Scarlet laughed. “I know what you mean.”
Once she’d finished breakfast, Scarlet stood up and looked around, a little puzzled. Her backpack wasn’t where she usually hung it, on the kitchen door. Maybe she’d left it at the bottom of the stairs.
When she walked into the hall, though, there were Dakota and Cricket, sitting at attention by the front door, Dakota holding Scarlet’s backpack, Cricket holding Melody’s.
“Cricket, too! Good doggie!” Melody patted the black Lab on the head.
“Well, thank you, Dakota,” Scarlet said in mock formality. “How kind of you.”
Their mother laughed as the two girls put on their sweaters and raincoats and took their bags from Dakota and Cricket, though she’d seemed a little disconcerted when she first saw the dogs holding the backpacks. “You pay attention to your teacher, Melody,” she said, opening the door. “And Scarlet, good luck at the assembly.”
A couple weeks into each new school year, the principal welcomed the students with an assembly in the auditorium. This year was special, though. Before school let out, Scarlet’s English teacher, Ms. Thandiwe, had asked each of her students to write a short story for a contest over summer and bring it to her on the first day of school, so she could announce the winner at the assembly.
Scarlet had jumped at the chance. For several years she’d been dreaming about a magical world, and writing stories based on those dreams; she had a whole folder at home. She’d chosen one and worked on it most of the summer to get it perfect, and her hopes were high.
In homeroom she fidgeted, so excited she could hardly sit still. Finally everyone filed into the auditorium. A few metal and plastic chairs were lined up on one side of a podium, and on each side of the stage hung flags—the American and state flags on one side, the county flag and one displaying the school’s mascot, a ferocious-looking wolf, on the other.
Scarlet was so preoccupied with the results of the contest that she hardly heard the principal’s welcome speech. Finally he called Ms. Thandiwe’s name, and the young teacher stood and walked gracefully to the podium from one of the chairs on the stage. Her long black hair was pulled tightly into a bun and she wore an austere gray suit, but the gaudy pink reading glasses hanging from a chain around her neck added a lighthearted touch.
“I’d like to thank all those students who submitted stories.” Ms. Thandiwe’s voice was soft and lilting, with a hint of an African accent, and the crowd hushed to hear her. “I felt honored to read so many wonderful submissions.”
She announced the third- and second-place winners, and still Scarlet’s name hadn’t been called. Scarlet sat on the edge of her seat, almost unable to breathe.
“Now, when I announce this year’s contest winner, I would like to ask the student to come onstage and read their story, for all of the students and teachers to enjoy.”
Scarlet’s heart plummeted. Read her story in front of the whole school? Suddenly she wasn’t so certain she wanted to win.
“And the winner is—Ms. Scarlet Hopewell,” Ms. Thandiwe announced. “For her story ‘The Lightning Fairies.’ ”
Scarlet was frozen in her seat, unable to speak.
“Ms. Hopewell?”
How long could Ms. Thandiwe possibly wait before moving on with the assembly? Scarlet sank deep into her chair.
“I guess Ms. Hopewell isn’t here today,” Ms. Thandiwe said finally. “That’s a shame. You’re all missing a real treat.” She turned to the principal and thanked him before taking her seat.
A wave of guilt washed over Scarlet. She thought about the talks she’d had with her parents about Dakota and responsibilities, and she knew she’d made a mistake. She couldn’t just hide from whatever made her uncomfortable. Ms. Thandiwe had chosen her story, and Scarlet had not even acknowledged her choice. Then another thought struck her. Surely the powers that be were making sure Scarlet learned her lesson. Ms. Thandiwe’s class was Scarlet’s last of the day.
When the bell rang for the last period, Scarlet marched off to Ms. Thandiwe’s classroom, resigned to her fate. Flooded with dread, she hardly heard a word in class, even though she usually loved listening to Ms. Thandiwe, who was a wonderful teacher, bringing her subject alive. Books transport you into another world, she’d tell the class. When she described the first time she’d read Shakespeare’s play The Tempest, the class was caught up completely in her spell.
