looking at him imploringly. He sat in the rocker, foot on one knee, bunny in the crook of his arm, and looked out over the town. He could see the lights twinkling and not much else but the lighthouse beam sweeping across the harbor.

He settled in and started reading the Player's Manual. About twelve pages in, he said to the bunny, “There is a lot of math in this game.”

Oh, well, he thought. The rest of it looked great, though. The Game Runner would guide the players through an adventure, typically a cemetery or haunted castle, anywhere you would expect find monsters. You fought the monsters and gathered treasure and magical items and stuff. The roll of the dice determined your fate. If you survived you got life points, making you more experienced for the next adventure and harder to kill.

It’s a bit like Scooby-Doo, Danny thought.

He started to get excited about it. He fetched the box of dice, one of his notebooks, and a pencil. He moved to the middle of the rug in the tower room and started following the directions to make a character for the game.

I never pulled the carpet back, he realized suddenly and dropped the pencil.

The rug he was sitting on was the way he'd found it before he’d gone down the trapdoor that morning. The trap was lowered and hidden under it again. He knew he’d just left it open and uncovered.

Maybe Miss Grace had come up and done it? He looked all around, half expecting to see another person there with him.

The chalkboard read, in shaky print, 'Home is where the clock is'.

Hadn't it said 'Welcome Home' before? Was he imagining things? Did Gnomewood have ghosts?

No one had said anything about ghosts. He'd have to ask Ali in the morning. Ali would be straight with him. Miss Grace and Mr. Murray had a tendency to tell him what they thought was best for him to hear, Ali was an unvarnished truth kind of guy.

A few moths were attracted to the light and Max happily ate them too. He cruised around the attic, wide awake now that night had fallen and he had something in his bat belly. Danny set the mealworms by the window, shut off the light in the tower, and took his game stuff and the bunny back to the bed.

After he was washed up and jammied in the second floor bathroom, he popped the library DVD into the battered player under the old TV and watched Freaks of Nature with the bunny, explaining to it how the practical effects were done.

Pretty good, he thought after it was over. Not as good as Cabin Plague, but still good. Yawning, he shut everything off and climbed into bed.

He looked over the Monster Hunt things on the shelves again. His mother had characters and notes from years of playing, most of it written in pencil in a kid’s handwriting.

He looked over at the photo by his bed from time to time, trying to imagine his mom being a kid, playing with friends. Being a person at all. He had no concept of her.

He just knew he felt angry and afraid when anyone mentioned her.

He pushed his things aside and scooted down under the covers. He picked up the bunny and played with his ears.

“Did you belong to my mom?” he asked. The button eyes looked back at him blankly. He noticed the bunny had a fabric tag on its butt. All of the official printing had worn away, but written in marker on the tag was the name Orson.

“Orson,” he said. “Orson the bunny.” He made the bunny nod. He tucked the bunny in next to him thinking, no one needs to know, I'll just hide him under the covers. Leaving one lamp lit he slipped down under the blankets, closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

I don't ever want to go back to Easton, he thought as he drifted off. Welcome home, me. Home is where the clock is. He smiled as he drifted off, Max flitting around overhead.

I'm home, he thought, and fell right to sleep.

***

The night was cold and clear. The silver-eyed boy watched Orion twinkling in the sky high above. His breath drew in and out in long steady streams, dragon-like.

The cold didn't affect Ezra Harker the same way it affected other people, or so he’d observed. He felt it and it was uncomfortable, but he could live with it. Ezra had a core warmth, an internal furnace, that he’d figured out other people lacked. He knew the Winter Experience wasn’t the same for him, few things were, but he’d lost patience for the way people were falling around so dramatically over the weather lately. It was just weather, for christ’s sake.

He figured it didn't hurt that he spent a lot of time out in the cold, while everyone else hid inside like a pack of quivering mice. You could try to get used to things instead of complaining.

