The Owl Keeper Read online

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  Could his parents see them running off? Max wondered. Were they stalling for time, letting him escape while the Dark Brigadiers ransacked the house? Far behind, he heard them calling, their voices tinged with desperation. Max had never heard a sadder sound.

  But still he kept running.

  The two children sped through the high grasses and didn't stop until they reached the owl tree. Panicked, Max searched for his owl, shouting and hooting for her until she flitted down.

  "The Dark Brigade is after us!" he cried as the owl landed on his arm. "You're not safe! If they find you they'll--" He couldn't bring himself to say the word kill. "Quick, come with us!"

  He studied the owl's face to see if she understood. She blinked her intelligent eyes and curled herself into a ball. Max gently lowered her into his pocket.

  "The river!" cried Rose, who was running around the tree tearing down the government tape. "Goodbye, owl tree!" she shouted, pulling Max with her as they raced away. "We'll miss you!"

  The owl tree, thought Max. They were going to cut it down and he'd never see it again! A deep sadness swept through him. Teary-eyed, he thrashed amid weeds and brambles, slogging through clumps of slushy snow. For a short moment he glimpsed the deadly purple sphinx, struggling through the moss. Then it was gone.

  Max could no longer hear his parents' anguished cries. He felt as if he'd swallowed a lump of stone. When would he see them again? Maybe never. Despondent, he stumbled, but Rose caught him before he fell.

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  At the river they stopped to catch their breath. Gulping in the night air, Max watched the mist swirl up from the water. On the other side rose tall trees, black and sinister, some knobbled and bent, others dark and hooded. In the darkness behind them he could see small glowing eyes. A prickling sensation started at the base of his spine.

  The Misshapens were watching.

  Teeth chattering, Rose stamped on the frozen earth. "Here's the plan," she said in a take-charge voice. "I've got it all figured out."

  Max frowned. Rose was sounding more like her bossy old self. Shouldn't he be the one making the decisions? He stared at chunks of ice floating on the water, an old, fog-haunted river that he imagined going on forever into the darkness. He had no clue where it ended.

  "We take this path," instructed Rose, "then, first chance we get, we cross over the river. They won't dare follow us into the forest."

  "They won't have to," said Max miserably, "because we'll be dead. The forest is too dangerous, Rose, the Misshapens live there!"

  "Misshapens only come out at night, remember? We'll travel by day. Don't be such a scaredy-cat!"

  His heart sank. "But I can't go out in the sun, remember?"

  "Oh yeah. I forgot." She bunched the strings of her bobbled hat into a knot. "Don't worry, I'll think of something." She raised a clenched fist into the air. "The die is cast! Onward and upward, brave warriors!"

  What sort of silly talk was that? Max wondered if Rose wasn't slightly unhinged. "What about plague wolves?" He could feel

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  his heart slamming against his chest. "And skræks? We'll never make it out of the forest alive!"

  "I suppose you've got a better idea?" Rose threw back her shoulders, fixing her dark gaze on Max. Her sunken, shadowy eyes worried him. "In case you haven't noticed, there's no other way out."

  Max chewed his lip. He longed to be brave like Rose, as brave as his silver owl. If only he had the courage to be fearless and take the lead. But, if anything, he'd only succeed in dragging them down. Doomed by his allergies, hindered by his fears, Max knew he could all too easily bungle their escape.

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  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  [Image: Rose.]

  Max had no idea how long he had been running. His sides ached, his head was full of fears and his woolen underwear itched like crazy.

  As they made their way through the darkness, long shadows fell across the path. In the distance he could see a line of jagged towers, lit by the crimson moon. His heart clenched into a knot. The sight of The Ruins, bleak and mystical, filled him with dread.

  At last they stopped for a rest--a quick break, Rose said--and huddled together beside the river. The black water churned, hurling pieces of ice into the air.

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  What if Rose was mistaken and this path went nowhere? worried Max. Each time he took a breath, his lungs hurt. He wondered what was happening back home, whether the Dark Brigadiers were still turning his house upside down. Were his mom and dad safe--or had they been arrested and taken to prison?

