Dark Companion (6 page)

I was not frightened, for I was one of those happy children who are studiously kept in ignorance of ghost stories, of fairy tales, and of all such lore as makes us cover up our heads when the door creaks suddenly, or the flicker of an expiring candle makes the shadow of a bed-post dance upon the wall, nearer to our faces …

J. Sheridan Le Fanu,
Carmilla
(1872)

Chapter 5

The next morning, when I met Mrs. Radcliffe at the school’s front steps, she was dressed in navy slacks and a long-sleeved white blouse. A white canvas hat shaded her face. “Good morning, Jane. Are you ready?”

Her car was an older model cream Mercedes with a Birch Grove Academy emblem in the rear window. I sank into the burgundy leather seat and Mrs. Radcliffe drove down the hill and told me about the town. I nodded and kept hoping that she’d say something about Lucky.

She pointed out the stop for the shuttle uphill, and we went to a tailoring shop, where a seamstress marked and pinned uniforms for alterations. My school wardrobe consisted of navy V-neck sweaters, a navy cardigan, navy slacks, navy-and-tan plaid skirts, and white cotton blouses. The jacket bore an embroidered Birch Grove crest on the pocket.

I felt sweaty and itchy by the time we went to the bank, where Mrs. Radcliffe opened an account for me and deposited my first stipend check. Fifteen minutes later, I was given a bankbook and checks. A debit card would be sent in the mail.

Our next stop was a shoe store, and I came out carrying a big bag with loafers, flats, tennis shoes, slippers, and flip-flops. I’d never expected shoes. I kept bending down to pry open the box lids so I could see them nestled in crisp white tissue.

We had lunch in an old-fashioned drugstore, sitting at a counter. Mrs. Radcliffe suggested a roast beef sandwich and raspberry lemonade. The meat was so rare that the juices soaked through the wheat bread, but I was hungry.

In the mirror over the counter, I watched three teenage girls come into the store, arm in arm, giggling. They stopped when they spotted Mrs. Radcliffe and exchanged whispers. They were pretty, with nice figures, shining, long hair, and smooth skin. Two wore shorts and tank tops, and the third wore a long gauzy white skirt, lilac blouse, and a straw hat.

The girls approached in that friendly yet wary way that you do with people you like who have authority over you. “Hello, Mrs. Radcliffe,” they said in unison.

“Hello, girls. How has your summer been?”

Even though they tried to be subtle about checking me out, I was acutely conscious of my hand-me-down clothes and I resented the girls as they described their vacations in a jumble of words, tumbling over one another’s sentences. One had been sailing, and one had traveled to Italy. The prettiest, the auburn-haired girl in the skirt, had spent the summer in Montreal with relatives. She was as pale as the headmistress, and I caught a whiff of the same herby scent. I glimpsed into the overhead mirror to make sure that I was keeping my expression friendly.

Mrs. Radcliffe said, “This is Jane Williams. She’ll be joining us this term.”

We exchanged hellos awkwardly and then Mrs. Radcliffe said, “I won’t take up any more of your last precious minutes of freedom, girls. See you on Monday at registration.” When the trio had drifted off to the cosmetics section, out of hearing, she told me, “I know transferring during your junior year isn’t easy, but I think you’re going to adjust smoothly, Jane. Now let’s pick up a few basics.”

She took me to a prissy women’s clothing store, but I wasn’t going to turn down free clothes. I let Mrs. Radcliffe pick out shirts and tops, a skirt, cargos, and jeans. She plucked simple but pretty underwear from racks. Then she called over a clerk, and soon I was in the dressing room holding my arms out while a salesgirl used a measuring tape to find my bra size. She had me try on a lace-trimmed bra that made me look like I had a shape.

Mrs. Radcliffe popped her head through the curtain and nodded to the salesgirl. “That’s quite nice. We’ll take three white, two beige, one pink, and one black.” She waited until the salesgirl left the dressing room. “Jane, no more tattoos, please. They are unseemly and unhealthy. You can get a blood-borne infection, and we wouldn’t want that.”

“I was careful and I’m fine.”

“Still, we don’t want you catching anything. We want you as healthy as can be.”