Finally the bell rang. Scarlet waited until the last student had left, gathered her courage, and walked up to Ms. Thandiwe’s desk.
“Yes, Scarlet?”
“I’m . . . um . . . not absent.”
“Yes—I noticed that when I called roll.” Ms. Thandiwe’s warm brown eyes gleamed with gentle humor, but then she looked graver. “I’m sorry about this morning, Scarlet.”
Scarlet’s jaw dropped. Ms. Thandiwe was sorry?
“You see, Principal Edwards explained to me that you might have been embarrassed, put on the spot like that. I’m new to teaching in the United States. In South Africa, where I come from, public speaking is emphasized quite early.”
“Oh,” was all Scarlet could manage.
“All the same, young lady, you shouldn’t have been embarrassed to share your work. You’re a very talented writer.”
“You think so?”
“I do, and I think that the next time someone asks you to share your work, you should jump at the chance. You don’t want to let too many opportunities pass you by—you never know when they might come around again.” Ms. Thandiwe got up from her desk and placed her hands on Scarlet’s shoulders, gave her a little wink, and walked her to the door.
“There’s nothing for you to be embarrassed about. Now scurry along. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
In a joyful mood nothing could shake, Scarlet hurried out of school just in time to see her bus pulling away. She didn’t live far away, but the weather was awful. Clouds blanketed the sky, so dark and thick that it felt as if dusk was already descending. So far there’d only been rain, but another storm was definitely on the way.
Scarlet steeled herself for the walk, lowering her head against the wind. But then her eyes went wide. There was Dakota, seated patiently at her feet.
“What are you doing here?” she exclaimed, both pleased and shocked.
Dakota let out a short bark, then walked around Scarlet and stood at attention by her left side.
“Did you come to walk me home?”
Dakota spun in a circle, let out another short bark, and wagged his tail furiously.
Scarlet bent down and ruffled Dakota’s fur. “Well, thank you,” she said, and they began the walk home together.
They got home before the storm, but the temperature was dropping fast. Over this last week, they’d been warning of a terrific storm on the news, a strange new kind of storm unheard of in this region, though the weatherman said it sometimes happened on the shores of the Great Lakes—thundersnow, he was calling it.
When Scarlet opened the front door, Cricket was on her way down the stairs. Dakota trotted up to meet her halfway, and they touched noses in a doggy greeting. Cricket turned and trotted back upstairs, while Dakota headed for the living room, where the television was broadcasting an urgent weather update.
Upstairs in her room, Scarlet slid her story back into the thick pink folder where she kept all the rest. There must be at least a hundred, she figured, running her finger over the top edges of the pages. She put the folder back in the drawer and looked out the window at the storm clouds on the horizon. For a second it felt as if they were coming directly at her. Coming for her. She shivered, then shrugged the feeling off and headed down to dinner.
3
A Bad Dream
Cricket snored tranquilly beside Scarlet’s bed, the only sound disturbing the night-before-Christmas quiet. Dakota was sitting at the window in a silent vigil, ears pricked; so
mething about the coming storm seemed to worry him. In five months he’d grown nearly twice as tall as your average German shepherd, and now he weighed 180 pounds. Somehow his vigilance was comforting.
Scarlet had just woken from the dream world she visited so often in her sleep. There she’d wandered in a deep forest, surrounded by fairies that danced around her, tickling her face and landing softly in her hair, through a radiant landscape of emerald and silver. This world had seemed as familiar to her as her own home.
In the dream, she always found herself in an enchanting village, alive with light, sheltered under the wide-stretched limbs of a great tree. At the foot of this tree Scarlet’s family and friends, among them many animals of the forest, would be gathered to greet her, as if she’d been long awaited. It was always a grand homecoming. Both dogs would be there, speaking English as if it were the most natural thing imaginable. She and her sister would play in the woods all day with their animal friends, under a canopy of glittering leaves, and in the evening they’d sit outside and watch the fairies put on shows of astounding magic, with wondrous displays of light and color. When the dream’s evening came to a close, Scarlet would lie down, tired but happy, on a bed woven of springy twigs, cushioned by leaves longer than her body yet soft as fine suede.
