“ The witch that can’t die. I guess that means she’ll never get a home over there,” Carolina said, looking across the cemetery, as they walked away from Harry’s.
“ Everybody dies.” He looked over at the tombstones and saw a freshly dug grave through the patchy fog, and wondered if it was for the man who was killed with his father. Did that man have a home and children? Did they miss him? Or were they happy he was gone and better off without him? Everybody dies.
“ Not the Nightwitch,” Carolina said.
“ Even the Nightwitch,” Arty said.
“ Mr. Lightfoot said?” she shivered.
“ No, that’s not what he said. He said you can kill it with salt and hot pepper. Remember? They scratch themselves to death and burn up.”
“ Even if you do that there still won’t be anything left to bury. It’s kinda sad, she’ll be gone and there won’t be anybody to remember her.”
“ Nobody’s gonna wanna remember her,” Arty said.
“ If she can’t die, except with the hot pepper, and we can’t find her skin, then it’s impossible for us to stop her. Harry’s right. We should go home and stay there.”
“ Harry knows a lot of stuff, but even he doesn’t know everything. Nobody knows everything.”
“ But if he’s right, then the silver shotgun bullets you made won’t work.”
“ They have to work. Harry said that silver made it weak, remember? He said people used a silver cross to keep it away, didn’t he?”
“ Yeah,” she said.
“ I think he was only trying to keep us from messing with the Nightwitch.”
“ He said he would take care of it,” she said.
“ But it’s not coming after him. It wants you. And I know why.”
“ Why?” she asked, turning away from the sunset and sticking out her lower lip.
“’ Cuz you got her magic locket and she wants it back.”
“ What?”
“ The one your dad gave you. That has to be why it keeps coming around your house.”
Carolina reached up to her neck, but the locket wasn’t there.
“ Yeah,” Arty said, “You put it behind Sheila’s name tag. I bet that’s the only reason you’re still alive. It looks in your window. It probably watches when we go to school and we would never know, because it can be anything it wants. It’s waiting to find out where the locket is, and when it does, that’s when it’s going to kill you, and me, too, ’cuz now I know.”
“ No, you’re wrong,” she said. “My dad would never give me something like that.”
“ What if he didn’t know?”
“ If he didn’t know, maybe?”
“ So we should go to my house and get the shotgun.”
“ But Harry said we should stay home.”
“ We will, but we’ll get the shotgun, just in case.”
“ That makes sense.” So instead of turning right to Carolina’s, they turned left to Arty’s house.
“ Do you think we should call Harry and tell him about the locket?” Carolina said, as they rounded the corner of Arty’s street.
“ That’s a good idea,” Arty said. It was starting to get dark and Arty could tell Carolina wanted to be home as quickly as possible. “You wanna call from here or when we get back to your house?”
“ From here,” she said. “Maybe he’ll want to come and get it.”
Arty pulled a key out of his pocket. “I’ve never had my own key before,” he said. “My dad wouldn’t allow it.” He opened the door, went to the phone and dialed.
“ You know his number by heart?” she asked.
“ Yeah, once I learn a number, I remember it forever.”
“ Just the opposite of me,” she said.
“ I remember things,” he said, “that’s why I remembered about the locket.” The phone was ringing for the eighth, then the ninth time, before he hung up. “He’s not home.”
“ Probably gone after the Nightwitch,” Carolina said, following Arty out of the house and into the garage. She watched as he went to a stack of old newspapers and pulled some from the top.
“ It wouldn’t look right for a couple kids to be walking around with a shotgun, so I’m gonna wrap it up.” He used masking tape to hold the newspaper in place, but it didn’t make much difference, when he was finished it still looked like what it was. A shotgun wrapped in newspaper, but Arty was pleased with the attempt.
“ We should make a silver cross,” Carolina said, “and get some salt and hot pepper.”
“ My grandma’s old silver is in the kitchen. My dad wouldn’t sell it, ’cuz he loved his old mother. She was horrible. I hated her.”
Carolina followed him back into the house and into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard and pulled out a box. She stood back as he put it on the table and opened it. The inside was lined with blue velvet and it was packed with an ornate looking silverware service.
“ We could make a cross out of two of the knives,” she said, “but we need a way to make them stay together.”
