[Midnighters 02] - Touching Darkness Read online

  “Really?” Jonathan knew there’d been mindcasters back in Bixby’s history, but he’d never imagined sane ones. “So why’s Melissa such a basket case?”

  “Rex doesn’t know. Maybe she’s just a freak. But he’s always wanted to find out if she can learn to tolerate it. Maybe last night was some kind of bonding experience or something. And now they’re trying to hook up.”

  Jonathan looked at his left hand; it had always seemed as if Melissa’s searing touch should have left a mark. But his palm bore nothing but a thin layer of sweat.

  He swallowed again, his throat still sore.

  They exited the main highway, heading toward Las Colonias. Melissa’s directions had turned out to make sense after all. The badlands were ahead of them now, a single tear of sun-leeched white across the horizon.

  Jonathan remembered the two of them on the porch, Rex all smiley, Melissa as relaxed as he’d ever seen her in normal time. But then he felt another touching-Melissa flashback trembling at the edge of his mind and shook his head.

  “I just hope they know what they’re doing.”

  Dess laughed. “Haven’t you figured it out, Flyboy? None of us knows what we’re doing.”

  The arched entrance to Las Colonias was guarded by a private security car. Two rent-a-cops slouched against its hood, drinking coffee and turning redder in the sun. One held up his hand, his eyes sweeping across the old car with obvious contempt. Jonathan rolled down his window, the presence of an authority figure bleeding into his stomach like a drink of acid.

  “What’s your business here?”

  “Just taking a drive, Officer.” Rent-a-cops loved it when you called them Officer.

  “Here to see the demon house, huh? Well, I’m afraid it’s residents only today. So why don’t you just turn your vehicle around and head back where you come from.”

  Jonathan thought of a few things to say but realized that if he mouthed off, one of the two might figure out it was a school day. So he tipped an imaginary cowboy hat and started to turn the car around.

  “Smooth, Jonathan,” Dess started in. “ ‘Just taking a drive, Officer.’ ”

  “What would you have said? ‘Just here to investigate the paranormal’?”

  Dess snickered and put on her good-old-boy drawl. “How about, ‘Just taking my new girlfriend to meet my daddy? We’re fixin’ to get us married.’ ”

  He laughed. “Next time you do the talking.”

  “So now what?”

  “Now we look for the back door.” Jonathan turned down the dusty service road that skirted the community, his eyes following the ten-foot-high metal fence surrounding it. Even in normal time his acrobat’s brain still worked. He could see the angles—where a foot would go to get a boost up, then a handhold, another within reach of that one…

  Finally he spotted a place. A termite mound rose up close to the fence, cutting a couple of feet from its height. Jonathan slowed the car.

  “We can’t climb that,” Dess said.

  “I can. Just show me how that thing works.”

  Dess’s eyes widened, and she pulled away.

  He sighed. “Do you want your numbers or not?”

  Her face twitched for a moment, but finally she scowled and said, “Okay. But if you lose it, break it, or get arrested and they take it, you’re dead.”

  Jonathan just rolled his eyes and listened as she explained how to capture coordinates. As he walked away from the car, he whispered to himself, “You’re welcome.”

  On the other side Jonathan dropped to the ground at the edge of an unfinished lot, then paused to shake the termites from his sneakers and the pain from his still-sprained ankle. Construction materials were strewn across the dry, bare soil. There was no frame yet, just a wide driveway leading to a gaping foundation. He moved quickly through the site, figuring he’d be less conspicuous walking down the street than creeping through an empty lot.

  At this time on a weekday few cars passed him, and no one seemed to pay him any mind. Half the houses looked unoccupied. He could smell the fresh paint jobs and see the seams in the newly rolled-down lawns.

  Spotting Darkling Manor was easy. It was across the street from the demon house, which had a broken window up on the second floor. The front door was sealed with yellow police tape. Jonathan wondered what the family was doing today. Sitting around watching TV and trying not to wonder what had happened last night? Or had they gone to a motel for a while?

