“Everyone is afraid of dying, Midnight.”
And she didn’t say it, and I didn’t say it, but we were both thinking of Poppy, tied up in the Roman Luck house, crying, screaming, scared out of her mind, knocking at death’s door.
“MIDNIGHT.”
My dad, calling down from the attic. I went up the narrow stairs, slow.
He was sitting at his desk, surrounded by books, like always. He looked kind of sleepy.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, Dad. Of course it is.”
He took off his thick glasses and rubbed his eyes. He moved his hands away and looked at me again. His light blue irises looked naked without the specs.
“You seem different, Midnight. I know the sound of your step like I know the feel of my own heartbeat. It’s heavier this week. And I haven’t seen you wear that expression since your . . . since last winter. What’s wrong?”
I considered it. Telling him everything. But he wouldn’t know what to do about Poppy. He wouldn’t know what to do at all. I understood this, suddenly, loudly, like someone had shouted it from a rooftop.
It was something Alabama had always known about him, I think.
“It’s all right,” I said. I forced a smile and made sure it hit my eyes. “Just girl trouble, Dad. No big deal.”
He nodded and put his glasses on. His shoulders relaxed a little. I wondered if he’d been worried I would ask about Mom. About how long she was staying in France.
My dad went back to his books. I went downstairs, to the old black rotary phone in the kitchen. The white tiles felt good under my feet. Cool. The number was on the fridge. I called and it rang and rang. No one picked up. What time was it in France? I didn’t know.
I went back upstairs, unbuttoned my shirt, slid off my pants, and climbed into bed. I sunk my face into my pillow, right next to Will and the Black Caravans. I breathed in deep. I smelled books, and jasmine.
THE CARDS TOLD the whole story, laid out on the grass in swords, wands, cups, coins, queens, kings, knights, and fools. Midnight couldn’t read them, but I could, despite what I’d said.
Peach and the twins saw a girl in the woods, but Bee Lee saw something too.
She was down by the Blue Twist a few days ago. She wasn’t allowed to go to the river on her own, but she loved to watch the fish in the swirling white water and wouldn’t listen to me, not about this.
She came running back down the gravel road, cheeks pink and hair sweaty and sticking to her forehead.
“I saw a girl,” she said, “a girl with long yellow hair and a black dress, like a princess in a story. She jumped into the Blue Twist. And you can’t swim in the Blue Twist, it goes too fast and you drown. You swallow water and your lungs fill up and you drown.”
“Show me,” I said.
I followed her to the spot, a mile away, down the gravel road . . . but there was no trace of a girl in the water. It was just spinning white curls of river.
“I saw her,” Bee said. “I really did, Wink.”
I nodded, because I knew.
That was the first time I felt doubt. Just a twinge, just a little bite, nothing more than the Imps and Plum Babies pinching the Hix Sisters in the bluebell field in The Green Witch of Black Dog Hill.
That night, after Midnight left, and after I’d run my errand, I snuck in through the kitchen, carefully closing the screen door so it wouldn’t slam. I set the basket on the counter and tiptoed upstairs. Bee Lee was sleeping in my bed. She did that when she had nightmares. I crawled in next to her and brushed her hair off her cheek. Her eyes opened.
“Where you been, Wink?”
“Gathering wild strawberries in the forest,” I said. “Wild strawberries picked by the light of the moon have magical powers. I’ll give you some tomorrow, with sugar and cream. And then we’ll see what happens.”
“Will I turn into a frog?” she asked.
I nodded.
“Will I turn into a princess?”
I nodded.
She smiled, and closed her eyes again.
“THERE ARE TWO girls waiting on the front steps for you.”
Dad had just gotten back from his run. Three miles every morning, two every night. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck and his whole face was flushed. “Not the blonde and not the redhead. Two new girls.”
I pushed back the bowl of homemade granola and milk I was nibbling on. I wasn’t hungry anyway. I walked across the kitchen and opened the front screen door.
Stripes.
They turned their heads and looked at me over their shoulders.
“Did you know,” Buttercup said, eyes hooded, voice crisp, black hair dripping down, “that Poppy is missing?”
“Missing,” Zoe said, echo, echo. Her chin moved up and down and her short brown curls followed.