  The silver owl poked her head out of his pocket and looked around, feathers bristling with fear. Max took Gran's shell and held it to the moonlight, trying to draw strength from it. If Gran were alive right now, what advice would she give? Would she say to turn back, or would she tell him to keep going?

  "That's quite a fancy shell, Max." Rose whipped off a mitten and ran her fingers over the shell's uneven edge. "This is what's called a talisman. It has special powers."

  "It's a scallop shell," said Max, annoyed. Why did Rose think everything was magic?

  He remembered Gran's startling blue eyes, dark and solemn, her long white hair rippling in the wind. He could almost, but not quite, hear her voice, strong and clear. His owl emitted soft, silvery hoots and those pure, sweet sounds eased the aching in his heart.

  "Can I hold your shell?" asked Rose, her voice subdued. "Just for one minute?"

  Max closed his hand over the shell. It was the one thing Gran had given him that he treasured above all else.

  "I don't think that's a good idea," he said.

  With a shrug, Rose shoved her hand back into her mitten. Max could see he had hurt her feelings a little.

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  "It's nothing against you," he said quickly. "This seashell belonged to my granny. It's the most important thing I own."

  "I just want to hold it." Her eyes looked huge and forlorn. "I'll give it back. Promise."

  Max opened his hand; the shell glimmered faintly. He knew what it was that drew him to Rose, why he liked her so much. It was that trusting look of hers, that fierce energy and passion. He loved the way she talked with such startling intensity. Rose gave off a dazzling light that made everything around her seem drab and colorless.

  He didn't own much, but he had the seashell and the owl book. Rose had nothing except the raggedy clothes she wore and the ugly boots she'd stolen from Mrs. Crumlin. The least he could do was let her hold his shell.

  "All right," he said. "But don't drop it or anything."

  "It's very elegant," Rose said softly as he set it in the palm of her hand. She held the shell right up to her eyes, touching it the way a blind person would. Then she threw down her hat and pressed the shell delicately to her ear. "I can almost hear the sea."

  "I don't think so," said Max, his heart heavy as he studied her eyes. They looked less focused. Were they going dimmer? he wondered. "Gran told me it wasn't that kind of shell."

  "I said almost. You need to listen better, Max."

  Max sighed. He could always count on Rose to be prickly and rude. The owl rummaged around nervously in his pocket. She's hungry, he thought, or sick from bouncing around in there. He fished her out and set her on a gooseberry bush, where she gave several hoots.

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  Max stopped in his tracks: those were warning hoots.

  "What's wrong with that owl?" said Rose, still holding the shell to her ear. "Why is she making that racket?"

  With growing unease, Max looked around. In the night sky, an enormous black shadow was sweeping ominously toward them. His gut went numb. It was the shadow from his nightmares! He watched it break apart into hundreds of ragged creatures, eerily silent, swooping down through the velvety dark.

  A cold terror slid through his veins. "Skræks!" he yelled, scooping up the owl. "Run!"

  Rose jammed on her hat and they sprinted down the path. "This way!" she cried, pulling him into a grove of trees. T
errified, Max looked back. The skræks were gaining on them. Please no, keep away, he thought, knowing they'd tear him and Rose apart if they caught them.

  Tall and creaking, the old-growth trees crowded around the two children, blotting out the stars. The ground was dense with ferns and nettles, thickets, thorns and twisted roots. They ran through the dark grove until, unable to run another step, they collapsed against a leaning stone.

  "Did we lose them?" whispered Rose, looking around. "Where are we? Things look kind of blurry."

  Max struggled to catch his breath, too exhausted to respond. He couldn't hear the skræks flapping anymore, but that didn't mean they were gone.

  "Hey, guess what?" said Rose. "We're in a cemetery. See all the gravestones?"