When she’d left the dressing room, I ran my finger across the tattoo and wondered what Hosea would think if he could see me at Birch Grove. He wouldn’t be impressed by the money. He wanted me to be a kinder person, not a richer person.

Our last stop was Greenwood Grocery, where I stocked up on cheaper store brands of foods that would fill me up.

Mrs. Radcliffe went to the entrance while I waited at the register with my checkbook. When she turned to chat with a store manager, I scooped up a dozen candy bars and threw them in my basket.

The clerk was a cute Latina, about twenty and wearing a neon pink shirt under her Greenwood Grocery apron. “I got a sweet tooth, too. You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I’m new. I’ll be starting Birch Grove.”

“Good on you. See you around.”

*   *   *

After saying good-bye to Mrs. Radcliffe, I walked along the path to my cottage, my bags of new clothes bouncing against my legs. The birch leaves fluttered in a faint breeze, revealing the pale green on the reverse side. Even in nature, there was one side that was shown to casual observers, and another side beneath.

Once inside, I put away my groceries before spreading out all my new clothes on the sofa and chairs. I arranged them in different combinations, figuring out the most useful. I put those away and placed the unnecessary items back in the shopping bags. I watched TV while I slowly ate a Snickers, savoring each tiny bite so it would last a long time.

I reviewed a chapter of my SAT vocabulary book and wrote out the words in sentences like “He has an avuncular mien” and “We were habituated to the pedagogue’s acerbity.” I read them aloud until the words rolled easily off my tongue and I’d memorized the definitions.

It felt like a long day, but when I checked the time, it was only six.

Wilde would be working, but I wanted to talk to her anyway, so I picked up the phone and dialed her number. I got a message that said, “This number is no longer in service,” which wasn’t unusual because she changed numbers whenever cops hassled her. I chewed at a ragged thumbnail as I worried about all the sketchy situations she put herself in.

I’d have to e-mail her and get her new number. The map in the student handbook didn’t show a computer lab, and I couldn’t recall any computers in the library.

The knock on my door startled me.

I went to the front window and peeked through the curtains. Scruffy Jack Radcliffe stood on the porch, holding a pizza box. His bike was propped against the banister.

When I opened the door, he said, “Hey, Jane, thought you might want some chow. I couldn’t find any of your natural diet, shamrocks and moonbeams, so I brought pizza.” He was wearing those old shorts and rusty scabs had formed on his most recent injury. His chest was rising and falling from exertion, but he seemed perfectly comfortable being grubby, sweaty, and uninvited.

Enticing aromas wafted from the box. “Your mother took me to the grocery store today. I have food.”

He walked right by me into the cottage. “I know what my mom’s groceries are like. Full of antioxidants, roughage, and upright moral character.” He glanced around the living room and then went into the kitchen and put the box on the table. “Get plates for us, changeling.” He pulled off his backpack, unzipped it, and took out two cans of root beer.

“You’re making up that word.” The smell of the food overcame my irritation, so I got plates and napkins.

“It’s as real as you are. A changeling is a magical creature who has been raised as a human. But I’m guessing you’re probably a halfling—half human and half magical creature. Which magical creature, I’m not sure. I’m guessing that you’re a pixie, hopefully not one of the evil ones. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Are you half evil pixie?”

“If you want to say that I’m puny,
say it,
because I’m used to it. Pipsqueak, pocket pal, peewee, munchkin, midget, Mini Me. I’ve heard it all before.”

“Pixies are also magical beings that are almost human size. Sometimes they’re helpful to people, but sometimes they play tricks. Do you ever hear anyone knocking at your windows at night? Because they do that when they want to take you back to their world.”

His resonant voice drew me in and I had an eerie sensation as I imagined small hands beating against a windowpane.

“Then you’d live with them and never get old. They like music and dancing and pretty ribbons.” He paused to see my reaction, but I kept my face deadpan. “Nope, you don’t strike me as a pretty-ribbons type, Halfling.”

“If you keep calling me that, you might find out if I’m evil or not. You’ve spent too much time playing RPGs and reading Tolkien.”

