Otto shivered. Nerves, or the cold? Eleanor decided not to ask. “Do you know where we’re going?” she asked.
“Yeah, kinda,” Pip said. She pointed with her whole hand, away from the house and the road. “Out past the old orchard, the forest is super thick. I looked at some old maps, and it’s not really obvious where exactly Eden Eld stops, but we’re definitely near the edge of it now. So we shouldn’t have to go too far to get out. If we keep walking until after dark, we should be able to get a couple miles past the border. And tomorrow we can keep going. The next town is only six miles away, so we should be able to reach it tomorrow. Then we just wait until November first and call home for a ride.”
Aunt Jenny and Uncle Ben would be worried, but there was no way to avoid that. “Let’s go,” Eleanor said.
They started out across the orchard. The trees were all apple trees, but only a few scattered fruits grew, tiny and wizened, with hardly any color in their skins. Ben kept saying he was going to find out how to nurse the orchard back to health—in all his free time. Then he’d laugh, and then he’d sigh.
The branches seemed to clatter as they passed, though there wasn’t any wind. They picked up the pace, and soon they’d reached the end of the apple trees and the beginning of the pines, where the shadows stitched together into a solid tapestry of black. There they slowed, and Eleanor pretended it was because it was hard to see in the dim light and navigate the treacherous tree roots, and not that they were afraid.
The pines blocked out the sky, except for ragged, pale scraps here and there. In the dark underforest, nothing moved except the three of them, and the thick carpet of pine needles hushed their footsteps into silence.
“Straight on,” Pip muttered, but Eleanor wasn’t sure who she was talking to. “Straight on.”
Something rattled in the trees. Pip gasped and stumbled. Eleanor grabbed her hand to steady her, and they held each other and their breath, waiting for the sound to come again.
“Just wind,” Otto offered, but then it came again. Clackclackclack. Moving closer and closer.
“Run!” Pip hiss-whispered, and they bolted farther into the forest. Eleanor’s bag slapped hard against her back. Roots grabbed at her feet, and it seemed like she’d barely gone three steps before she was panting for breath through a tight, cold chest. Pip was the fastest of them, but she wouldn’t go too far ahead, bouncing nervously when she had to slow to keep pace.
Clackclackclack. Clackclackclack. A harsh croak chased after the sounds, and a gurgle almost like laughter. Eleanor dared a glance behind them. It came through the trees, huge wings made of shadow, swooping from branch to branch. Its eyes gleamed an oily yellow-orange. Clackclackclack. Clackclackclack. “Look out!” Otto yelled, and grabbed Eleanor by the shoulder, stopping her up short so hard they almost fell over together.
A dark form rose from the forest floor, eyes opening, glowing red. The graveyard dog. It growled, pacing toward them.
“This way!” Pip called, and they ran to the left. The dog barked and bounded, chasing after them.
There was no way they were faster than the dog, Eleanor thought wildly, and expected at any moment for its teeth to clamp shut around her leg. It snarled and snapped behind them, never drawing closer, but always keeping pace. And then Eleanor realized—it was herding them. Driving them back the way they had come.
Figures flapped and screeched and rattled from the shadows, forcing them to turn, and turn again, until Eleanor had no idea where they were going. The light was fading, and she couldn’t see the direction of the sun.
And then—they stumbled out. Out of the trees. They’d emerged near the road, in front of Ashford House.
“No,” Pip cried. Sickening dread shuddered through Eleanor.
A car crouched in the driveway, sleek and red as a poisoned apple. Ms. Foster stood beside the driver’s side door, her hands folded in front of her, looking right at them.
The snarling and rattling behind them fell silent. Eleanor looked back. Yellow-orange and smoldering red, the beasts’ eyes were all she could make out from the edge of the wood. But they were watching. Waiting. There was no escaping Eden Eld.
Even from this distance, she could see Ms. Foster’s brilliant smile.
Fourteen
Eleanor was silent through dinner. She could barely eat.