Tonight, however, something dark had begun to stir in the dream, some unnamed fear. She’d woken suddenly, this ominous darkness hanging over her like a shroud. Outside the window, through the cracks in her blinds, the night sky was an abyss. The moon was hidden behind thick clouds and the snow fell in dead silence, so thickly that she couldn’t see the house across the street.
She rolled over, punched her pillow, and tried to go back to sleep. She’d nearly drifted off again when a thud—much too loud to be a knock at the door— shattered the silence, followed by a cracking, splintering sound, like a tree limb being wrenched away.
She bolted upright, looking for Dakota, but he was missing. Her door was ajar, and she was alone. She jumped out of bed and made a beeline for the comfort of her parents’ room, as she’d done so often as a little girl.
“Charles, there’s no dial tone,” her mother was saying as she fumbled desperately with the phone, the tremble in her voice betraying her own fear though it was obvious that, seeing Scarlet, she was doing her best to look calm.
Her father grabbed a heavy wooden ax handle from the closet and rushed to the stairs. “Get Melody.”
“Stay here, baby.” Her mom had run to Melody’s room and back before Scarlet had a chance to think. She gathered both her daughters up and sat them on the bed, taking a stand by the door like a soldier guarding his post. Scarlet couldn’t remember ever having seen her so scared.
Boom! Crack!
The sounds were even louder this time. Scarlet’s stomach clenched. The air seemed to grow darker though the lights were still on, a strange thickness filling the room. It was how Scarlet imagined a smoking house might look when her father went in to fight a fire, but she knew it wasn’t smoke. Smoke was real, and this—well, she could see the darkness, but she knew it wasn’t really there. Somehow that didn’t make it any less frightening.
Boom! Crack!
“Come here!” Her father appeared suddenly in the doorway, making them all scream. Her mother gathered herself and grabbed Scarlet and Melody’s hands, pulling them toward her husband.
“We’ll go to the basement,” he said, lifting Melody into his arms. “Cell phones aren’t working either. We’ll run out the back and get to the neighbor’s—use their phone.”
They’d rounded the bend in the stairs, the basement door only feet away, when a final Crack rang out, and the wood of the doorframe gave way.
Standing in the doorway were three tall, slim figures dressed in black. They were beautiful, their pale skin luminous against the darkness all around them, their golden hair long and flowing. Shadows danced across their fine-boned faces and gathered in the bottomless black pools of their eyes. They stepped forward gracefully, their smiles warm, almost friendly, as if they were invited guests. But the air seemed to grow even thicker and darker before them as they entered.
Scarlet’s father put Melody down and swept his wife and daughters behind him. He looked fierce and brave now, and somehow younger.
“The girl,” all three figures said in unison, their voices like every awful sound he’d ever heard. It was babies screaming and dogs whelping, nails across a chalkboard, a mother wailing and bones breaking.
“Get out of my house,” Scarlet’s father said, teeth clenched, his knuckles white where he grasped the ax handle.
“Not until we have the girl,” the dark ones lilted, this time in a mystical song, compelling and all-consuming. Their voices seemed rooted in Scarlet’s brain, festering.
For a fleeting moment, unbelievably, it looked as if her father was considering obeying. He turned to look back at Scarlet, and she felt her stomach lurch at the blankness in his eyes. But a moment later the light came back into them. He swung back toward his tormentors. “Over my dead body!” he shouted, lifting the ax handle.
The figures stepped toward him again.
“And over mine.” The voice from behind the girls was deep, and seemed to roll over each word like a growl.
Scarlet whipped her head around, expecting a new enemy. What she saw was even more shocking. Moving up to join them, teeth bared, hackles raised, unearthly blue eyes trained on the intruders, was Dakota. Scarlet shook her head to clear it. There was no way the dog could—
“Follow me,” said a new voice, similar but somehow softer and more feminine. “Dakota hold them off.”