  Of course, the truly haunted house was on the other side of the street. Darkling Manor looked like every other home in the development. Everything about it—the garage, windows, lawn—was unnecessarily huge. The driveway was empty, and Rex and Melissa said they hadn’t seen a stick of furniture, so it seemed unlikely anyone was home. He walked around it, trying to look interested rather than criminal.

  In the back he found the balcony with the sliding glass doors that Rex had described. Standing beneath it, as close as he could get to the house, Jonathan held up the GPS receiver and pressed capture. The shifting numbers froze.

  According to Dess, that was it.

  Jonathan paused. In daylight the house didn’t give him the chills he’d expected. It was so new, unlike any other darkling place he’d ever seen. He wondered if there were some clue inside, something that would tell him who owned it and who was behind the new threat to Jessica.

  Around front again, he spotted the mailbox. Its little red flag was standing up. He crossed the lawn, glancing up and down the still empty street.

  His gait slowed when he saw her. Peering at him out of the window of the demon house was a woman. She looked like someone who’d had a sleepless night, her face dark with suspicion.

  Jonathan smiled and waved. She didn’t wave back. He opened the mailbox and reached in to find a single letter. Pulling it out, he waved again and turned back toward the house.

  “Crap,” he whispered. The front door was probably locked, and the hairs on the back of Jonathan’s neck told him that he was still being watched. He headed around the back of the house the way he’d come, taking one last glance over his shoulder.

  The woman’s face was still in the window, but she wasn’t looking at him anymore. She was watching the private security car that was coming up the winding street.

  Jonathan crammed the envelope into his pocket and ran, dashing across the backyard, rolling across a low fence and stumbling into another backyard. He passed yet another giant, empty house and crossed the next street over.

  He kept going until he was breathless, moving across the streets instead of down them. The overweight rent-a-cops would never catch him on foot, even with his ankle screaming with every step. The screech of tires came from his right as they tried to parallel him in their car.

  At the edge of the development, where Jonathan had come in, the houses were still under construction and the ground grew rough. A few workers silently watched him pass, not taking much interest. He dodged piles of dirt and broken bricks, wishing for a ten-second burst of midnight gravity to get him out of here. One hard jump in that direction would carry him all the way back to Dess.

  Finally he reached the fence. He could see his father’s car through the bars. But there wasn’t any termite mound on this side, no footholds, no way to climb it.

  He spun around. The security car crawled into sight a hundred yards away, leaving the road and growling onto the dirt strip of unsodded backyards, its tires spitting gravel and spinning up a cloud of dust.

  Jonathan looked around frantically for something to get a boost from—a pile of bricks, a tree stump, anything. But the fence stretched along flat red soil as far as he could see.

  Then his eyes fell on an old tire lying in the sun, its treads choked with dirt, its rubber cracked. He ran to it, lifted it upright, and sent it rolling ahead of him with a solid kick. Mosquito-breeding water sloshed from its innards as it wobbled along. Bracing it sideways against the fence, Jonathan planted a foot on it and pushed himself up.

  The tire s
agged as he jumped, but his hands managed to grasp the top spikes of the fence. The spitting tires of the car sounded as if they were right under him. Jonathan pulled himself up and over and dropped to the other side, every ounce of his normal-gravity weight landing on his bad ankle.

  “Finally,” Dess said as he limped up. “I was getting bored.”

  Jonathan started the car, looking back at the security guards. They slewed to a halt on the other side of the fence, their car immediately swallowed by its own dust cloud. The two rent-a-cops emerged, coughing in the dirt storm, and looked at him forlornly through the fence. One tested the tire with his foot, but it sagged almost flat under his weight.

  Jonathan took a deep breath. No reason to rush.

  “Hey, it’s those buttheads again,” Dess said. “Were they chasing you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Cool. You’re not really a total loser in normal time, you know.”

  “Right.” His heart was pounding, his throat was scraped raw from inhaling dust, and his ankle was throbbing. He never felt this way at midnight, half dead from running a paltry mile. He pulled the GPS receiver from his belt. “Hope this thing still works.”