Pip and Otto had gone home with Ms. Foster. There’d been no point in running, not with the beasts behind them and Ms. Foster right there. They’d traded quick whispers, cobbling together a plan in the steps between the trees and the driveway. They’d just have to sneak out again tonight. They might not be able to get away from Eden Eld altogether, but if they could stay away from the January Society, it might be enough.
They just had to wait until the adults were asleep.
Eleanor watched the glowing numbers on the microwave and ran her fingers over the scar on her palm. Not long now. Not long at all.
“We should do something for your birthday,” Jenny said suddenly. Her contractions had taken a break long enough for her to eat in comfort, and she seemed buoyed by the brief respite. “We’ve been so busy we haven’t set anything up. I feel terrible. Maybe we could have some of your friends over? Pip and Otto?”
Eleanor stared at her. She felt numb. Like she couldn’t feel anything. “That would be nice,” she said dully.
Ben’s brow furrowed. “You okay there, sport?”
“I don’t feel very well,” Eleanor said. At least that wasn’t a lie. But she wouldn’t be able to sit here much longer without lying about something.
There might be a curse ready to snatch her away come midnight, but she was suddenly angry most of all that it had taken Ben and Jenny from her. She couldn’t tell them the truth. They couldn’t help her. She had lost her mother and she was losing them, too, even though they were right in front of her.
“Is it okay if I just go to bed?” she asked. She would look in the book again. If she read it one more time, maybe she would see the solution, the way to save them all and stop the curse from taking them.
“Of course,” Jenny said. “Do you need us to bring you anything? Cocoa? Tea?”
Eleanor just shook her head. She hurried out, feeling their eyes on her, wishing they could help her, wishing she could reassure them. In her room she climbed into her bed and tucked herself against the pillows, bending over the book.
Something scraped outside her window.
She sat bolt upright. Just a branch, she thought, but there were no trees that close to this side of the house that were anywhere near tall enough to reach the third floor. She pulled herself back against the headboard.
There was something crouched on her windowsill—something big and black, with two bright green eyes that stared in at her, unblinking. And then it stood, and she saw its shape properly. It was a cat. An enormous cat, with thick, long fur.
The cat stood up on its hind legs, putting its big front paws on the glass of the window—and then it slid right through. It jumped, smooth and graceful, and thumped lightly onto the floor. It shook itself a little, sending gray flecks flying in all directions. And then, with a single leap, it sprang up onto the end of her bed and sat there, twitching its tail and staring at her.
“I know what you are,” Eleanor said. She meant to say it in a strong voice, but it came out a whisper.
“Is that so?” asked the cat, its voice feminine, silky and deep. Its mouth did not move, but Eleanor heard the voice plain and clear. “Then who am I, pet?”
“You’re the cat-of-ashes,” Eleanor said.
“So I am,” the cat said. “Good. You’re a few steps ahead of the last bunch, then. You’re clever, I can tell. And sharp. Two of my favorite things to be. But clever enough? Sharp enough? Hm.” She flicked her tail across the bedspread, leaving a streak of ash. She smelled of burnt things, like woodsmoke and charcoal.
“The
last bunch? What last bunch?”
“Oh dear. Not so far ahead as I’d hoped,” the cat said. The cat stood and took several steps toward her. Her weight pulled the blankets tighter over Eleanor’s legs. She stopped with one paw lifted as Eleanor pressed farther against the headboard. “Frightened, are you? You needn’t be. No one can touch you, except on All Hallows’ Eve. Midnight to midnight. And it’s just now—”
The clock in the hall chimed the hour.
Eight.
The cat’s ear swiveled toward the noise, then back again. “A little time left before the games begin.”
“What games?” Eleanor whispered.