“ No problem,” Arty said. He laid the shotgun on the table next to the silver set. He rushed from the kitchen, returning seconds later with a box of rubber bands. “These are the thick ones I use for the Sunday papers,” he said, picking up the two knives. He used several rubber bands and bound them together at the center, fashioning them into a crude cross.
“ Now we need some salt and hot pepper.” He took the salt shaker off the table and dropped it into his pocket. “We’ll have to stop by the store and buy the hot pepper.”
“ We have to hurry,” she said, “I want to be home before it gets too dark.”
They stopped at the supermarket on their way to Carolina’s and Arty knew he didn’t do a very good job disguising the shotgun, because everybody in the store was watching them as he followed Carolina to the spice section. And if anyone’s attention wasn’t drawn to the gun, it was riveted on the silver knife cross clutched in Carolina’s right hand.
Arty was aware of shoppers at both ends of the aisle watching them as Carolina took a jar of cayenne pepper off the shelf.
“ Do you have any money?” Arty asked on their way to the checkout line.
“ No,” she said, “I only take enough to school to buy lunch.”
“ I don’t have any, either.” He took her by the arm as they turned around and walked away from the cash register.
“ We can’t put it back,” she said, “We might need it.”
“ Give it to me,” Arty said. She handed it to him and he led her down the breakfast food aisle, and turned left at the potato chips. When he was confident no one was looking, he slipped it into his pocket, failing to realize that half the store had seen them turn by the cold cereal with the pepper and exit at the next aisle over without it.
“ You, stop!” one of the checkers said, pointing at them. They were close to the door and Arty thought about making a run for it as Ray Harpine’s father walked in, blocking their exit.
“ Shoplifters!” the checker said.
“ Hold it, Arty,” Officer Harpine said.
“ Look in his pockets,” the checker said.
“ What’cha have wrapped up there, Arty?”
“ Nothing,” Arty said.
“ Looks like it might be your daddy’s shotgun to me,” Harrison Harpine said.
“ Mine now,” Arty said.
“ I think there’s a law against children running around with loaded guns,” the policeman said.
“ It’s not loaded,” Arty lied.
“ Look in his pocket,” the checker said.
“ Hand over the gun,” Harpine said, as a young woman, overloaded with two large shopping bags, was passing by on her way out of the store.
All eyes were on Arty as Carolina removed the backpack from her shoulders. She took out the ferret and tossed it into one of the grocery bags. The woman screeched, clutching at the animal and dropping her groceries as it popped out of a bag. The ferret scrambled among the fallen foodstuffs, then scurried between Harrison Harpine’s legs.
“ What the hey?” Harpine exclaimed as a bottle of ketchup broke inside the shattering bag, and oranges, tomatoes and canned goods started rolling over the floor.
“ Sheila,” Carolina called. The ferret spun around and dove into the open backpack. Then Carolina started running for the door with Arty right behind her.
“ They’re getting away,” the checker yelled. Harrison Harpine turned to give chase, but he stepped on a tomato and tripped on a can of corn.
“ Son of a bitch,” he yelled as his rear end landed on a pair of rolling oranges, squashing them. He yelled after the children, “You two stop right there. I know where you live.”
But the kids weren’t listening.
“ This way!” Carolina started across the parking lot.
“ No, follow me!” Arty went the other way, dashing around the store’s right side without looking back. When he got to the rear of the store, he tossed the gun into a large dumpster.
“ What did you do that for?” Carolina asked, huffing and out of breath. “I thought we were going over the fence and down the alley?”
“ Can’t make it with the gun. Gotta hide. We gotta get in,” he said.
“ No.”
“ Now!” He grabbed a wooden crate from a stack against the back wall, dropped it in front of the dumpster. He used it as a step and climbed into the giant garbage pail.
“ Quick, put the crate back. I’ll pull you in.” Numb with disbelief, Carolina put the crate back on the pile, handed Arty her backpack and with a groan, she grabbed on the sides of the dumpster and pulled herself up. Arty grabbed her by the skirt and pulled her in. Then he pulled the top closed, shutting them up in the dark.
“ They went that way,” someone said. Footsteps came running. Arty prayed they wouldn’t look in the dumpster.