Still, he thought, this was pretty cold. Fifteen degrees below zero was testing his limits of tolerance. He curled his fingers around his knife, and wondered for the millionth time why he even cared about what was going on in Eddystone. He could keep himself safe.

Two reasons, he answered himself, also for the millionth time. One was natural scientific curiosity. The other was that being in the woods made him nervous now. He loved the woods and he didn’t like feeling nervous, it wasn’t his style. Therefore, he felt driven to find out what was going on.

First, he'd found a bloody deer carcass in the woods. He’d concluded that its demise was not the work of starvation, normal animal attack, or lazy hunters. It was ripped to pieces and half eaten in a savage and careless way he'd never seen before.

Normally only humans did wasteful shit like that, but what had attacked this deer clearly wasn’t human.

He'd examined the wounds closely and decided that it was the work of not one big creature, but several small ones. Many small bites, and lots of meat scattered around on the ground covered in a thick slime, as if it had been chewed on and spit out. He’d taken samples of the slime.

A few days later he'd come upon a hunter's camp. It was abandoned. He'd swept it for anything useful and found the knife, the binoculars, and some canned food and jerky. While he was poking around he'd stepped in a puddle of something sticky, and looked down to see it was a large amount of blood, stark red in contrast with the snow and ice.

He'd looked around some more, being more mindful now of how much of himself he was leaving behind for law enforcement.

He’d found one finger. No other remains. Just a finger. It had made him feel sick, the sight of a human finger sitting in the snow, the stumpy end jagged and red.

He’d thought back to the deer and made a decision to stay out of the deep woods for a while.

Two days later he'd heard people talking about a group of missing hunters. They probably got drunk, people said. Maybe lost, maybe frozen to death. Ezra was pretty sure none of those things was responsible, but he kept his mouth shut. People had an aversion to him, and he had an aversion to being accused of multiple murder.

He'd begun slinking around town, looking for evidence of the creatures. He wanted to know what they were, how many there were, where they'd come from, and where they were hiding.

If they were responsible for the many missing pets lately, then they had come right into town, which was unusual. He was dealing with a small pack animal that killed with extreme aggression but did not eat its prey - except possibly for the hunters - weren’t afraid of people, had an excess amount of saliva, and knew a trap when they saw one. The evidence didn't fit anything he knew of.

He'd started thinking it had to be attributed to The Weirdness. Eddystone and the surrounding woods were soaked in perpetual weirdness. If you spent a lot of time in the woods, as Ezra did, you couldn't help but notice it.

He sat very still perched on a dead fallen tree, close to the Homing’s little house. He figured it was as good a place as any to keep watch. He'd poked around in the bushes and found nothing too helpful. Some dried blood, probably from the dog, and a scrap of brown cloth. He'd bagged and saved the cloth and a bloody leaf.

Trying to focus on his stakeout, he was annoyed at the way his mind kept wandering back to the boy at the library. The experience troubled him because he couldn’t explain his own reaction. The disorienting sensation of familiarity, the way all the sound had become muffled when they’d seen each other.

The pale boy hadn't alerted the nearby adults when he'd seen Ezra coming up from the basement. He'd smiled in a weird way when Ezra had given the kid his best intimidating stare. A knowing smile, like he’d understood Ezra was doing something important. Like he wasn’t at all afraid of Ezra, which was annoying but was also interesting. Like he knew things about him, which was impossible.

Ezra knew there were many things about him that made people nervous, and he’d learned to embrace that. Since most of the things that made him different were hidden, he’d created an effectively alarming external persona that kept everyone at arm’s length. People gave him a wide berth.

Ah, that’s it, Ezra realized, almost smacking himself. The boy was troubling his mind because he’d given Ezra the impression that he could see right through him to what was underneath- and when he’d seen what was there, he’d smiled at it.

He’d made Ezra feel exposed. Seen. Vulnerable. Except it was just a trick, obviously. No one could ever see inside Ezra, his armor was too thick.

He felt better with these results of his self-analysis, or he told himself he did. He tried to force his brain to change the subject.

