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Isobel eyed her little brother. It always made her wary whenever he addressed her as anything other than the usual “cheer troll” or “nerf herder.”
“What do you want?”
He tossed his head to one side to clear away the lengthening bangs of his dark mud-brown hair from his sharp blue eyes. A smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth, giving him an impish look. “Only to inform you of a recent transaction in which you were an integral element,” he said, pug nose thrust into the air.
Isobel felt a twitch in her left eye. “Danny, just spit it out and move already.”
“If it makes it easier for you to understand,” he said with a sigh, adopting a tone one of his computer screen characters might use with any nameless underling, “I shall hereafter employ the usage of smaller words more digestible to your limited heathen mortal palate.”
“You drink milk straight out of the carton and you’re calling me a heathen? Danny, tell me what you want and then get out of my way. I’m not in the mood.”
“Fine,” he said, his expression collapsing into a deadpan stare. “So you know that weird friend of yours Dad hates? Bracelets. Talks funny. Too much hair?”
“Gwen?” Isobel asked, eyes narrowing. She knew her brother could hardly mean anyone else. Aside from being pretty much her only friend these days, Gwen Daniels had been Isobel’s one accomplice in sneaking out on Halloween night. And Isobel’s dad had never forgotten that it had been Gwen who had lied to him outright, telling him that she and Isobel would be going to a parent-supervised all-girl karaoke sleepover at her house—not meeting Varen at an underground goth party.
“She’s up in your room,” Danny said, and jerked his head toward the stretch of stairs behind him.
Isobel’s eyes flew wide. “Gwen’s here?”
“Gave me ten bucks to let her in.”
“What?” Isobel glanced up to where her door stood slightly ajar. Inside, a long shadow drifted across, momentarily blocking the light coming from within. She mounted the stairs, but Danny backpedaled in front of her, snapping his arms wide again. She halted, shooting him an icy glare of warning.
“Ten bucks to let her in,” he said. “But,” he added, finger lifted, eyebrows rising to vanish beneath his mop of hair, “you and I both know that such a nominal fee hardly covers my silence.” With that, he held out one chubby hand, palm up.
Isobel gaped at her brother. “I’m not paying you!” she nearly shouted, and swatted his hand aside. She hurtled forward, shouldering past him, shopping bags in tow.
To her surprise, Danny fell to one side, where he lounged against the wall, arms folded. “Think Dad won’t ground you for the rest of Christmas break?” he called after her.
Isobel halted midway up the stairs. She turned to glare back at him.
He beamed at her.
Isobel imagined how good it would feel to reach out and snatch free a patch of his mussed hair. Growling, she slammed the bags down.
It wasn’t so much that she feared being grounded. Especially when she couldn’t be certain that she’d ever officially been ungrounded. Or, for that matter, if she ever would be. But she didn’t want her mom or dad finding out about Gwen all the same. Not when Gwen was the one person besides herself who knew what had really happened Halloween night.
She had been there.
Gwen had told Isobel that she’d known it was all real. And contrary to what everyone else believed, including the police, Gwen knew that Varen had not simply run away.
Isobel yanked her purse from her shoulder and rifled through the middle pocket. “You’re such a freaking snotmonger,” she snarled. Locating a ten, the last of her Christmas allowance, she crumpled the bill and flung it at him. It bounced off his shoulder and landed on the stairs. Danny, taking on an air of reserved dignity, bent to retrieve the money. He smoothed the crumpled paper by rubbing it back and forth on the banister. Next, he held the bill up to the light as though checking for authenticity.
Finally he pocketed the money and, smiling, made a show of gesturing toward the stairs, his arm sweeping out Vanna White–style. “Your party awaits you up the steps and in the room to the left. As you make your way up, please remember to keep all hands, arms, tentacles, pincers, and mandibles inside the railings at all times and—”
“Just so you know,” Isobel snapped, all but spitting her words over her shoulder as she hauled up the bags again and climbed to the top of the landing, “I muted the TV and took your stupid game off pause.”
Danny dropped the scam act like a hot plate. He scampered down the stairs and bolted for the living room, belly wobbling, socked feet thundering. Isobel could practically hear him dive-bomb into his usual spot in front of the television, a swatch of beige carpeting that she could swear was taking on the contours of his butt.
Muttering, she trudged to her bedroom door, which was cracked an inch.
The knife-blade slice of frost-colored light that streamed out into the hallway flickered suddenly, as though someone inside had darted past.
“Gwen?” she whispered. Placing a hand flat against the door, she pushed her way in.
4
Into the Night
