The Eighth Day (9 page)

Mrs. Unger wanted to be able to admire his gift from inside the house. “I don't get out in the yard much,” she said. So under her direction, Jax put it on the stoop outside the kitchen door among her potted plants.

Now, what could be friendlier and less threatening than that?

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

EVANGELINE BIT HER LIP
and scrutinized the thing on the kitchen stoop, trying to decide if it was supposed to be a kobold or a goblin. Whatever it was, it was surrounded by poisonous toadstools, and the pun on the sign was practically a crime against humor
.

She assumed the note added to this strange item was meant for her. Mrs. Unger knew who he was. Evangeline put her hands on her hips and wondered what in the world New Boy was thinking, leaving kobolds on her stoop and pushing notes through the mail slot suggesting she “hang out” and “have a soda.”

He didn't seem to realize she was a prisoner, living a lifetime sentence for a crime committed by others—first, by her race in general, then, by her father individually
.

In spite of this, Evangeline had to admit that Red had treated her decently over the last eight months—or four and a half years, depending on whether one was counting by her viewpoint or his. Sometimes, he was even friendly
.

One day the winter before last, she'd awakened to the surprise of
new snow. Light flakes had been falling from the sky, so it must have been snowing at the moment of change. There was never any accumulation on an eighth day—only so much snow could fall in a sliver of real time—but Evangeline loved that rare sensation of flakes landing on her face, like cold kisses
.

She hadn't left the house while Red was home, shying away from the chance of meeting him, but when she heard his motorcycle leave, she dug in the closet for Mrs. Unger's galoshes and wool coat. She'd burst out the back door, and that was when she'd seen three snowmen in a row on the property line, facing the Unger house. Each one had a branch sticking straight up from its shoulder, as if waving. Hello. Hello. Hello
.

Laughing, Evangeline had pulled all the stones and carrot nubs out of their faces. By the time Red came back, Evangeline had returned to the house. She'd obscured her footsteps in the snow with a broom, and the snowmen were facing the other way, waving at Red's house. Hello back. Hello back. Hello back
.

That little lark and an occasional basket of cookies was the limit of friendliness she allowed between herself and the boy next door, no matter how lonely she'd gotten in her five years of isolation. He had chosen to treat her honorably, but the history between their two families made things . . . awkward
.

After closing the door on New Boy's weird kobold, Evangeline made herself breakfast and cleaned up as she went along, making sure the only evidence of her meal was the mysterious disappearance of one egg, one slice of bread, and one tea bag. Outside and next door, a voice bellowed, “Jax?” Evangeline peered around the edge of the
curtain in the kitchen window. Red stomped down his front steps and into the yard. New Boy's bicycle was gone from its usual spot, and Red turned in a circle, noting its absence. He paced up and down the length of the yard, then turned toward the Unger house and made a shrugging gesture as if to say, I don't know where the darn boy's gone
.

He couldn't see her, but he assumed she was watching. That was a little conceited of him, but she usually was watching. What else did she have to do?

When Evangeline heard the motorcycle depart a little while later, she slipped a weapon into the back pocket of her jeans—just in case—and ventured into Mrs. Unger's backyard. She stretched out her arms, preening in the sun and admiring the pink sky. Evangeline knew the sky was supposed to be blue—she'd seen pictures. But she didn't know why it should be blue. A rosy sky seemed much more natural
.

Then she got to work. She hadn't been outside in two days. Instead, she'd watched from her window while New Boy ran amok through the neighborhood, then was tutored in the basics of the eighth day by Red. Entertaining, perhaps, but those two days had equaled two weeks for the weeds in Mrs. Unger's flower beds
.

While she was pulling up dandelions near the fence at the back of the yard, a flutter of color caught her eye. A butterfly! She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen an eighth day creature that wasn't vermin. They, of course, went everywhere. Her little brother Elliot had even kept one as a pet for a few months, until their mother had caught him with it
.

