His pale eyes glanced out the windows again and he leaned in very close, whispering. "The city's more private. Better place to--talk." He leaned back and said more loudly, "You know, to get to know each other."
Okay, now wild horses couldn't keep me away. "You're on. When?"
"Pick you up at four?"
I nodded. Luke glanced out the window again, this time at the sky. "We'd better get you in before it rains."
Reluctantly, I climbed out of the car with my backpack and joined him at the end of the driveway. A single cold drop of rain burst on my arm, raising an army of goose bumps around it.
Thunder rumbled distantly over the trees.
"It'll be quite a storm." Luke squinted up at the clouds.
I watched another drop hit a leaf on the lawn, momentarily bearing it to the ground. It struck me that there was something not quite right about the way the lawn looked. Maybe it was the halflight of the clouds, but it just seemed darker, more vibrant, greener than I remembered it being this morning. Then I realized what was different.
"Luke," I said flatly hands dropping to my sides.
He stood beside me and looked at the solid carpet of clover that covered the lawn--every one I could see bearing four leaves. For a long moment, we stood in silence ... an occasional raindrop penetrating to the scalp or slipping into a collar.
Then Luke said loudly, to no one in particular, "You're wasting your time. She doesn't need them anymore." He took my hand tightly and led me toward the house. "Please use your wits until tomorrow. There's a storm coming."
He turned and jogged lightly down the driveway, pausing beside his car. I ducked around the side of the back porch, pretending to go in, and then crept back around, crouching behind an azalea bush.
Luke's voice was faint but unmistakable, with an unusual timbre to it that I couldn't place. "She saw the hounds. She's learning--she'll see the rest of you soon enough. You don't have to waste your time with these silly parlor tricks. She doesn't need them."
He paused, as if someone else was speaking, though I heard nothing but the drip of raindrops and the slow roar of thunder. Luke, again: "I don't need an escort. Do you think I haven't done this before?"
I bit my lip.
"I'm just not sure she's anything that interests you." Pause. "Damn it, I'll get it done. Leave me the hell alone, would you? Just leave me alone." The car door slammed and I heard the engine thrum to life.
I went inside the house, suddenly cold.
I dreamt. It was the dark blue of night and I could see Luke walking slowly away from me. He was on the high school grounds, and he stared at the bench where we had practiced. He walked to the edge of the soccer field and I realized it was raining: cold stinging drops in the hot summer night.
He pulled his shirt off--crazy in this weather--and spread his arms out on either side of him like a crucifix, his fingers grasping at the rain. Staring at the sky, the drops biting into his skin with cold fury, his mouth moved as he turned slowly. I couldn't hear him, though, over the rain and the sudden barrage of thunder that shook the ground itself. It seemed like some secret ritual that no one else ever saw: some hidden spell or incantation or some dreadful magic.
Thunder growled again as he dropped to his knees in the sharp gravel, his arms still spread and his head thrown back to the sky.
I was close enough to hear words: "One thousand, three hundred, forty-eight years, two months, and one--" Thunder cracked like a tree smashing to the ground, and my eyes flew open.
Rain was pelting on the roof and rapping against the window as thunder growled outside.
Awake, but not separated from the dream, I was confused as to what was real and what was still the dream. Was the rain real? Did I still sleep?
Light, on. The light switch flicked up as I thought about it, and yellow light partially illuminated my side of the bedroom. On the still, dark side of the room, a figure stood in the corner of the room, black and indistinct.
Blink.
Just a shadow. Though the room was empty, my heart was still pounding. I reached up to my neck, where Luke's secret key now hung on a chain. From next to my bed, Rye lifted his head, sensing my anxiety.
"I thought I saw something," I told him.
Rye looked at the corner of the room. Thunder boomed, and I risked a glance at the corner. Oh.
My. God. My eyes watched a figure form again, an indistinct face turned toward me. I squeezed my eyes shut. Not there. I opened them again.
The figure was still there, very nearly a shadow. Rye's eyes were still trained on it, but he groaned softly and lay his head down on his feet, as if it didn't concern him.
Because maybe it had been there all along.
I grabbed my cell phone from the bedside table and punched in James' number. The bright numbers on the phone told me it was almost two a.m., but I thought-- hoped--that James wouldn't mind.
It rang and rang, while I stared at the unmoving figure. It was going to go to voice mail. No!
Then, on the last ring, James' groggy voice answered. "Dee?"
Now that I had him on the phone, I felt a little foolish. "Yeah."
"Is something wrong?"
"Um--no--maybe? This sounds dumb, James. I'm sorry for waking you up."
"Dee. It's two in the morning. Something's bothering you. Cut to the chase."
I told him about the conversation Luke had had with empty air. "And now, I think there's something in my room. I think it was there all along, only I just now can see it. It looks like a shadow. Or a person."
James didn't reply. I stared hard at the shadow. Was it staring back at me?
Blink.
The corner was empty: no figure, no shadow.
"Uh--James--it just disappeared." Now I was seriously freaked out; I edged down in my covers, as if that would make a difference against a real bogey man. Natural shadows didn't go away, so it had been something. And worse, now I didn't know where it was. I looked around the room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary.
"Real shadows don't disappear." James' voice was flat. "Do you want me to come over?"
Of course I did. "My parents would freak if they knew."
"Like I said, do you want me to come over?"
From the floor, Rye looked up at me, and then settled his head on his paws. With a deep sigh, he closed his eyes. Whatever had been in the room, he wasn't concerned. I vacillated between what I wanted and what I needed, and finally went with the less selfish option. Also the one with less possible repercussions.
"I'll be okay. Rye's going back to sleep. He'd let me know if there was something to be worried about, I think."
James sighed, less contentedly than Rye. "You can't call and get me worried and then tell me it's nothing."