The wind whistled and howled outside the mansion, carried the beating of wings and the chanting of a thousand voices. A carrion stench filled the air, as if a foul predator had just been loosed, as if it now stalked the perimeter of Ticonderoga Falls. The trees wavered in the strong wind and bent to the side, branches snapping and twigs flying through the sky.
I stumbled backward, waiting for the magic, waiting for the world to shift, for one of the monsters to come sweeping down from the sky.
But nothing happened.
Instead, the October wind whipped leaves and branches and black sky, swept through the doorway with screeching and howling, shook the windows in the dining room and slammed a door shut in the kitchen.
My legs trembled and I clutched the suitcase to my chest like a shield.
“They’re gone,” I mumbled, pushing myself forward. “They’re all in the village, flitting from house to house.” Snow stung my face with little bites of cold and I almost slipped on the last porch step.
But I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.
I headed toward the carriage house and the car nestled safe inside.
Toward freedom.
Chapter 59
Almost Magical
Maddie:
We weren’t alone anymore. Black sky glimmered overhead, low clouds framed a tempestuous moon. I was trying to work out a rough plot outline in my head, only partially aware of the real world as Tucker and I ventured from one glowing jack-o’-lantern to the next, Samwise panting along at my side. I didn’t even realize that we had been swallowed up by another group of trick-or-treaters, some of the kids taller than I was. It wasn’t until I stood on the doorstep of yet another candy-doling bungalow that one of the kids got the courage to talk to me.
“You’re Mad Mac, aren’t you?” he asked, words whistling slightly through the space where his front teeth used to be.
I nodded with a smile.
“We was at your cabin earlier,” another confessed.
This happened often, especially when I was trying to work on a story. Whether I hunkered down with a laptop in the local Starbucks or scribbled on a yellow legal pad in a Barnes and Noble, I would eventually find myself surrounded by kids and young adults—those who thrived on my stories. It was almost as if they could sense that another tale was about to be created and they would arrive at my doorstep, hungry. Ready to devour my children before they were even born.
Right now the snow spiraled around all of us in sparkles of white light. It mixed with the fragrance of popcorn balls and caramel apples, combined with the mystery of prepubescent faces concealed behind masks and painted skin. It was as if the children were all hiding from me, yet eager to be found.
Just like my characters. They hid from me too.
Until finally one day—after weeks of puzzling through my plot—I’d be tromping from my office to the kitchen for another cup of espresso, when all of sudden, I’d see one of them. Sometimes crouching in the shadow by the stairs, sometimes lounging on the sofa, sometimes lurking in a doorway. As if they had been following me all along, just waiting while I mused over the story. Waiting until I knew too much about them for them to resist me anymore.
Waiting for me to tell their story.
I had always figured that it was just my imagination.
But now I wondered if I had been wrong. Maybe they’d been real all along.
An exhilarating mood flowed through the streets of Ticonderoga Falls tonight, almost magical, like the current of an underground river. Part of it surged through the ethereal mountain forest. Part of it eddied around the quirky residents. Part of it sprinkled down with the white crystalline snow that continued to drift from the heavens.
Just then, while the kids were bantering about which house to go to next and how long they had before they should meet for the bonfire, I thought I saw someone familiar emerge from the mists that surrounded us. Outlined in white and silver shadow, his body transparent, he hulked alongside the children, as if they were the best of friends, as if they’d known one another for years. Dangerous, mischievous, the grin of an imp on his face, he lurked behind one of the older boys.
This can’t be happening.
It was Pinch. One of the characters from my Shadowland series.
And there at his side, forming from the mists, was Nick. His dark-skinned partner in legendary crimes.
The two transparent rascals glanced at me; one even gave me a wink.
Then Nick took a swing at the hat one child was wearing, knocked it off his head. At the same time, Pinch shoved another boy.
“Hey! Why’d you do that?” the first boy cried as he fished his hat from the gutter, soggy now from melted snow.
“What’d you shove me for? I didn’t do nothin’,” the second boy answered.
Almost instantly, the two boys were pushing each other.
Meanwhile, Nick and Pinch laughed. Nick tickled a girl dressed as Uhura, who then elbowed a Wolverine-clad boy beside her in retaliation.
“Stop it!” Uhura said.
Wolverine got ready to push her back.
“Enough, you two!” I said, suddenly feeling like an errant mother. I glared at Nick and Pinch.
They both cowered, as if ashamed.