This time there was no doubt. Cricket, the black Labrador, had spoken.
For a moment Scarlet was frozen to the spot. She looked from the figures to Dakota and back again. Any youthful playfulness had vanished from the scrawny pup her father had rescued only five months ago. What she saw now was something so impossible, so fierce, it defied imagination.
“Now,” Dakota growled, and Scarlet’s father caught her hand and tugged her out of her trance, pulling her after Allie, Melody, and Cricket down the stairs. It felt as if the darkness were chasing them, and above she could hear terrible snarls, thuds, and the sound of snapping teeth.
“Hurry,” Cricket called from behind them, running to the back door. “We must make woods.”
Suddenly the basement door flew open, snow rushing in with a howl of wind. The family halted. It’s over, Scarlet thought. We’re surrounded.
But it wasn’t more of the dark figures—though to Scarlet it seemed worse. Her father pulled her and Melody tightly to his chest, reaching out for Allie.
Five massive wolves, each easily twice the size of Dakota, were slinking into the basement.
***
Scarlet wasn’t afraid of the wolves. After all, she had seen them before. This very night, in fact, she’d been running with them in her dreams.
“You make it!” cried Cricket. “Dakota say you come.”
“It’s a long journey,” the biggest wolf growled. “Where is . . . er . . . Dakota?” But the commotion upstairs told him before anyone could answer. “Hurry, into the woods!” he barked, before rushing up the stairs.
In a flash Scarlet was running, her mother gripping her hand. They staggered through the backyard after Cricket, trying to keep up with the leaping dog as they floundered through the deep snow. It was like one of those nightmares where every step is a struggle. She could hear her father’s heavy footsteps right behind her as he ran with Melody in his arms.
Any second they would break through the trees and be in Mrs. Anderson’s backyard. They would use her phone to call the police, and this would all be over. After all, the little stretch of woods behind their house was only five or ten trees deep. First their yard, sixty feet of grass, a playground with a swing. Then the tree house their dad had built for the girls, in the large maple
at the edge of the woods. Maybe eight trees beyond that, some brush, and then . . . this should be Mrs. Anderson’s yard.
Yet every time Scarlet thought this must be the end—now they must be emerging into the beginning of Mrs. Anderson’s backyard—the woods only seemed to multiply, growing both in density and scope.
And something else strange was happening. The snow kept falling more lightly, until it had faded completely away. That might not have been so strange, but the air seemed milder too, and suddenly Scarlet realized that everything around her was green. Green, lush forest unfolded endlessly before them, velvety clumps of moss underfoot, like the plushest carpet, beneath the emerald canopy. The world was spinning—it was beyond comprehension—and yet there it was, for them all to see and hear and feel. The trees became larger as the group moved along underneath them, towering taller and wilder. The leaves thickened until the world was a sea of green.
Cricket ran effortlessly just ahead in the expanding forest. She seemed overjoyed at this phenomenon that was making Scarlet’s senses reel. “It here!” she called back excitedly, frolicking like a pup. “It happening, just like Dakota say!”
Scarlet wanted to ask what she meant, but she could barely catch her breath. She was an active girl, but she’d never run so far in her life. Her amazement at the ever-expanding forest that had once been only a skip or two in her backyard was gone. Now she just accepted it, almost her entire mind consumed by the burn in her failing muscles, fear driving her on as she dodged the massive trunks of trees and ducked under low-hanging branches.
Once she glanced behind her at her father, doing his best to shield Melody from the branches and leaves that whipped at them as he ran. It was a comfort to have him at her back.
What was happening? How was any of this possible? She tried to shake off what must be a nightmare. Surely she must be back in her dream.
A low branch struck her in the face, a sharp pain radiating back from her nose. You can’t feel pain in a dream, she thought. Not actual pain.
Scarlet and the Keepers of Light Page 2