The boy at the library did not matter. Ezra had gotten the book he'd wanted from storage, that was what mattered. He needed time to study it. Tomorrow. He'd have to seek out one of his quiet places to study the book thoroughly. Part of it was in French, and his French was rusty. Good, but rusty.

Forget about that kid, he scolded himself. You don't get interested in people. People are boring, and they make life complicated. You have everything just the way you like it. No one bothers you anymore.

He crossed his arms and hugged himself. Reluctantly, he gave in and admitted it was too cold even for him.

He wondered if he should go home or find another spot to sleep. He had hidey-holes all over the place. He checked his beat up old watch. One o'clock in the morning.

He sighed.

He should probably just give the hunt up until he’d had a chance to read the book and get more information. Without information, he couldn’t be properly prepared.

He stood up, pocketed his knife, and grabbed his backpack, shouldering it. He had one last look around before silently loping off for home.

He ran at an even pace through backyards and over fences, his lanky frame as steady and sure-footed as a wolf’s. He knew where all the security lights were, and avoided the sensors. He ran through the apartment complexes on the edge of town, and only slowed when he could see the covered footbridge over Kingston Creek.

Once he reached the bridge, he fell to one knee and swung his arms out in an umpire's SAFE! gesture. The town always made him feel exposed and yet somehow claustrophobic at the same time. Once he reached the bridge he could breathe again. It was where the town stopped and the woods began.

He was breathing fast from all of the running, his heavy boots thunking on the wooden floorboards. Moonlight filtered in through the slats in the covered bridge’s walls, painting glowing stripes under his feet. He was thinking about how to organize tomorrow more productively to further his investigations when he heard a small sound. He stopped walking immediately, freezing in place.

A chittering sound. He listened, head tilted.

Chitter….Chitter, chitter.

Like a small laugh. A small laugh someone was trying to muffle unsuccessfully.

He stood stock-still and waited for several seconds, but heard nothing further. Cautiously, he took a step.

The second he began to move, he heard it again. But this time it wasn't just one. It was several. Many, many little chittery-snickers, the sounds coming from all of the dark corners around him.

A small, dark shape was sitting at the far end of the bridge, right in the middle of the doorway. About a foot high, rumpled and dumpy, it was back-lit by the brightness of the moon outside.

Ezra went into an instinctive crouch, fingertips on the boards, senses on high alert. He looked around quickly, behind, above, below.

There was movement in the shadows. Small figures darted through the slats of moonlight, whispering, emitting that mocking, chittering sound. Multiple points of glowing eye-shine were everywhere, including in the rafters over his head.

Ezra broke out into a sweat in spite of the cold. He slowly pulled out his knife and flicked it open, trying not to make any sudden moves. He focused his primary attention on the wee figure sitting in front of him, standing between him and open air.

Whisper, chitter. Psst, psst pssssst. Like children trying to be quiet in church.

They're talking to each other, Ezra thought. He took a deep breath in through his nose. Like Swami Patel had taught him to do, back in the old days. Control your breathing, control your mind.

He felt sharp pangs of fear and tried to swat them away. I'm bigger than they are, he told himself, but he knew from an accidental tangle with an angry momma opossum last summer that bigger wasn't always better.

The little figure wobbled, moved a little from side to side. The movement startled Ezra, and he jumped.

Titters. Chitters. Ezra's breathing became labored from more than just running through town. He was finding it hard to swallow.

Breathe, he thought. Focus.

He arrived at the conclusion that it would be better if he made the first move, and was ready to charge the single creature in front of him when something landed on his back with a thud, nearly knocking him down. It was surprisingly heavy.

He jumped to his feet quickly, dumping it off. He could feel little claws trying to find purchase as it slid down his heavy leather jacket and landed on the boards. It made an 'oomph' noise and then hissed, low and horrible.

Ezra’s mind raced with thoughts of the little claws, and the missing pets - some of them very large dogs - and the human finger, and the fact that he'd seen at least twenty pairs of eyes in the rafters above him. All he had was a knife.