  Startled, Max gazed at the flat, brittle stones overgrown with

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  moss, leaning at angles around them, gleaming in the moonlight. What a creepy place, he thought. He noticed how the headstones had worn-down inscriptions and deep cracks running through them. Many had fallen, probably knocked down by the tremors. Staring at the headstones with trepidation, he half expected to see a flock of papery old souls float up from the ground.

  "Hey, Max," said Rose in a hushed voice. "Is your granny buried here?"

  He wished now his father had told him where his grandmother was buried. "I don't know," he replied, adding gloomily: "I hope she's not, it's too sad and spooky here. I don't think Gran would like it."

  Mist coiled around them, rising up from the black earth. Max shivered, feeling the damp, raw air seep into his bones. The owl rustled in his pocket, making anxious twittering sounds. What if there were Misshapens here? A fresh wave of panic surged though him.

  Suddenly he heard another sound: the frantic beating of wings. Terror seized him by the throat. "They're back!" he screamed.

  Rose leapt up and grabbed Max, pulling him to the ground beside a headstone. "Shhh!" She clamped her hand over his mouth. "They don't have eyes, remember? They can't see us, they can only hear! Don't make a sound!"

  Pushing her hand away, Max huddled beside her. "What if they're here for revenge?" he whispered. "You know, because the High Echelon made them in a laboratory and didn't give them eyes?"

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  "It wasn't us who did it!" Rose shot back. "Now will you shut up?"

  Max sat perfectly still, ignoring a cramp in his big toe. Although he'd set Skræk #176 free, he was terrified of the rest of them. He realized that Rose had no idea the High Echelon was planning to make him a Skræk Master--there hadn't been time to tell her about his confrontation with Mrs. Crumlin and the doctor. The thought of those pale wormy faces and stringy black tongues turned his stomach to mush. And those teeth, those sharp, yellow teeth ...

  A handful of the creatures circled overhead. Max felt his sun tattoo turn icy cold, pressing into the back of his neck. The last time that had happened he'd been in The Ruins. He tensed as two skræks glided down, snuffling and wheezing, their wings snagging on branches. They reeked of garbage. Gritting his teeth, he tried to stay calm. The creatures didn't seem to notice him and Rose, huddled motionless beside the gravestone.

  The cramp in his toe was killing him. Yet Max knew if he moved, those razor-sharp claws would dice him up in seconds. Another skræk wheeled by, knocking clumsily into a branch, giving out a cry of pain. Repulsed by the smell, Max held his breath. It seemed, oddly enough, that the creature was looking at him through the indentations where its eyes were supposed to be.

  Was it able to see him or detect him in any way? But before Max could ponder further, his vision began to blur. A familiar dark thrill rushed through him. He was vaguely aware of his body sagging against the stone.

  Moments later he was airborne, winging toward a dark quivering mass that hung over the forest. He felt no fear, no vertigo,

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  only a ravenous hunger as he spiraled above the trees. At last he reached the pulsing horde of skræks, their shrieks rising to a fever pitch. The stench was overwhelming.

  Exhilarated, he soared higher into the night, his wings crackling. Hot blood coursed through his veins and a red glow filled his eyes: light streaming down from the crimson moon.

  Two wiry hands grabbed his shoulders, shaking him savagely. Max forced his eyes open. The crimson moonlight vanished and the raucous shrieks melted away.

  "Are you okay?" Rose had her face up to his, her eyelashes so close they were tickling his cheek. "You look out of focus." She smelled like resin from a tree, clean and alive like the forest he used to visit with his gran. "I think you fainted or something, Max. Your eyes went weird and you were, like, miles away."

  "I was," he murmured, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "I was flying--"

  Rose leapt to her feet, scanning the sky. "The skræks are gone! They flew away!" She gave a cheer.

  But Max shuddered. He was far from happy. What had just happened to him? It hadn't been a dream, he was sure of that. Something much more sinister had taken place--something beyond his control.

  "It's okay to talk now, Max." Rose was leaning against a headstone, shaking out her boots. "They're gone."