“That depends on you. Some years it’s not sporting at all,” the cat said. “And sometimes it’s a near thing indeed. The teams are a bit stacked, of course, and only one side has won so far, but that could always change. Personally, I root for you kids every time. I’m a sucker for the underdog story.” She laughed, low and throaty, and blinked her big green eyes. “They’re going to come for you, little beast, and put you through the door to the gray, and then you’ll belong to him, and to his sisters. That’s the way it works. That’s the deal that’s been struck. Unless you can wiggle your way out of it, which I’m rather hoping you can.”
“But you work for them. For him. Mr. January.” Eleanor said the name with confidence she didn’t feel, but the cat-of-ashes didn’t contradict her.
“Cats do not work,” she said with disdain. “But I will allow that my activities do serve him. I hate the man, but I haven’t much of a choice in it, I’m afraid. Still, I can sneak in a little rebellion here and there. I wouldn’t be able to call myself cat if I couldn’t.”
“Are you his prisoner?” Eleanor asked. “Could we free you? Could—”
“Now, now. That won’t get you anywhere. My troubles can’t be solved quick enough to do you any good, and even if you broke my bonds, dear, I’m a cat. We aren’t known for our constancy. I’d probably wander off and forget to help.”
Eleanor couldn’t tell if the cat was making fun of her, but she was less and less afraid. Of the cat, at least. “You said they’re coming for us. Who?”
“Oh, dear. If you can’t figure that out, you’re doomed for sure.”
“But someone is coming for us. Me and Otto and Pip.”
“That’s right, little beast,” the cat said. “You’re the mice in this trap, and it’s closing fast.”
“Can you help us now? You must know how we can save ourselves. Even just a little hint.”
“There are things I can’t say, and things I shouldn’t say, and things I don’t care to say,” the cat said. “But personally, I have never liked shouldn’t. I’ll give you this much, and then you’re on your own. Bartimaeus Ashford has an ego bigger than the house he built to satisfy it, and he is almost as clever as he believes he is. This place is still full of his tricks, if you know where to look, and some of them might come in handy.”
“Where?” Eleanor asked.
“Tsk-tsk. If you need me to tell you everything, I don’t see how you have any chance of surviving,” the cat-of-ashes said. She stretched, nails raking the bedspread and leaving scorch marks. “I already brought you the book, and that’s more than any of the others got. But because your mother is such a nice woman and always scratches that spot behind my ear, I’ll tell you one more thing: everything in this house has a purpose. Everything.”
With that, she jumped down onto the floor.
“Wait! You know my mom? Where is she?” Eleanor demanded, flinging off the covers and leaping onto the floor herself. But the cat-of-ashes was already bounding to the windowsill. She paused on this side of the glass and lashed her tail one last time.
“That I can’t tell you, but I’m sure you’ll find out on your own. Now remember, little beast. Between midnight and midnight, you’re vulnerable. And the next time we see each other, you’d do well to be afraid.”
“If you can’t tell me where my mother is, can you tell me why she tried to kill me?” Eleanor demanded.
The cat’s eyes widened. “Now, who told you a thing like that?” she asked. Her tail thrashed. Then the cat-of-ashes leaped from the windowsill and out of sight.
Eleanor lurched after her, running to the window, but there was no sign of the cat. Eleanor’s heart beat hard in her chest. Of course her mother had set the fire. There was no one else in the house to do it.
Was there?
Eleanor ran her thumb along the shiny part of her palm, the scar the scalding doorknob had left. Why would she warn Eleanor to stay away from Eden Eld right before she lit the house on fire?
What if she hadn’t set it? What if she hadn’t run away?
What if she had been taken?
The thought was heavy as a stone, and it dragged Eleanor down to the floor in a crouch. She wrapped her arms around her knees. What if her mother wasn’t evil, and she needed Eleanor’s help?
She wanted to run out and find her right away, but she had no idea where to go—and she couldn’t leave Eden Eld. And even if she managed that, she couldn’t save her mother—if she really needed saving—until she’d saved herself. And Pip. And Otto.
Midnight to midnight. They had less than four hours left. She listened to the ticking of the clock, and she waited.
