by Paul Durham
“Why were you in there?” I ask, although my tone is more dumbfounded than angry. “Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?”
“I—I don’t…,” she stammers. “I couldn’t help it—”
Her explanation is interrupted by the clamor overhead. Shutters break and crash down onto the sidewalk. Netherkin are pouring from the windows of the Spite House. Black shadows now, they scuttle down the clapboards like angry wasps from a battered nest.
“Drop that foolish violin and run, Viola,” I say sternly. “As fast as you can. Don’t look back.”
Viola’s still disoriented but listens to me—in part. She rushes down the winding street with the violin case bouncing in her hand.
Free from the Spite House’s oppressive confines, my senses are coming back to me. The Boneless King’s energy has faded now that I’m free from his lair, and I watch as Viola disappears safely around a bend. I turn and brace my feet.
I feel like myself again.
I catch the first Netherkin with both arms and smash him over my knee. I snag another by his wrist, twist him high in the air, and snap him down on the asphalt like a wet towel. I grab a heavy trash can from the curb and use it to pummel several more.
I’m still in my visible state, and to any nosy neighbors watching from behind curtained windows, I must look like a sugar-crazed child throwing punches and kicks at imaginary foes.
But there’s nothing imaginary about them. Finally, after I’ve cut through most of their numbers, the remaining Netherkin come to their senses and slink back into the gutters and sewers.
I check the surrounding alleyways one last time. To my relief, Viola must have kept running. She’s nowhere to be found. At the end of the street, a blue-and-white police car eases down the block. One of the neighbors must have made a call.
I narrow my eyes at the Spite House one last time, strobe lights glowing in its naked windows. It seems the Boneless King is still willing to bide his time inside. Whatever his reasons, I was lucky to make it out of that house of nightmares. Tomorrow is sure to bring with it many more.
Exhausted, I begin the long, damp walk in the drizzle back to my Domain.
Tonight’s party may be over, but my job’s far from done.
My trudge home is bleak, the city as dark and brooding as my mood. As the fog of battle fades, the pain in my arm deepens. I finally have a chance to pause and examine my injury. The gash aches and oozes, a lingering reminder of the Boneless King.
I’m looking forward to returning to the comfort of my Domain, but when I arrive, dim lamplights peek out from ivy-covered windows.
Restless wards always ring alarm bells.
Instead of going straight to the roof, I make my rounds. The Pandeys are awake, bickering with each other. A television drones in the Hairy Man’s apartment. Miss Ada is cooking something. The cats are stirring behind the Korean lady’s closed door.
My pace quickens. There’s only one destination on my mind.
I reach the fourth floor, and my suspicion is confirmed. Hetty’s apartment door is cracked open once again.
I know the Boneless King can’t be here—now that I’ve felt his energy up close, I would have sensed him along the way. And if Netherkin have returned to pay a visit, they’ll be disappointed to find an empty apartment. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to catch them in the act. I burst inside and look wildly from side to side.
The apartment lights are on. Someone is lying motionless on the couch. Her eyes are shut, mouth agape. Tiny speakers are stuffed in her ears and two dangling wires tether her to the glowing device in her lap. It’s the blond practice-adult who tried to abduct me in the courtyard.
What’s going on here? Nobody is supposed to be home. Where’s Mamita? I look around hastily for an explanation. On the refrigerator, a list of emergency phone numbers is pinned under a magnet. I find a handwritten note on the kitchen table.
Good night, Hetty.
Aunt Anna had to cancel. She had a little accident but don’t worry—it’s nothing serious. So sorry I can’t be there to tuck you in. Be good for Courtney and take care of your brother. I’ll see you in the morning.
Love you,
Mamita
That explains the presence of the practice-adult, and it means Hetty and Tomás should be in their beds. But there’s something else here too. I feel nails on a chalkboard. By now, I bet even you can guess what it is.
I quickly check the body on the couch to see what they’ve done to her.
Is she…?