“ They must have gone over the fence.” They recognized the checker’s voice.
“ They won’t get away from me,” Officer Harpine said. “I’ll cut them off with the car.” Then they heard the footsteps retreating.
“ How long are we going to stay here?” Carolina asked.
“ Till it’s dark.”
“ I don’t want to stay here till dark. I want to go home.”
“ Me, too, but I bet that cop’s on his way to your house right now.”
“ Shit,” she swore, “what are we going to do?”
“ I don’t know.” He sat back against the cold metal and sank a little into the garbage.
“ It smells in here,” she said.
He mentally agreed as the scent of rotten vegetables, mingled with the freshly cut grass from the supermarket’s sideyard, and stale coffee grounds from the deli assaulted him. He was used to the dark and he tried to imagine that he was in his room, with lights out and eyes closed, but he couldn’t make himself believe it, and he couldn’t calm himself. The stench was overwhelming, making him want to hold his breath, and the fear was climbing out from someplace dark within, causing his lungs to tighten and shrink, forcing him to gasp for the putrid air.
Outside they heard the sound of footsteps coming closer. Arty quivered with both delight and fear when Carolina’s hand grasped his and squeezed. He squeezed back.
“ How about those kids?” Arty recognized the checker’s voice.
“ What kind of animal was that?” And he recognized the voice of Tommy Margolis, the high school kid that worked the deli. He was a short, skinny kid with pimples.
“ Looked like a hairy rat. Big one,” the checker said. Arty pictured him punching the keys to the cash register, darting his pea-sized, beady eyes over each item, like they were his personal belongings and you were stealing them. It wasn’t his store.
“ I never liked that guy,” Carolina whispered in his ear. He squeezed her hand in agreement.
“ Think you can make it in from here?” the checker said.
“ Easy,” the kid that worked in the deli answered.
“ Got a buck says you can’t.”
“ You’re on.”
The object of the bet flashed through Arty’s mind. He clamped a hand over Carolina’s mouth to keep her from screaming when the lid of the dumpster flew open. She was surprised and bit into the fleshy part of his palm, but he grit his teeth against the unexpected pain and didn’t cry out.
And her little body bucked against him as something smashed into the side of the dumpster, sending shock and sound ringing in their ears. It was like being trapped inside of a giant bell.
“ Missed,” the checker said.
Arty released his hand from her mouth, because now she also understood what the bet was about. The kids were playing basketball. The trash bags, the ball. The dumpster, the net.
“ Double or nothing,” Tommy Margolis from the deli section said.
“ You’re on.”
Arty could see short Tommy Margolis, probably bending low with the bag in both hands. He was probably chewing on the insides of his cheeks, the way he always did when you ordered a sandwich.
“ Here goes,” Tommy said.
Arty covered Carolina with his body as he pictured Tommy whipping his knobby arms forward, letting the bag go in a great arc. He would have to make it this time. Nobody could miss a target the size of the dumpster twice in a row.
Arty and Carolina held their breaths, as Arty saw the skinny kid in his mind, putting all his effort into the underhanded throw. He pictured a basketball thrown from mid court, a split second before the buzzer. He saw the ball as it reached the top of the arc, and could tell, like he could read the future, that it was going to make the basket.
He hugged Carolina in close as the bag smashed down on his back. He gasped and pulled in small, quick, silent breaths of foul air. From a distance, he heard the skinny kid from the deli laughing and saying they would leave the mess for the trash man to clean up.
“ Oh shit,” Arty whispered, “we gotta get out of here, right now.”
“ Something’s on my leg,” Carolina’s whisper was as close to a scream as a whisper could get. She started kicking, then Arty felt it scurry across his back.
“ Rat,” he said, wrapping his hands around her mouth to keep her from screaming.
“ I almost lost,” Tommy’s voice was fading and Arty took his hand away from her mouth.
“ I wasn’t going to scream,” she whispered.
“ We gotta get out of here,” he said again. He heard the rat burrowing away from them on the opposite of the trash bin.
“ I’m sorry I got scared,” she said. “I’m not afraid of the rat.” He could tell she was doing her best to be brave, but he could feel her shaking.
“ This is Friday,” he said.
“ So?”