Fifteen
At ten forty-five, thirty minutes after Ben and Jenny had gone to bed, Eleanor shoved the book into her backpack. She held her shoes in one hand and hurried down the steps in her socks so she’d be quiet, and even managed to dodge the creakiest floorboards. When she was almost at the back door, she stopped and backtracked. She ducked into the living room, where the giant fireplace stood, the staircase leading into shadows at the back of it. A heavy set of iron fire tools sat next to the fireplace, untouched for years. The kids in “The Graveyard Dog” had used an iron shovel to drive the dog off. Hopefully an iron fire poker would do just as well.
She stuck it into her backpack, closing the zipper around it to hold it in place, and ran to the back door.
There was no bus to take her to Otto’s. She couldn’t run that far, and even if she knew how to drive, she thought stealing Ben and Jenny’s car would probably wake them up. But she’d seen some old bikes in the shed, so she sprinted across the scrubby grass, ignoring just how spooky the orchard looked at night.
She pulled open the door. It groaned and whined but gave. The old car was under a cloth to keep the dust off. The bicycles shoved against the wall next to it didn’t get the same protection, and they were practically one big cobweb. Eleanor picked the smaller of the two and wheeled it out. It wobbled a little, and the wheel made a whine of its own, but she didn’t have time to oil it. She did her best to swipe the dust off the handlebars and the seat, then flung her leg over.
The pedals were stiff at first, and as she worked her way up the dirt track to the road, she thought she would have gone faster at a brisk walk. But they loosened up as she pedaled, and the effort kept her warm even though she’d forgotten a coat. Soon she was sailing down the road in the dark.
The wind bit at her, but it was worth it for the speed. She pedaled as fast as she could, her legs already aching. She had to get to the others. It was all she thought about. Her plan, her list: Get to Pip. Get to Otto. Stay safe. Stay free. Find the answer.
She was wheezing for breath by the time she saw the lights at the end of Otto’s drive—and the black car parked just down the road, its lights off but a figure in the driver’s seat. She wrenched the bike to the side, careening off the road before they could spot her, and pulled herself and the bike behind a big pine. She peered around the trunk, hoping she hadn’t been seen. The car didn’t move. Neither did the person in it. From the way their head was tipped down, she thought they might be asleep.
Mr. January? Did Mr. January drive a car? No—it had to be someone from the January Society. She couldn’t make out the person
’s features, or even if it was a man or a woman, and she didn’t want to stick around to find out. She couldn’t ride the bike through the trees, so she walked it beside her, staying low over the handlebars in the hopes that she wouldn’t be spotted.
She didn’t really know where she was going, but the old truck where they’d agreed to meet up was easy to find even in the dark, a white beacon. It was weird—she’d seen plenty of abandoned cars and trucks before, but never one that looked so perfect. There wasn’t a single chip in the paint or crack in the windshield, and the tires looked in pristine condition. She’d have thought the truck was brand-new if it wasn’t old-fashioned—and if a tree hadn’t begun to grow around the back bumper.
“Hey,” Otto whispered, stepping out from behind the truck. “You made it.” He bounced from foot to foot with nervous energy.
“There’s someone in a car by your driveway,” she said.
“I know. He’s been there for like an hour,” Otto replied.
“What’s with the truck?” she asked.
“Huh?” Otto looked confused.
“How does it look so good?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been there all my life.”
“So shouldn’t it be all rusted and stuff?”
“I guess, but—”
“Things don’t rust in Eden Eld,” Eleanor guessed. He nodded. “It’s the deal. Everything is so perfect because of the deal. And no one thinks it’s strange, for the same reason they don’t notice the wrong things.”
“I guess that explains why I never have to mow the lawn,” Otto said. Otto’s phone chirped in his pocket.
“Turn that on silent!” Eleanor chided as he pulled it out.
“Sorry. It’s Pip.” He showed her the screen and the text displayed on it.
SOS JAN AT HOUSE
Thirteens Page 9