Evangeline watched the butterfly fly from one azalea bush to the
next, thinking about Elliot's secret pet and about Adelina, who had wanted a pony and never got one
.

“Um, hi?”

Evangeline shot to her feet and whirled around
.

It was New Boy, standing in the middle of the yard, holding his bicycle and staring at her with his mouth hanging open
.

Startled that she'd allowed him to come up behind her while she was preoccupied, she bolted for the kitchen door, but he dropped his bike and raced to beat her there. “No, no, no—wait!” He flung himself in front of her and threw out both arms
.

Anger flashed through her. How dare he block her path?

Evangeline pulled her weapon out of her back pocket and ran straight for him
.

UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

HarperCollins Publishers

..................................................................

SHE CAME AT HIM
so fast, Jax didn't have time to react. She tackled him with the ferocity of a small panther, and he went down. The next thing he knew, he was flat on his back, and she had her knee on his chest. She waved an object menacingly in his face.

Pepper spray.

“Don't move,” she said, her voice low and hoarse.

“Not going to,” he promised.

He did, however, tilt his head, looking around the pepper spray and into the bluest eyes he'd ever seen. They darted restlessly from side to side. Jax realized she didn't know what to do with him now that she'd caught him.

“Show me who you are,” she said finally.

“I'm Jax,” he said. “Jax Aubrey. Didn't you get my note?”

“Names change.
Show
me who you are.” Her eyes flicked toward his left hand. Jax turned it over, so she could see his tattoo.

He didn't know what information she got from his family crest, but she looked even more unhappy. The pepper spray got a little closer to his face. “I'm sorry,” he croaked. “I was wrong to get between you and the door. I wanted to say hello”—
and find out who you are
—“but that was a stupid way to do it. If you let me up, I'll get on my bike and leave.”

She seemed to mull that over, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth. Then she stood up and backed away. Jax sat up. He expected her to flee, but instead, she watched him, holding the pepper spray in her hand.

“I'm sorry I scared you.” He stood up. “I'll leave you alone from now on.” That was what Riley had told him to do in the first place, but darn it, he didn't want to. She was too big a mystery, and this was too good an opportunity. “If I could just say one thing first . . .”

She raised her eyebrows and waited.

“If you had sprayed that when you were kneeling on me, you'd have gotten some in your face, too. You have to hold it at arm's length.” He paused, then went on. “Plus, you didn't twist the safety cap open.” He demonstrated with his hands. “It won't go off that way, and someone could knock it away and overpower you.
I
wouldn't, but someone more dangerous would.”

She twisted the lid and looked at Jax. “Like this?” She extended her arm to point the spray at him.

“Yeahhhh,” he said, wondering if he was about to
get a faceful of pepper. But her lips twitched as if she were fighting a smile, and he dared ask a question. “Is it Mrs. Unger's?”

She nodded. “She put it in a drawer and forgot about it, I think.” Her voice sounded rusty, like it was rarely used.

Jax picked up his bike and straddled it. “I'm sorry I bothered you. I was just trying to be friendly. Maybe that breaks some kind of rule. I didn't know.”

“You don't know much, do you?” She tucked her hair behind one ear nervously, and it rippled down her shoulder like a silvery waterfall.

Jax shook his head. “Not really, no.”

“Why hasn't
he
explained things to you?” She nodded toward Riley's house.

“He did tell me not to bug you. But I'm not a good listener.”

She smiled, finally. “You don't have to leave,” she said. “I haven't talked to anybody in a long time. I'm out of practice.” She twisted the pepper spray closed and put the can into her back pocket.

Jax didn't need any more invitation than that. He got off the bike, grabbed one of the rusted folding chairs that had probably been left leaning against the house by the previous owner, and deliberately placed it over the property line, on Mrs. Unger's lawn. Then he unfolded another one opposite, on Riley's lawn, and sat down.