“ Trash day.”
“ So?”
“ They pick up the dumpsters at night.”
“ Oh, no.”
“ Mr. Williams is gonna be by any minute,” and, like on cue, they heard the rumble of the trash truck maneuvering into the parking lot. He thrust his hand into the garbage, rummaging around for the shotgun as the truck lumbered and rumbled closer.
“ We go now!” She stood in the garbage. He was still looking for the gun when she had a leg over the side, by the time he found it she was on the ground.
“ I got it,” he said.
“ Hurry, Arty!”
He handed the gun over to her and jumped up, catching his stomach on the rim of the dumpster. Carolina jumped up and grabbed his belt, helping to pull him over and out of the dumpster.
He spun on his stomach as he went over the side, landing on his feet, caught in the headlights of the tank-like trash truck. He leaned against Carolina as she led him away from the giant metal trash can.
“ Hey, Arty,” Mr. Williams said, waving from the cab of the slow moving truck.
“ Hey, Willie.” Only Arty called him that. Mr. Williams was another of his early morning friends.
“ See you on the south side.”
“ Yeah,” Arty said, mustering enough energy to wave back.
“ South side?” Carolina asked.
“ I see him sometimes during my route. He does the south side of town on Monday.”
“ Oh,” she said, wiping food parts and coffee grinds from her clothes. “I think this sweater is ruined.”
“ I think so.” He watched her as he tried to wipe some slimy stuff off his sleeve.
“ It’s a good thing you remembered,” she said as the two extensions sticking out from the front of the giant truck thudded into place under the dumpster. They watched, holding their ears against the sound of banging metal, as the truck raised the dumpster in the air and turned it over, emptying its contents into the rest of the trash in back.
“ Bye, bye, Mr. Rat,” Arty said.
“ I hope he’s okay,” Carolina said.
“ I think he’s dead,” Arty said.
They continued watching as the truck dropped the dumpster back in place. Arty waved once more as Mr. Williams backed the truck out from behind the store, and they continued listening until the distant rumbling of the truck was only a memory.
“ For once I hope my mom’s not home,” she said, breaking the stony silence, “because I sure don’t want to tell her how come we look like this.” She was trying to wipe some of the same slimy stuff off of her skirt, and Arty was taking the wrapping off the shotgun. “Why are you doing that?”
“ There’s gooey wet stuff soaked into the paper. I don’t want to ruin the gun.” He continued pulling off the wrapping, tossing the newspaper and masking tape into the dumpster. He had no rags, so he wiped the gun off on a clean part of his shirt.
“ Hey, hey, it’s Farty Arty and his girlfriend.”
Arty and Carolina turned to face Brad Peters and Ray Harpine.
“ My dad’s looking for you two,” Ray said. “You guys are really in trouble.”
“ But not as much trouble as you’re in from me,” Brad said. “You were lucky, hitting me with the books when I wasn’t ready, but I’m ready now and you are dog meat.”
“ I’m not afraid of you anymore, Brad.” He handed the shotgun over to Carolina.
Both boys noticed the gesture and they noticed the gun.
“ So if you want a piece of me, come now, but if you do I’m gonna go for you every time I see you for the rest of your life. I’ll kick, bite, and scratch. You’ll never be able to turn away from me, ’cuz if you do I’ll smash you in the back of the head with my books. I’ll poke you with pencils. I’ll spit in your face. I’ll kick you in the butt when you’re not looking. I’ll fight you every morning on the way to school, every afternoon after school and every recess. You’ll have to have eyes in the back of your head till you’re dead.”
“ And I’ll pull on your hairs in class,” Carolina said, “and I’ll kick you in the balls every chance I get, and that goes for you, too, Ray Harpine. Shit, Ray, I think I’ll just shoot your balls off right now.” She leveled the gun and pointed it between his legs.
“ Gun’s not loaded,” Ray squeaked.
“ Your daddy wants to find us, ’cuz he knows it is,” she said, slipping into a sweet Southern accent.
“ It’s loaded,” Brad said.
“ How do you know?” Ray was still squeaking.
“ I can tell,” Brad said, then he turned to look at Arty. “Why do you need a loaded shotgun?”
“ You gonna let us pass?” Arty said.