He made the decision to run like hell. He dashed forward, leaning low, toward the end of the covered bridge, as fast as he could.

The little one in the doorway leaped at him, as if to tackle his legs. Ezra’s boot connected with it mid-attack, punting it into the air, and it hissed as it sailed into the bushes. Ezra could hear little feet scrambling after him, lots and lots of little feet. Not sparing a single glance behind him, he ran hell-for-leather out of the tunnel, down the road, and swerved onto the path through the woods.

He could hear them behind him. They weren’t trying to be quiet. They crashed through the bushes, scrambled along the path. He even thought he could hear them in the tree branches overhead. He ran so hard he was afraid the soles of his boots were going to come off.

His breath tore in and out like razors. The damp of his skin and the cold were making him shiver, and slowing him down.

He saw the lights of the Raven’s Rest trailer park and considered running toward them, but discarded that idea quickly. No one there would let him in. They'd gladly let him be ripped to pieces on their doorstep. He ran by the small community with one wistful glance at the lighted windows.

Sometimes the reputation he'd developed to keep people out of his business had a downside.

He had to make it to the Hollow. He had to get safe inside.

He put on one last burst of speed, heart pounding like it was going to burst. Not even sure if he was breathing at all anymore, he cleared the path and bolted into the Hollow.

The run-down trailer home stood in the center, surrounded by rotting pumpkins covered in ice and snow, broken down machinery, an old truck up on blocks. There was one light on in the living room.

Home. What passed for it these days.

Ezra's arms windmilled as he ran the last few feet to the steps and the door. He could feel the little claws scratching at his boot heels. He banged up the stairs and grabbed the doorknob, just as a small weight landed on his back once more, claws raking his neck. Frantically, he grabbed at it and threw it blindly behind him, knocking several of them off the steps like bowling pins. He twisted the doorknob and looked behind him as he swung the door open.

They boiled after him, all eyes and claws, more than he'd thought, only inches away. He fell inside the door and spun, pushing it shut behind him. His back was to the door, arms spread out on either side, one foot against the wall for added security. They hit the door en masse with such sudden fury they almost broke it in, but it held. They beat on the door, hissing, and chortling. Then they stopped all at once, and fell silent.

Ezra struggled to catch his breath. He tried to think. Alarmed, he leaped to his feet, fell down, scrambled to his feet again and locked the door. He grabbed a random table and braced it against the doorknob.

He ran into the kitchen. Papa had the damn window open. He swore, pulled out the piece of wood that held it up, and slammed the window down, locking it.

The stove was on, a pot sitting dry on the burner, smoking. He shut it off quickly and tossed the pan into the cold water sitting in the sink, creating a storm of steam. He darted through the small trailer, going room to room, scanning for openings and ways in.

A rumpled lump on the broken sofa mumbled, “What you doin'?”

“Nothing, Papa,” said Ezra. He locked a window. “Go back to sleep.” He checked vents, doors, made sure there weren't any new holes he had to patch up.

“Wass da mattah?”

“Nothing, Papa!” Ezra went into his bedroom, the size of a closet, and knelt on his army cot, peering out the window. Clear.

Not believing they were gone just like that, Ezra went from window to window again. Lastly, he walked over to the big picture window behind the sofa. He almost missed it, but way over in the bushes he could see multiple pinpoints of eyeshine, steady and watchful. He pulled the drapes shut across it.

Great, he thought. It looked as if he was trapped for the night, in the one place he’d rather not be.

Ezra sank into the dilapidated pink easy chair across from the sofa, exhausted. Well, you wanted to see them, he chided himself. Careful what you wish for.

“Wass de mattah, little Rajah?”

“I'm not little anymore,” said Ezra distractedly.

The rumpled lump on the sofa pulled itself to a seated position, sorting itself into a middle-aged German man, ratty dressing gown hanging open. Ezra reached over and quickly pulled the man's clothes into a more modest arrangement.

