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“Are you real?” I ask calmly, as calm as I can.
“As real as you are,” he answers.
“Am I real?”
He stares at me, his gaze level.
“If you aren’t, then we’re both crazy.”
I can’t rule that out, because Whitley has secrets, and I don’t understand any of it. And when I’m confused, I babble.
“I never know what is real,” I tell him, and then I launch into my life story. I tell him everything, how Finn died but it turns out he didn’t, how my gym teacher died, but didn’t, how I see demons and black-eyed beings, how the moors growl at me, and how I’m always afraid to ask about reality. I tell him all the things that I’ve always been afraid to tell anyone but Finn, and I even tell him about the hooded boy.
“So basically, I’m always scared,” I finish, and Dare actually takes my hand. He reaches over, encloses my fingers within his own, and my heart threatens to pound right out of my chest.
His hand is warm and his eyes are soft.
“Don’t be afraid,” he tells me. “We’ll get this sorted.”
What a British thing to say. I tell him so, and he smiles.
“That’s the meanest thing you’ve said to me all day.”
He looks around me, still smiling, and whistles to the wind, beckoning it. He waits, then whistles again.
“Where are the dogs?” he asks me, confused. “Castor never leaves your side.”
Now I’m the confused one.
“What dogs? Who is Castor?”
He stares at me, his dark head cocked. “You’re not being serious. Right?”
I stare back, every bit as confused as he is.
“I’m being dead serious. What dogs?”
“Castor and Pollux. They’re your dogs. Yours and Finn’s.”
I shake my head. “We don’t have dogs. My dad is allergic.”
“You don’t have them in Oregon,” Dare answers impatiently. “You have them here.”
“You’re on drugs,” I announce. “That’s what this is all about. Or maybe I’m on drugs. One of us is definitely on drugs.”
“We’re not on drugs,” Dare answers. “If you don’t believe me, ask Sabine. She can tell you about the dogs.”
I stare at him doubtfully, but I trot indoors to find Sabine.
“Why isn’t anyone talking about Dare?” I ask her bluntly. She stares at me with her knowing eyes, and she doesn’t flinch.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says throatily.
You do. But I don’t say that.
Instead, I ask her about Castor and Pollux, and she looks at me as though I’ve lost my mind, but at the same time, there is somethingsomethingsomething in her eyes. Something strange, something that gleams as she looks at me, something dark
Dark
