Lies (Gone #3)(12)

“Not that.” Nerezza waved that off, impatient. “The Prophetess would like to adopt a recently arrived child.”

“Excuse me?”

“Her name is Jill,” Orsay said. “I had a dream about…” And then she trailed off, as though she wasn’t quite sure what the dream was. She frowned.

“Jill?” Mary repeated. “The little girl who was terrorized by Zil? She’s only been here a few hours. How did you even know she was here?”

Nerezza said, “She was forced out of her home because she was a freak. Now her brother is too scared and weak to care for her. But she’s too old for the day care, Mary. You know that.”

“Yes,” Mary said. “She’s definitely too old.”

“The Prophetess would care for her. It’s something she wants to do.”

Mary looked at Orsay for confirmation. And after a few seconds, Orsay realized it was her turn to speak and said, “Yes, I would like to do that.”

Mary didn’t feel quite right about it. She didn’t know what was going on with Orsay, but Nerezza was clearly a strange girl, brooding and even, it seemed to Mary, a little tough.

But the day care didn’t take older kids. It couldn’t. And this was hardly the first time Mary had temporarily sheltered an older kid who then found another place to get her meals.

Francis seemed to have been vouching for Orsay and Nerezza. He must be the one who had told Orsay about Jill while Mary was sleeping.

Mary frowned, wondering why Francis had been in such a hurry to leave. Rebirthday? What was that supposed to mean?

“Okay,” Mary said. “If Jill agrees, she can live with you.”

Orsay smiled. And Nerezza’s eyes glittered with satisfaction.



Justin had wet his bed sometime in the night. Like a baby. He was five years old, not a baby.

But there was no denying he had done it.

He told Mother Mary and she told him it was no big deal, it happened. But it didn’t used to happen to Justin. Not when he had a real mommy. It had been a long time since he had peed the bed.

He cried when he told Mother Mary. He didn’t like telling her because Mother Mary seemed like she might be getting sick or something. She wasn’t as nice as she used to be. He usually told Francis if he had to. Some nights he didn’t pee because he didn’t drink any water for practically all day. But last night he’d forgotten about not drinking water. So he had, but just a little.

He was five now, older than just about all the kids at the day care. But he was still wetting his bed.

Two big girls had come and taken the singing girl away. Justin had no one to take him away.

But he knew where his house was, his real house with his old bed. He never used to wet that bed. But now he had a stupid bed on the floor, just a mattress, and other kids stepped all over it, so that was probably why he was wetting his bed again.

His old house wasn’t very far away. He’d gone there before. Just to look at it and see if it was real. Because sometimes he didn’t believe it was.

He had gone to check and see if Mommy was there. He hadn’t seen her. And when he opened the door and went inside he had gotten too scared and he had come running back to Mother Mary.

But he was older now. He’d only been four and a half then, and now he was five. Now he probably wouldn’t be scared.

And he probably wouldn’t pee in his bed if he was at his real home.





SIX


57 HOURS, 17 MINUTES




DAYLIGHT, BRIGHT AND clear.

Sam and Astrid walked through the Mall. It didn’t take long. There was the fish stand, already almost bare, with just two small octopi, a dozen or so clams, and a small fish so ugly, no one had yet been brave enough to buy it.

The fish stand was a long folding table dragged from the school cafeteria. Plastic bins were lined up, the gray plastic kind that were used to bus dishes. A droopy cardboard sign held in place by duct tape hung from the front of the table. It read, “Quinn’s Seapreme Seafood.” And below that, in smaller print, “An AlberCo Enterprise.”

“What do you think that fish is?” Sam asked Astrid.

She peered closely at the alleged fish. “I think that’s an example of Pesce inedibilis,” she said.

“Yeah?” Sam made a face. “Do you think it’s okay to eat?”

Astrid sighed theatrically. “Pesce inedibilis? Inedible? Joke, duh. Try to keep up, Sam, I made that really easy for you.”

Sam smiled. “You know, a real genius would have known I wouldn’t get it. Ergo, you are not a real genius. Hah. That’s right: I threw down an ‘ergo.’”

She gave him a pitying look. “That’s very impressive, Sam. Especially from a boy who has twenty-two different uses for the word ‘dude.’”

Sam stopped, took her arm, and spun her toward him. He pulled her close. “Dude,” he whispered in her ear.

“Okay, twenty-three,” Astrid amended. She pushed him away. “I have shopping to do. Do you want to eat, or do you want to…dude?”

“Dude. Always.”

She looked at him critically. “Are you going to tell me why you were covered with mud this morning?”

“I tripped and fell. When I saw the girl, Jill, in the dark, I tripped over my own feet.” Not exactly a lie. Part of the truth. And he would tell her all of the truth just as soon as he’d had a chance to sort it out. It had been a weird, disturbing night: he needed time to think and work out a plan. It was always better to go to the council with a plan worked out; that way, they could just say okay and let him get on with it.