Bottles of schnapps and vodka littered the table. Ezra looked his guardian over warily, trying to gauge how much alcohol the man had imbibed, estimate how unreasonable he was going to be.

Kristoff Kruger, Papa Justice to those who knew him, was a small, skinny shadow of the man Ezra had known when his parents were still alive. When Papa had been their friend, and life had been good. Before the fire.

Papa had a sad face and a friendly but disturbing grin. When he was drunk, which was most days, he was near to tears and mumbled endlessly about the old days. He was currently wearing smeared clown makeup. Reliving his glory days, while anesthetizing himself all day long with whatever was on hand.

Papa tried to focus on Ezra, blinking his eyes. “You are bleeding,” he observed.

“I'm fine.” Ezra crossed his arms.

“You not fine,” said the man mockingly, angrily, his accent and intoxication distorting his words. “You always dirty, always all banged up, always leaving, leaving Papa Justice all alone. Where you go? Where you go all the time?”

Ezra stood. “I’m sorry, Papa, I don't have time for this,” he said. “I have things to do.”

“You still such an arrogant little shit, eh?” said the man, eyes narrowing, words slipping together on a vodka-numbed tongue. “Still so proud, aren't you, little man? Walking around with your nose in the air, too good for me, too good for everything. Still that invisible goddamn crown your parents put on your head…they spoil you! They spoil you. Tell you, you so special, you so smart, you so much bettah den everyone. They make you rotten.”

Ezra, stung but not unaccustomed to this kind of thing, stood and turned to go to his room. The man lunged and caught the back of his coat.

“No! Don't leave. I'm so sorry, so sorry, little Rajah.” He pulled Ezra back, sitting him down heavily, and gripping the boy by the collar. He stroked Ezra's hair.

“Why are you so dirty all the time, huh? We have water that works. You beautiful kid, like you momma.” He clumsily hugged Ezra, who stiffened up immediately. “She would be so sad, you know, to see you be so dirty-”

“I need to go to bed, Papa,” said Ezra, struggling free of the man’s grasp and stepping away. “I have school tomorrow.”

Actually, tomorrow was Sunday, but Papa never knew what day it was. Plus technically it was already tomorrow, but Papa never knew what time it was either.

“Oh,” said Papa. “Oh. Yes. Important. Your parents, they want you to get an education.” He sighed and looked weepy. “Remember?” he said. “Remember the old days, and the people would come, and all of the..the..the elephants, the acrobats, the music, ah, the music!” The man swung his fingers to and fro, still able to hear the music of the circus when his eyes were closed. He hummed. .

“Yes, I remember,” said Ezra. He didn't like thinking about it, but it was all Papa Justice ever wanted to talk about. Ezra had shut it all out.

“You parents were so talented, so incredible! But they didn't want their little prince to be in the circus. They want you-go-be-what? Engineer or some damn thing. Dull!” he shouted. “Boring!”

No worries, Ezra thought. Now I’ll probably never be anything.

“Papa,” Ezra said firmly, “you need sleep.” He pushed the man gently down onto the sofa, keeping a watchful eye on the covered picture window. He found a blanket and put it over Papa, tucking him in at the corners. “Sleep,” he said.

“Dream of bettah days,” said Papa. “Dream everyone alive again.”

“Yeah, you do that,” said Ezra.

“Maybe I wake up and this all be dream…”

Good night,” Ezra said shortly.

He left the lamps on, trying not to worry about the electric bill. Light was a good defense against night creatures, ordinarily.

Now that he felt safe inside, the fear and adrenaline began to dissipate and excitement and curiosity took their place. He went to his room. With one more glance out the window, he pulled the book he'd taken from the library out of his backpack and settled in with it.

He'd found them. Or they'd found him, whatever. He'd seen them. He had a much better idea of what he was up against now. He could make plans now.

He turned the pages of the old book, metally translating the French he knew, sorting out the old-fashioned english. He smiled grimly.

Now he just had to figure out how to catch one.