  “It better,” she said, flicking it on. She stared at the numbers recorded on the little readout. A moment later a grin of satisfaction spread across her face. “Oh, this is so good!”

  Jonathan felt himself smiling too. Maybe it wasn’t so bad, getting his heart beating. Not as good as flying, of course. “That’s from right under the balcony, just like you said.”

  “I can see it…” Her eyes were open wide like those of a four-year-old girl entranced by her first butterfly. “I’ve got the pattern now. This is so freaky.”

  She turned and leapt across the front seat, kissing him on the right cheek, hard and wet.

  Jonathan laughed, then glanced at the cops again. They were getting slowly back into their car. It was miles back to the gate and then back here. He was enjoying just sitting here, ignoring them.

  Then Jonathan remembered the letter in his pocket. He pulled it out, and the smile dropped from his face.

  It wasn’t good news. Not at all.

  “You think that’s freaky, check this out.” He tossed it to Dess.

  She lifted it to her eyes as he pulled the car back onto the road, heading for the highway fast. They had to get back to school.

  “What the hell…?” she murmured.

  “It was in the mailbox at Darkling Manor. That must be the owner’s name, courtesy of Oklahoma Power and Light.”

  “Oh, man, Jonathan,” Dess exclaimed. “With a name like that, they’ve got to be related.” She started to shake her head. “Jessica isn’t going to like this.”

  “No. And I don’t either.”

  He drove fast and hard toward school.

  12

  2:58 p.m.

  PATIENCE

  They hadn’t come back.

  Jessica’s eyes swept the student parking lot, trying to find Jonathan’s car among the throngs escaping Bixby High. Everyone was full of last-bell energy, jumping up on hoods and playing catch across the lot, angling for rides home. On the street a line of school buses sat spewing gray smoke, their windows filling with impatient faces.

  But nowhere did she see Jonathan or Dess.

  “Hey, Jess. What’s up?”

  She turned to find Constanza Grayfoot beside her.

  “Oh, just looking for someone.”

  Constanza smiled. “Mr. Gorgeous?”

  “Yeah.” She turned back toward the parking lot. “He left school earlier, but I thought he was coming back.”

  “Skipping, huh?” Constanza shook her head. “I thought you two were going to keep a low profile after getting arrested.”

  “Not arrested. Detained and transported to parental custody,” Jessica said. “But yeah, we were.” She would’ve explained that Jonathan was making sure that two of her friends hadn’t been eaten alive, but somehow she couldn’t find the appropriate words. “He kind of had to do something.”

  “Sure, I know the feeling.” Constanza waved to a cluster of cheerleaders headed across the parking lot.

  As more and more cars departed, Jessica became even more certain that Jonathan’s was nowhere to be found. What did it mean that he and Dess hadn’t come back? That everything was fine? That their worst fears had been true? It seemed like they could have bothered to tell her if Rex and Melissa were okay. Unless by not going along to Rex’s she had proven herself irredeemably lame and the four of them had decided to ditch her permanently.

  “What’s wrong, Jess?”

  Jessica turned and gave Constanza a tired smile. She wished she could share her anxiety with someone, but as the only midnighter who hadn’t skipped school today, she was on her own.

  “It’s just…” What could she say?

  “Trouble in Coupleville?”

  Jessica nodded. “I guess.”

  “So tell me what’s wrong.” Constanza smiled. “You know you want to.”

  Jessica realized that she did want to, and she wasn’t sworn to secrecy about everything in her life. “Well, Jonathan’s really great, some of the time. Like, at night.”

  “But not so great the morning after?”

  Jessica rolled her eyes. “It’s not about morning afters, of which there have been none, by the way. I’m just talking out here at school. We never seem all that connected when we’re together here.”

  “Oh, got you. He’s afraid of PDA.”

  “Yeah. Not too much into public or private displays of affection, actually. Except at night. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

  Constanza snorted. “Not that hard.”

