In fact, all the kids looked at me with a mixed expression of surprise and fear. All of them except Tucker. He just gave me a quizzical stare.
“But Mom, it’s only Nick and Pinch. They always act like that,” he said.
I should have been astonished. Up until this point, my characters had always stayed inside my head, where they belonged. At least, that was what I thought. But right now I was either suffering from another side effect of that deadly nightshade—or there was definitely something strange and mystical about this town.
Samwise trotted alongside Tucker. Snow fell, cold bits of sky; it clung to his fur, sloshed wet on his paws. All around us children were laughing and running, wearing strange clothes. He stopped and sniffed the white-sprinkled sky, as if listening. Then the dog cocked his head, yipped.
“What is it, boy?” I asked.
Suddenly the dog strained at his leash, dragging me through slippery snow. He seemed to want something across the street. For a moment, it almost looked as if the house on the corner were glowing, as if it were thrumming and humming with words. I thought I saw words drifting down from the sky, like smoke flowing into the house.
“What is it?” I asked again as I stared at the bungalow that sat on the corner, fenced in by neatly trimmed hedges, flanked by a matching pair of sugar pines. No pumpkins lined the porch, no paper skeletons danced in the breeze. All the shutters were pulled closed and heavy curtains shrouded the front picture window.
But light peeked out from every crevice and smoke curled from the chimney.
And now I could feel it too, some unseen force pulling me toward the house, like it had suddenly become the center of the universe.
“I don’t think they want trick-or-treaters,” I said, trying to convince myself not to cross the street.
“That’s Joe Wimbledon’s house,” one of the children told me.
“He loves to tell stories,” another ventured.
Joe Wimbledon. The man in the vet’s office. The guy Sheriff Kyle told me about.
“What kind of stories?” I asked, teetering on the edge of the curb. Samwise was already halfway into the street. I hoped a car didn’t come around the corner, this dog was out of control.
“Creepy stories, about ghosts and shape-shifters and chupacabras.” It was the little boy with the missing front teeth talking.
“Hey, we gotta go to the bonfire or Hunter will start without us,” a teenage girl dressed like a green-skinned pixie warned. “We’re already late!”
Suddenly the whole crowd of children pulled away from us, all heading in another direction, half jogging, half running. Tucker stared after them.
“Mom, let’s go with them. I wanna see the bonfire too,” he said.
“Not yet,” I answered, as if we saw bonfires every day. “We’re going to one more house first.” Then I grabbed his hand, just in time, because at that moment Samwise lunged with an almost supernatural strength, his chest and back widening, his fur bristling.
Like a magical sled dog, he pulled all three of us across the street and up the steps.
Until we all stood right in front of Joe Wimbledon’s front door.
Part 4
Those who dream by day are cognizant
of many things that escape
those who dream only at night.
—Edgar Allan Poe
Chapter 60
Fire and Smoke
Thane:
A chaos of children jostled their way down the street, voices tumbling over one another, all fighting for prominence. Masks and costumes askew, bags brimming with candy, a high level of excitement charged through them. The evening should have been winding down, they should have been heading home soon, but they weren’t. Instead, they veered away from the main streets and ambled toward the edge of town.
I slumped in a doorway, made sure my scent was still that of wet wood and smoke, then I folded my shape back to what it had been before—a towheaded six-year-old boy. I watched the crowd of children approach, my steady gaze running through their ranks, studying them. I was getting particular now, only wanted a certain type of dream, something heady and strong with dark stormy edges. Meanwhile, River stumbled and sang along the sidewalk. Drunk from feeding too fast, he was now having trouble keeping his disguise focused. He repeatedly slipped from a six-year-old boy to a seventeen-year-old girl.
It would have been funny except, at that exact moment, I suddenly realized something wonderful was strolling in my direction.
A young man led the group of approaching children, snickering and boasting—my favorite kind of human, self-possessed and arrogant. I could smell fire and smoke inside the teenager, who carried danger like an explosive weapon.
I thrilled at the possibilities.
I held up a hand to silence my brother. “Hold your skin steady,” I muttered.
“Trying. I am trying.” Then River laughed and his hair spiraled in luminescent tangles.
“Freeze your shape and do it quick—”