I see the rise and fall of her sweater, the steady rhythm of sleep. That’s a relief. But Mamita’s questionable choice of babysitter is a problem for another day. I storm down the hall to Hetty’s darkened bedroom. I hear the clink of tiny glass shards.
But when I fling the door open, even my guess is wrong.
Hetty is tossing and turning under her blankets, her face flushed but her eyes pinched tight. The sea glass wind chime sways in the window as if weathering a storm, but the air in the room is sour and still. And hovering over Hetty’s bed is no normal Netherkin. It’s a Shadow Man.
My old friend, the One in the Hat.
“You!” I say, my voice so bitter it comes out in a rasp.
The One in the Hat turns quickly, and I see the white slits of his eyes widen.
“Let me guess,” I snarl. “I wasn’t supposed to be here.”
I suddenly suspect that feeble old Onesimus may be even more shrewd than I gave him credit for. Perhaps he had been serving the Boneless King in his own manner—directing me right into the jaws of a trap. Of course, it didn’t matter whether or not I escaped the Spite House. The real plan was to lure me away from my Domain. Aunt Anna had an accident. Could the Boneless King’s reach be long enough to have had a hand in that too?
I feel a creeping energy behind me. I turn quickly, and there’s the Shadow Man’s companion in the doorframe. The One with the Horns.
No matter. Neither of them will escape my Domain again.
I leap at the One in the Hat first—he’s the closest threat to Hetty. I feel my grip tighten on his inky arm but he slips away in a cloud of vapor. I open my empty hand—it was the one weakened by the Boneless King’s claw.
When the Shadow Man rematerializes behind me, he’s assumed an entirely different form. Shapeshifters are pesky like that. But I’m in for another surprise. Standing before me is a man-sized, oil-slicked rabbit. His broken whiskers twitch and red eyes drill into me.
“Abracadabra,” he says in a high-pitched churn of static, then offers a maniacal chuckle.
The Black Rabbit.
I remember Viola’s story about Hannibal Craven and his assistant. The shadowy hat this persistent phantom has been wearing all these years? I recognize it now as a magician’s top hat. It seems the Boneless King has sent his second-in-command.
“Pulling a rabbit out of a hat?” I say. “You really are a hack. The Magician? They should have called you the Clown.”
He bares his oversized teeth but doesn’t move.
“You’re going to stay, are you?” I ask. “Good. But you’d better have a more impressive trick up your sleeve.”
“No choice in the matter, little watchman,” he cackles. “We can’t leave empty-handed.” His nose twitches and his unbroken ear cocks as if listening. “The Boneless King promises thrashings if we fail him again.”
I’ve got some thrashings of my own in store for them.
I swipe at him, but he’s as quick as, well, a rabbit. He bounds out the door on his freakishly long legs and paws.
I try the One with the Horns, but he avoids me too and darts after the Black Rabbit. I must be losing a step. The night has taken its toll.
I check on Hetty. Her sleep is fitful, but she looks unharmed. I made it here without a second to spare. But now for the Shadow Men. I move to the hallway, hoping to intercept them before they can escape. But finding the hallway empty, I realize escape isn’t the first thing on their mind.
We can’t leave empty-handed.
Tomás!
I rush for his room just as I hear him burst into terrified tears. Amid a room filled with wicker baskets, stuffed animals, and cheerful pillows in hues of blue and green, the oil-streaked rabbit now looms monstrously over the crib, clutching something precious in his arms. His red eyes flare gleefully in the shadows cast by a tiny night-light.
I’m hit hard. So hard the impact knocks me into the seat of a white rocking chair. The One with the Horns has attacked me from behind. My arm rages in pain. Strange. Strong Netherkin can cause me discomfort. In large numbers they can definitely slow me down. But seldom do they cause any real injury. I look down at the slice in my forearm made by the Boneless King. It’s still seeping, and with a furious rush, the One with the Horns leaps upon me, thrusting a shadowy hand right through the wound.
I tumble backward in the chair, knocking down a shelf of diapers in a cloud of baby powder. The pain is excruciating. His fingers are digging inside me.