  "You won't believe this, but--" Max caught himself in time. How could he explain that he'd been flying with the skræks? Rose would think there was something seriously wrong with him. Knowing her, she'd laugh and say he was delusional.

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  He decided to keep quiet. After all, Rose had plenty of secrets herself.

  Rose wasn't listening anyway. She was busy turning her mittens and coat pockets inside out.

  "Don't be mad, I'll find it," she said, removing her hat and peering inside. "It's here somewhere."

  "What? What did you lose?"

  "Your shell, Max. I lost your granny's lucky shell."

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  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  [Image: Max and the owl.]

  Max felt as if the breath was knocked out of him, as if he'd been punched in the stomach. "You lost Gran's shell?"

  "Don't get your hackles up! It was an accident." Rose checked her pockets. "These things happen when you're on the run." She threw him a sheepish glance. "I'll find it, Max, I promise. I'm real good at finding things. It's a special talent I have."

  Max chewed his lip, biting back tears, too angry to speak. How could she be so careless? Gran had entrusted the shell to him! Didn't Rose realize how rare and precious it was? Didn't she know it could never be replaced?

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  Furious, he stomped through the graveyard, thinking what a mistake he'd made, trusting Rose with Gran's shell. He kicked at the dead leaves, desperately hoping it would appear.

  "Hey, Max, I forgot all about this!"

  He looked over to see Rose waving a piece of paper.

  "Look, I found this in your closet!"

  He ignored her and kept walking away. Big deal, he thought, that old closet was overflowing with junk. He was so upset he didn't care when the owl wiggled out of his pocket and darted into the air.

  Why did Rose always get so distracted? he wondered, jumping from one topic to the next? She never stuck with one thing for more than a minute. Her flightiness was maddening. Why wasn't she helping him find Gran's shell? Obviously she didn't care about it, he thought angrily. The shell meant nothing to her.

  Max heard the silver owl hooting again. She teetered on top of a gravestone, flapping her good wing, more animated than he'd seen her in a long time.

  Rose ran over, waving the paper in his face. "Here, take a look, Max. I was going to read it, but I suppose you should be first. After all, it was in your closet."

  Annoyed, he snatched the paper from her hand.

  She clicked on her miniflashlight, shining it over a crumpled page filled with handwritten words. "What are you waiting for? Read it!"

  Max smoothed out the paper. When he saw the elaborate script he blinked in surprise. "You found this in my closet?" The paper was covered with faded looping letters in blue and silver ink. It was in the same old-fashione
d handwriting as the owl's

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  secret message. Why hadn't Mrs. Crumlin discovered this? he wondered, remembering all the times she'd barged into his room and snooped through his closet.

  "I found it behind the wallpaper," explained Rose. "I was waving my flashlight around, see, and I saw all these places where the wallpaper was coming unstuck."

  Max scowled, forgetting for a moment what he held in his hands. Sticky-fingers Rose, he thought irritably, she can never leave things alone. "You ripped the wallpaper off my closet wall?"

  "That wallpaper was so decrepit, it fell right off! Anyway, it was boring in there, so I had to do something. A row of ships fell down and I found this paper, stuck to the wall. Sorry, I wrinkled it a bit."

  Hooting, the owl fluttered in a crooked line to Max's shoulder.

  Gripping the paper, Max thought back to the message. Something Rose had just said tugged at his memory. "The owl's message talked about a ship."

  "I'm talking wallpaper ships, Max." Rose tapped the paper. "Read it."

  "Maybe the owl's message doesn't mean a real-life ship? 'Tear down the sails of the eastbound ship, "' he recited from memory, "steering into the darkest port.'" He glanced sideways at his owl, who sat on his shoulder listening intently, her golden eyes fixed on him. "The ship sails into the dark, right? My closet's dark-- there's no light in there."

  "Yeah, and it smells like dirty socks. I almost threw up."

  Max dismissed her silly remark with a wave of his hand. Inside his head, he felt the click-click of gears, whirling and turning. "'The eastbound ship' --that side of the house faces east." Had the

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