“ Yeah,” Brad said, “I think you’re crazy, but I also think we’re pretty even. I won’t bother you no more.”
“ Okay,” Arty said.
“ So why you need a loaded shotgun?” Brad said again.
“ I got a witch to kill,” Arty said. “The shotgun’s loaded with silver dimes.”
“ Now I know you’re crazy,” Brad said, and the two boys stood aside and let them pass.
“ Stop,” Carolina said. They were coming around to the front of the store, when she thrust her arm out in front of him, bringing him to a quick halt. “That’s my father,” she said, pointing to a man that had just left the store.
She started to call out, but Arty squeezed her hand and she held her tongue. “We should follow him,” Arty said.
“ But it’s my father.”
“ How come he didn’t come right by your house and tell you he was in town? How come he shot off the gun in front of your house? How come he broke in and stole the gun back?”
“ We could ask him?”
“ Let’s follow him and ask him later,” Arty said.
She nodded and the two children followed the adult across the parking lot as a light fog started to roll in. Arty didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that Brad and Ray were following them, but he didn’t care.
He looked over at Carolina and saw Sheila poke her head out of the backpack and nuzzle her neck as she trudged along beside him. The man up front turned a corner. They had to pick up their speed if they didn’t want to lose him and Arty smiled as she automatically adjusted her pace to match his.
He was panting heavily. This wasn’t like his paper route where he could coast along with the cool breeze when he got tired out. The shotgun was getting heavier with each step, and he was beginning to think maybe they should have called the police and taken their chances. After all, what could two kids do against a witchwolf that can’t die?
But he rejected the thought. They would never believe him, and the two of them would probably be thrown in jail till their parents came for them. He didn’t want his mother to have to bail him out of jail, like she had to do for his father so many times. No, there was no one they could turn to for help, other than old Harry, and maybe that man up ahead at the edge of the fog.
If the locket hidden under Sheila’s name tag was the magic locket, then that meant that Carolina’s father had to know about the Nightwitch. And it also probably meant that he had come to Palma to kill it, to keep it from getting Carolina.
The man up ahead started to jog, but it didn’t matter, Arty knew where he was going.
“ Come on, it won’t be long now.” He risked a quick look behind and saw that Brad and Ray were acting as his shadows now.
“ He’s going up to the tent, isn’t he?” Carolina asked.
“ Yeah,” Arty said, as they approached the Little League diamond. “There.” They caught a glimpse of him as he entered the path on the far side of the baseball field. Arty didn’t want to go into the woods at night, not with the Nightwitch out and about, but he couldn’t go home and they couldn’t go to Carolina’s. The police would be waiting for them, because of the shoplifting.
“ Maybe I should just yell out. It’s my dad and he loves me. He’ll help us. He’ll know what to do,” she whispered.
“ Let’s see what he does first,” Arty whispered back.
“ But it’s my father.”
“ I know, but he didn’t come to you and tell you to look out for the Nightwitch. He didn’t warn you, and he should have.”
“ Maybe he doesn’t know about it.”
“ He knows,” Arty said. He saw movement in the backpack and imagined the ferret burrowing into a ball at the bottom. Carolina adjusted the pack and pushed some hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand.
Arty tightened his grip on the shotgun. He was puffing like a steam train when they reached the path. He pushed brush aside with his free hand as he walked into the woods, hoping he was doing the right thing.
Sweat dribbled down his back and part of him wanted to turn and run, but he had gone this far, and he would go a lot further for Carolina. So he swallowed his reservations, and ignored the icy shivers and chills that followed him through the dew covered brush.
Carolina moved closer to Arty as they walked up the dark path. There were no night noises, save for a cricket in the distance, and the sound of their footsteps that seemed to ring loud as rockets, blasting through the forest.
She tugged on his shirt and he stopped. He was panting and struggling to catch his breath.
“ I know you’re only here because of me,” she said.
He wiped the sweat from his forehead. His calves were burning, his feet hurt, his chest was pounding and he didn’t think he’d ever get enough air.
“ I think you’re awfully brave, she said. “You’re my knight in shining armor and I love you.” She kissed him on the lips as a high pitched laughter cut through the fog and the night, shooting through them like a razor made of ice.