“Finish him off,” the Black Rabbit orders the One with the Horns. “Do not fail the Boneless King.” He tucks the glowing sphere of warm blue light under his arm and thrusts open the window sash.
Tomás isn’t crying anymore. His little body lies still under his blanket, but he’s not all there. The most important part of him has been stolen away.
But it’s not too late. The Black Rabbit ducks through the window and extends one long leg onto the fire escape.
I lurch for him but freeze. The One with the Horns grips something inside my wisp body and squeezes, and I’m paralyzed with pain. Then he too shifts his shape, and I find myself smothered by the form of an enormous horned viper.
I shudder. A snake—it had to be a snake?
I try to drag myself toward the window, but he wraps his black scaly coils around me and holds tight. The Black Rabbit clears the window, and I see his patchy haunches disappear.
I’m crushed. The pain is unbearable. But it’s not the viper’s squeeze that devastates me.
Not another ward. Not again.
“Tomás,” I call helplessly at the empty window frame.
Then I’m blinded by a flash of raging light that engulfs the entire room.
The One with the Horns slumps motionless on top of me.
I feel his grip falter, and he’s torn away as if by some irresistible force. I blink to clear my eyes. He’s no longer a viper, nor a Shadow Man. He’s just a thick cloud of black tendrils swirling against a piercing white backdrop. A rudderless puff of acrid smoke caught in the wind.
Before my eyes, the cloud explodes into dust.
The room goes dark once again and I’m able to see.
Hetty stands in the doorway in her slippers and outgrown pajamas, her frame a small silhouette in the glow of the nightlight. She holds her sea glass wind chime in front of her like a lantern. The glass shards shiver and clink in her hand, then stop as if frozen. Completely still.
I’ve no time to ponder what just happened. I spring into action, hurling myself through the open window and onto the fire escape. The Black Rabbit is two landings below. One more and he’ll make it to the street.
I throw my legs over the iron rails and let myself drop. My aim is true and I land on his shoulders. We both crash onto the landing.
I make it to my feet first. He staggers up, both ears now broken and dangling over his face from the impact. Before he can react, I swipe at the pulsing blue sphere, knocking it from his arms. Sorry, Tomás. That’s sure to leave a scar somewhere down the road, but trust me—it’s better than the alternative.
The Black Rabbit bares his teeth and moves for the sphere, and I decide it’s best to put some more distance between them. I rush forward and bury my shoulders in his furry chest, sending us both tumbling off the fire escape and hard against ivy and brick. We skid down the wall in a rain of green leaves, landing on the pavement below.
I hit hardest, and this time the Black Rabbit is the first to his feet. He hovers over me and quickly lifts his huge black-nailed paw as if to stomp me. But he’s not quick enough.
My face melts. My jaw unhinges. And just as the Black Rabbit brings his foot down, I swallow him up to his hip. Hopefully you’ve never heard the cries of a little cottontail caught in the teeth of a coyote. But just this once, it’s music to my ears.
I fold him in half and devour the rest without chewing.
I carefully climb through Tomás’s window and find Hetty leaning over his crib, trying to calm him.
“It’s okay, Tomás,” she whispers desperately. “It was just a dream.”
But when she reaches down to stroke his forehead, he thrashes at her violently.
I look down at my uninjured arm, where I’ve safely cradled the delicate blue sphere. It pulses softly, like the gentle breath of a kitten. Strange how holding it makes me feel warm and comforted.
I creep quietly to the edge of the crib and place it in my hands. I cup open my palms, as if returning a tiny fledgling to its nest. The blue sphere glows bright and winks away, and Tomás is whole once again.
He still whimpers but has stopped his thrashing. He lets Hetty touch his foot, and it seems to bring him some relief. I head out of the room so I won’t disturb them, glancing back just once as Hetty reaches into the crib and takes him in her arms.
“Come on,” she whispers. “You can sleep with me.”
She tiptoes to her room, sets him in the blankets, and curls up next to him. But both pairs of eyes remain wide and alert.