The girl dragged the chair a little farther away and sat
on the edge of it, poised to run. She reminded Jax of a half-tamed deer.

“How long?” he asked. “Since you've talked to someone?”

“
Long
,” she said.

Jax wasn't sure what to say next, and while he fumbled for a topic, she filled in the silence. “Maybe five years, for me. Longer, in your world.”

“In my world?”

She held up one finger. “I have one day for every seven of yours. Figure it out.”

Did she mean what he thought she did? “Are you saying you haven't talked to anyone in
thirty-five years
?”

She plucked at her shirt. “Can't you tell?”

Now that she mentioned it, she was dressed strangely. Her jeans were studded with fake diamonds and crisscrossed with zippers. Her shirt had batlike sleeves and diagonal stripes.

“These clothes belonged to Mrs. Unger's daughters,” she said. “I've been wearing them since they were in style.”

Jax stared at her, completely floored. This girl looked only a couple years older than he was, but she'd been living in the Unger house since
the eighties
. She met his gaze sadly as he took it in. At that moment, Jax would have happily thrown a brick through the window of any store in the mall and stolen whatever clothes she wanted just to make her smile again. “You don't have access to anything more . . . recent?”

She shrugged. “Magazines. Newspapers. Books.”

“Library books,” Jax gasped. “I've been getting them for
you
all along.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He couldn't believe it. Mrs. Unger's ghost was real and not a ghost at all. “Soda,” he said, remembering. “I promised you a soda. How about I go get a couple?”

For some reason, that made her bite her lip. It looked like she was trying not to laugh. “Okay.”

“Wait here. I'll be right back.” Jax dashed into the house, praying they actually had soda. He threw open the refrigerator, found half a six-pack, yanked two cans out of the plastic rings, stuffed a half-empty bag of chips under his arm, and hurried outside.

He was afraid she wouldn't be there, but she was sitting on the edge of her chair and looking nervous, as if she couldn't believe she was still there either. He handed her a soda and set the bag of chips on the ground near her feet. “I'm kinda surprised we have any chips left,” he said as he sat down. “Riley can eat a whole bag in one sitting.”

Jax popped the top on his soda and looked up to find the girl eyeing him quizzically. “Is that
his
name?” she asked. “Riley?”

“Yeah.” Didn't she know? “Riley Pendare.”

“Pendare,” she said, one corner of her mouth turning up. “Is that what they're calling themselves these days?”

“Who?”

“His family.”

“I don't think he's got any family. Neither do I,” Jax added mournfully, swigging from his soda. “What about you?”

There was a long silence, and Jax realized her expression, which had been near laughing before, had gone cold. He lowered the can, wondering what he'd said wrong.

“Are you trying to use your inquisition on me?” she asked flatly.

“No, I swear! Or at least, I don't think so,” he corrected himself. He hadn't meant to use it on Giana, but he had. “I didn't learn about it until a couple days ago, and I don't really know what I'm doing yet. How did
you
know?”

She tilted her head with a puzzled expression. “Your mark told me.”

“You mean the symbols have meaning?”

She put the soda on the ground and picked up the bag of chips. “That's the definition of a symbol. It has meaning.”

Jax slapped his hand over his face. “I meant—most people get tattoos with pictures they like. And they don't always know what the pictures mean. Or care.”

“If you did that for your mark, it wouldn't work.”

He'd never really wondered what the symbols on his family crest meant. He just thought they were decorative. His eyes wandered to the girl's left wrist, but the skin on her wrist was pale and unmarked.

“My people don't need them,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “Or honor blades, either.”

That opened up a lot of other questions in his mind about
her people
, but Jax wanted to know something else first. “Will you tell me your name?”

Her eyebrows shot up again.

“You can make one up, if you want,” Jax suggested. “You said names change. Just tell me what to call you, instead of
Hey You
.” When she didn't answer him, he said, “Okay, never mind. I'll pick something. Like Mildred. Or Lulu.”