The Garden of Darkness

“What are we looking for?” she asked.

“Don’t know,” said Bird Boy. The feathers in his hair bobbled as he spoke.

“Better look at this,” said Dante. He held up two enormous scrapbooks. The first was packed with newspaper articles and magazine clippings about Pest, often accompanied by a photograph of ‘Doctor Andrew Sylver.’ It was the Master. In a number of articles, he was quoted as saying not to panic, that a cure and a vaccine were imminent—that the cure might be something as simple and painless as a patch, like the ones people used to stop smoking.

In all of the pictures, even in one about the stages of Pest, he was smiling.

The other album was very different. The early pages also contained newspaper articles, but these were widely dated, and were all pre-Pest and all were all about missing children.

“Read the names,” said Clare.

Ramah and Mirri took turns.

“Samantha Eckert.”

“Elizabeth Mendel.”

“Martina Hans.”

“Sally Long.”

Ramah looked up from the book. “That’s a lot of children. Even for a serial killer.”

“You think he killed them?” asked Mirri.

“I do.”

“What kind of world do you come from?” Jem asked Ramah. She ignored his question.

“He has packets of hair next to the articles,” said Ramah.

“What for?” asked Bird Boy.

“A collection,” said Ramah.

“So these were his victims,” said Jem. “In the pre-Pest days.”

“There’re probably others,” Ramah said. Ramah slid the book over to Jem and Clare.

On one page, the Master had pasted in the side of a milk carton. On it was depicted one Andrea Laughlin, who had been eight years old, with blonde hair and blue eyes. The grainy photograph looked up at them. At the bottom of the page was a little glassine envelope, like the kind stamp collectors use. Only this one contained a lock of very blonde hair.

Clare felt sick.

The rest of the album was post-Pest and contained no articles at all. Instead, the Master headed the few used pages with a name, followed by a description below. There was a complete entry for Eliza.

The elect of the Master’s blue-eyed girls had probably never had much of a chance. Of course, none of them had ever had much of a chance, really. All the roads had been hard roads.

“The leeches come off now,” said Mirri. “They’ll’ve done their work.” She heated a metal pen in the hurricane lantern and poked the leeches, after which she peeled them off, one by one. “Yuck,” she said as the leeches curled in her hand. Then she put them back in their little box.

“We still have to get back to Thyme House,” Clare said. “And I suppose we have to do something to help Master’s children.”

“As soon as you’re ready, we’ll go,” said Mirri. “That is, as soon as we find a way out. Those awful children locked the door behind us.”

“I heard them piling up stuff behind it, too,” said Abel, mournfully.

“I don’t see why we have to help them,” said Mirri. “I really don’t like that bossy one. And they haven’t helped us at all.”

“We can’t just leave them,” said Clare, wishing very much that they could.

As they walked into the hall, the hurricane lantern she was holding cast huge shadows before them. She leaned on Jem, but instead of keeping up with the others, the two of them lagged behind.

“The swelling’s going down,” said Jem. Clare felt her face, and it was true. Some of the marks of Pest were still there, but her skin was mostly smooth.

“Jem,” said Clare. “I have something I have to say to you.”

“Clare,” said Jem. “If it’s about gratitude or eternal friendship, I don’t want to hear it.”

“I love you, Jem. I’ve loved you for a long time, only I didn’t really know it. Not at first.”

“I’m glad you figured it out,” said Jem finally. “As for me, I’ve loved you since we first met.”

“That’s not true.”

“Look down at the ring on your finger.”

Then Jem leaned down and kissed her.

“I suppose any sane adults would say we’re too young to know what we feel,” said Clare.

“There aren’t any sane adults. And I know exactly what I feel.”

Then he slipped his arm around her back and pulled her to him and kissed her some more.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE





GETTING AWAY





RAMAH HAD NO trouble unlocking the door that opened onto the hallway that led to the stairs, but behind it was a mound of boxes and chests and furniture and mattresses blocking the way out. Two chairs fell off the mound and landed at Abel’s feet. Clare couldn’t see beyond the barricade, but she could hear the Master’s children clearly.

“We want Clare’s body,” said a thin voice. “The others need to see what happens if you turn your back on Master.”

“That’s the snotty one,” said Mirri.

“Britta,” said Dante.