“Who doesn’t enjoy a good sword battle?” When Jack grinned, his whole face lit up and the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Yeah, I’ve read Tolkien, and my mother told us fairy tales every night. I’m an expert on magical creatures and I can recognize one when I see one.”

“Does anyone think you’re funny, Jack?” I twisted my mouth to keep from smiling.

“I do and that’s enough, isn’t it?” He flipped open the lid of the box. The pizza had slid to one side and much of the topping was stuck to the cardboard. He shrugged. “This is why people don’t deliver pizzas by bike.”

We sat down and Jack said, “Mom told me she dragged you clothes shopping. She loves shopping with girls. It kills her that she can’t dress Lucky and me in matching sailor outfits with little white hats.”

As we lifted out slices of the gooey mess, I asked, “What else does your mother like?”

“Besides her family? Her
girls
.” He pitched his voice higher, mimicking her. “A Birch Grove girl is an exceptional girl.”

He waited to see if I’d play along. I stared right back into his wide green eyes. They were the moss color of the school’s pond, with bronzy flecks like sunlight glinting on the water.

“Well, Jane?”

I bit into my slice. I’d only ever had frozen microwaved pizza before, and this was completely different, so delicious that I couldn’t believe they were both called by the same name. “The pizza makes your conversation almost tolerable.”

“And by ‘tolerable’ you mean the most awesome conversating in the world. What are your favorite subjects?”

“Your brother
asked
me the same thing.” I hoped he would say something about Lucky. “I like math and science.”

“Why? Tell me in complete sentences, the way you’d answer in a college interview, although you do that anyway, don’t you, at least when you talk to my mother?”

“You’re
axing
a lot for a few pieces of pizza.”

“Is that the way you really talk?”

“I talk the way I talk. I haven’t had the advantages that spoiled rich kids have, and I taught myself proper English, so, yes, I talk different. Or different
ly,
if you’re going to nitpick. Your mom is always formal, so that’s how I am with her. With my pals, I’m more kicked back. Everyone is.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, good for you that you can talk foolishness about fairies and elves and fluffy bunnies and people put up with it because you’re Jacob Radcliffe.” Why did he make me react?

He considered for a moment. “I never thought of it that way. But I usually don’t talk to people about fairies and elves and, what was the other thing?”

“Fluffy bunnies. You forgot the foolishness.” I expected him to be annoyed, but he nodded amiably.

“Yeah, I knew there was more. I bet you’re good at tests. Anyway, you set my mind thinking in a very foolish direction. But you haven’t answered my question about math and science.”

“I like science and math because they’re always reasonable, logical, and fair. The rules apply no matter who you are, or who you know. They make sense.”

“And people don’t. We’re irrational and unreliable.”

“Some more than others. But the rules of science apply when we die. When our bodies decompose, it doesn’t matter if we were rich, poor, smart, stupid, good-looking, or ugly … None of that matters, because our chemical components are all the same. In death, we’re all equal.”

There was a long silence and then he said, “I don’t know when I’ve had a more cheerful dinner companion.”

I shrugged. “You asked.”

He was able to keep quiet for only a few minutes. “Tell me about yourself, Jane.”

“I came from a group home and now I’m here.”

“I already know that. Why were you in a group home?”

“What did your mother tell you?”

“You’re kinda cagey, Jane. The only thing she told us was that you’re here on scholarship and that Birch Grove helped get you out of foster care.”

“I’d tried to get emancipated from the system before, but no one listened to me until Birch Grove’s lawyer helped me file the papers,” I said. “My mother died when I was six and I don’t have any relatives, so I became a ward of the state. I got shuffled around until my last group home, where I lived for the last four years.”

“Where’s your father?”

“He bailed before I was born. I don’t even know if Williams was his last name.” I moved my leg, accidentally brushing Jack’s under the table. I felt a jolt from the contact and thought of his muscled thighs and calves, the hair on the browned skin. A smile flickered on his lips, and I quickly tucked my legs under my chair. “As far as I’m concerned, he doesn’t exist.”

“You’re all alone then.”

“Save your pity for someone who wants it,” I said sharply. “You probably don’t know or give a damn, but lots of kids don’t live with their birth parents. Kids get taken from crackheads and psychotics. Parents get locked up. They take off. They die.”