  “I mean, it’s not what you think.”

  “What do you think I think?”

  Jessica felt a smile on her face. “What do you think I think you think?”

  Constanza raised an eyebrow. “I think you know what I think.”

  The release of hydraulic brakes squealed across the parking lot, and Jessica looked up to see the first bus in line begin to roll.

  “Oh, crap. I need to run.”

  “Hang on, Jess.” Constanza took her arm. “That was just getting interesting. Let me give you a ride home.”

  Jessica looked at her. “Really? It’s miles out of your way.”

  Constanza shrugged. “So what? Since you’ve been grounded, I’ve hardly seen you.” She put her arm around Jessica and started walking her between the few remaining cars. “You never hang with us at study hall anymore.”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that.”

  It’s okay. I know you have this weird affliction where you believe that study hall is for actual studying.” She giggled. “And it’s not like I would be jealous of Miss Gothoid over in the corner.”

  Jessica sighed. “Dess is pretty cool, really.” Of course, she couldn’t imagine having a conversation about Jonathan’s hand-holding phobia with Dess. And forget Rex or Melissa

  “Yeah. Super-cool,” Constanza said. “But I guess she does know her trig. Isn’t she one of Sanchez’s math groupies?”

  “Sort of.”

  Constanza opened her purse and pulled out a key chain jangling with a mini flashlight, a fingernail clipper, a rabbit’s foot, and a host of keys. She squeezed it, and the powder blue Mercedes ahead of them let out a chirp.

  “Whatever and who cares? We’re going to spend this ride talking about you and your boy problems. Miss Day.” Constanza made her way around the car.

  Jessica smiled and opened the passenger door, relaxing a little for the first time since the physics test had hit her desk that morning. Running into Constanza had been her first bit of luck all day. For the next twenty minutes, at least, she wouldn’t have to hear about darklings or slithers, ancient blood feuds, missing lore, or even ice-cream socials.

  Inside, Constanza began to fiddle with the radio.

  “So, your boy’s PDA-shy in daylight. Sort of an affection vampire?”

  “Yeah.”


  “Very common syndrome. And it’s pretty clear what to do.” Constanza started the car, put both hands on the steering wheel, and looked across at her.

  “What?”

  “Be patient.”

  “Patient?” Jessica’s eyes widened. Patience wasn’t the advice she’d been expecting from Constanza.

  “Yes. Just let your anger mellow inside you, aging like a fine wine. Then when Jonathan does something that really pisses you off, let him have it with both barrels.”

  Jessica blinked. “Um, I got lost. Are these wine barrels?”

  “Pay attention, Jessica. These are barrels of anger.” Constanza sighed, thumping the steering wheel. “The problem with boys is, you can’t tell them every time something annoys you. If you complain every single second that Jonathan isn’t holding your hand, you look feeble and whiny and desperate. So you have to hit him with all his flaws at once. Which means…” She put the car into gear. “Waiting until he does something that he knows is bad and having a tally of all your complaints ready in your mind. Be patient, but be prepared—that’s my motto.”

  Jessica shook her head as they backed out of the parking space. “You’re probably right. I mean, about not bugging him. He’ll freak if I’m all clingy. I’ll just have to talk to him.”

  “Wait until you have the upper hand, though. Patience is a virtue.”

  “Uh, yeah, I guess.” Although at some point, Jessica knew from experience, patience was also being a wimp.

  As they reached the edge of the parking lot, a car swerved in from the street and screeched to a halt right in front of them. Constanza slammed on the brakes, and the Mercedes stopped with inches to spare.

  It was Jonathan and Dess, looking very much in a hurry. His car was dirty, as if they’d been driving off-road, and Jonathan wore a wild-eyed expression.

  He glared at Constanza’s car, then squinted through the two windshields at Jessica.

  “Jeez. Speaking of patience…” Constanza said.

  Jessica swallowed. Something serious had happened. “Look, I better go. He looks upset. His thing he had to do… maybe it didn’t go so well.”