“It’s okay,” she whispers. “We’ve got each other.”
No, Hetty. You’ve got more than that. And you’re not spending the rest of the night alone.
I poke my nose around the corner of the doorframe.
Hetty sits up. “Clover?” she whisper-shouts.
I blink my big round eyes and wag my nubby tail. Then I trot in, jump on the bed, and curl up in a ball at their feet.
I don’t sleep during the few remaining hours until daybreak. Hetty keeps her arms wrapped tightly around Tomás. If she dreams at all, the Boneless King has kept his distance—at least for one more night.
I hear Mamita arrive just before dawn, stirring Courtney awake and asking a few questions before sending her on her way.
Did they go down without a fuss? How did they sleep? Any problems?
Yes. Great. No, none at all.
I just shake my whiskers—adults and their narrow vision.
I hide under the bed when Mamita comes to check on the children. I see the look of concern in her dark eyes as she carefully eases Tomás from Hetty’s embrace. She tucks Hetty’s blanket under her chin and takes the baby to her own room for another hour of much-needed rest.
This exhausted family is teetering on the edge of collapse. I see it in Mamita’s gait when she returns to wake Hetty for school. I feel it as Hetty sleepwalks through her morning routine. They’re in an invisible war that they can’t possibly understand. We won last night’s battle—thanks in no small part to Hetty. How she did it, I still have no idea. But more Netherkin will be coming, and I don’t think there are enough wind chimes in the entire city to stop them. I hope my presence here will be enough.
When Hetty’s done dressing and brushing her hair, she eases her door shut and approaches me. She’s looking at my forepaw.
“Clover, are you hurt?” she asks in concern. “Did you get in a fight?”
I hunker down and slink away before she can touch my leg. The fur is matted and slick from a weeping red gash, mirroring the one left in my sleeve by the Boneless King.
It’s nothing, I want to say. Just a little tussle.
Hetty seems to sense that it’s better not to push, and instead quickly retrieves her journal from the locked drawer. She plops herself down on her bed and begins sketching.
I watch her from my seat beside Mr. Jum-Jums. I notice the wind chime she’s rehung in the window behind her, and for a moment, doubt it’s the same one. The green and aqua glass shards ha
ve all turned brown, the color of mud.
“Do you like my Shadow Catcher?” she asks, looking up from the pages. “My father showed me how to make them. He said they catch bad dreams before they can scare you.”
Yes, Hetty. In fact, I like it very much.
“I think it’s about time to make a new one, though,” she adds with a shrug, and returns to her journal.
“I don’t know where you went, Clover,” Hetty says without looking up from her writing. “But thank you for coming back.”
From the kitchen, Mamita is calling. They’re already late, and she needs to get Hetty off to school and herself to the hospital for the second half of her double shift.
Hetty climbs from the bed and moves to return her journal to the drawer. But she pauses, sets the journal on the desk, and places her palms on either side of the fishbowl.
Fin floats motionless on the surface of the water. His black fins have turned gray.
Coal miners used to bring caged canaries into the mineshafts. The delicate birds are particularly sensitive to invisible hazards, and a belly-up canary was a sure sign of danger in the air. Bad energy has a similar effect on small creatures. Have you ever had a pet fish or hamster keel over unexpectedly? I’d bet…well, never mind. They were probably just old.
Let’s just say I’m surprised poor Fin made it this long.
Hetty’s face falls and she bites her lip. “Who else is going to leave me?” she whispers.
From the other room, Mamita is imploring Hetty to hurry. The sadness in Hetty’s eyes passes and she steadies her jaw. She picks up a little blue net, scoops the goldfish from the bowl, and marches toward the bathroom. She’s strong, this one. Stronger than she should have to be at her age.
“Don’t worry,” I say as she eases the door shut. “I’m here until the end.” But of course, she can’t hear me.
I glance at the journal. Distracted, Hetty’s left it open on her desk. I hop on the chair and press my face to its pages to see this morning’s pencil sketch.
