The Night Shifters (21 page)

She shrugged.

“Why don’t you
Shift, then?”

“I can’t,” she
said. “You’re messing me up.” She actually sounded convinced of
that, thoroughly peeved and maybe even a little confused.

“I never messed up
the other Night Shifters,” I said.

“Yes you did.
Haven’t you been paying attention? You’re the one who says you’re a
Wild Card.”

Right again. I
really wasn’t sure how much of an effect I had on the others, to
what extent I had scrambled their game.

But still, “Not
everything around here is my fault,” I protested.

“Of course not,”
she said, “only the most recent stuff.”

Nothing I could say
would change her mind. No matter where I wanted to stand, Blue
would always feel justified in knocking me down. And her certainty
was daunting, made me wonder if I was completely blind to my own
faults, and that’s why I kept landing on my butt.

Okay, I guess
that’s sort of a given. But having someone around to constantly
point her finger and say,
Wrong again!
was really irritating.

Yet that
wasn’t what bugged me the most. If I really wanted to be honest
with myself, I’d have to say I was fighting jealousy. Before Blue
showed up, lots of people had chased me, and I rather liked that.
But now I had a rival, and I didn’t like that at all. I especially
didn’t like the fact that this particular rival seemed to get a big
kick out of competing with me. That left me at a disadvantage,
because I
hated
the competition.
It was getting in the way of what I really wanted.

And just what is that?
asked that inner voice that sounded so much like
Voice.

The Masked Man? A
home of my own? Fireside chats with Sir John? Occasional arguments
with the Car King? Pretty clothes, fun car/motorcycle rides, tasty
suppers, an unhindered view of the constellations?

I was still finding
out what I wanted. Just how long would I have to fight with Blue
before I could get back to doing that? And if I refused to fight,
would she take everything I had?

Yep, that was
jealousy all right. If I didn’t get a grip, Blue wouldn’t have to
do a thing to me – I’d do it all myself.

“What are you
thinking so hard about?” she demanded.

“Stuff,” I
said.

“
What
stuff?”

“Silly stuff. Look,
Blue – did you lose any of your memories when you came here?”

She shrugged. “I
don’t care about the past. All I care about is the future.”

“
How can
you
have
a future if you don’t have a
past?”

She regarded
me as if I were mentally deficient. “How are
you
managing to have a future? How hard have
you
worked to remember the past?”

Well
damn
! Maybe I should stop opening my mouth if I
was going to keep putting my foot in it. Because, as useful as
memories could be (especially the short-term variety) the past
could really be a trap, even a burden. Right now, I felt completely
caught up in the present, the carved gates, whitewashed walls,
charming cobblestones, the tap-tap-tap of our shoes as we walked,
the warm night air and the vault of stars overhead. It was like
being on vacation. Or at least, I think it was – I couldn’t
remember taking any vacations. And if I did, would they live up to
what was happening now? Would they change my expectations, ruin my
fun?

Maybe that
was the bottom line. It would have been sensible for me to wonder
things like,
When
did I know Serena? Were we friends once? What happened between us
to make her my enemy now? Did I do something bad to her? Or to
anyone? Did someone do something bad to
me? Did I
ever
have a boyfriend? And how did Mom die?

Once again, Mom’s
anti-Cheshire smile came and went. I couldn’t hear her voice or
feel the touch of her hand, and absolutely couldn’t remember
learning of her death. I couldn’t even remember how I found out
that I had inherited the house.

“
You
don’t
want
to know what your life was like,”
said Blue. “And I don’t blame you, it must have been boring and
disappointing.”

“
What
about
your
life, Blue? Did you think it was
boring and disappointing?”

She tossed
her hair. “It was until I turned eleven. Then it got
way
better. Look – how long are we going to walk
in this maze? All you want to do is think. Do something!” She
stopped in front of an iron gate and turned to face me, her hands
on her hips. Her expression didn’t just challenge me, it goaded
me.

The gate wasn’t all
that interesting – it certainly didn’t live up to the other gates
in terms of beauty, charm, craftsmanship. But when I looked through
the bars, I could see enough of the shadowy world on the other side
to realize it led out of the maze. On my own, I would not have
chosen to leave at that point, but Blue’s tone ticked me off; I
wanted to show her I could make things happen. So I twisted the
handle and pushed the gate open. It creaked as if it hadn’t moved
in centuries.

We walked through,
onto a paved sidewalk, and the gate clanged shut behind us. Houses
stood across an asphalt road, moonlight glowing on their white
walls. But their backs were to us, and they were surrounded by low
block fences that concealed most of their characteristics. That
piqued my curiosity, so I started across the street. But when I
glanced down at the asphalt, I stopped again. A vivid memory
pierced me.

Most of the roads I
had seen lately were paved with little, black rocks that were all
approximately the same size. But when I was a kid, the rocks in the
mix were varied in size and shape, and they looked more like river
rocks. I used to sit on the sidewalk and study them, making up
stories about where they had been before they got scooped up to be
made into a road, imagining a journey that spanned millennia.

Where do rocks
come from, Mom?

Volcanoes spit them into rivers, and the rivers wash them all
over the world...

This street that
Blue and I were crossing was just like those streets I used to
cross when I was a kid.

“What are you
waiting for?” she asked, sounding more bemused than annoyed.

I looked at the
houses across the street, and now they seemed familiar. The memory
that had leaped at me from the rocks still gripped me. “I’ve been
here before...” I said.

“That’s nothing to
brag about,” said Blue.

That’s nothing to brag about.
I could hear the echo of another girl. She walked
next to me, like Blue was doing.
Where do you live?
this other girl wondered.

At
75
^th
and Indian School
, I
said.

You live
there!? Her
lip curled with scorn.
Only poor people live there.

Blue and I crossed
the street and turned the corner, onto a sadly familiar street. The
houses looked worse than humble from this side; they looked dirty,
shabby, neglected and ill-used. They were small and mean with
broken windows and wretched, water-starved yards. “Are we going to
get mugged in here?” wondered Blue.

The girl in
my memory acted just like Blue. Back then I had been hurt by her
attitude, anxious to convince her that
my
house was a wonderful house.
We have flowers growing out front, and in the
back yard we have a big tree. We hang lights in it and turn them on
at night, so it looks like fireflies are dancing among the
branches. Mom says it’s a Faerie Tree...

She had not
commented on my rapturous descriptions; she remained aloof and
unconvinced. And as we walked, the neighborhoods grew uglier and
dirtier.

Or maybe not. But
that’s what happened as Blue and I continued to follow the path of
my memory, turning corners and trekking up one street and down
another. “Just how far are we going?” she asked.

“Not much farther,”
I lied, just as I had lied all those years ago. It had usually
taken me about forty-five minutes to walk home from school. And the
girl who accompanied me that long-ago day was a girl who had been
new at the beginning of the year, someone I desperately wanted to
be friends with because she was so pretty and popular, so classy.
All of the girls wanted to be like her. If she gave the slightest
indication that she didn’t like us, we cringed. But we didn’t
cringe very often, because mostly she ignored us.

Then six
months into the school year, she sought
me
out. By then I was used to the idea that she didn’t know I
existed, that I would never be part of the inner circle, so I could
hardly believe my good fortune. I realized she must have been
watching me, and I naively assumed I must have passed some sort of
test.

Now I wondered if
she had actually seen me as a rival.

I couldn’t see that
then; I was so thrilled to finally win her attention. And when she
made disparaging remarks about my neighborhood, I had begun to see
it through her eyes, like I was seeing it now, far uglier and
shabbier than it had really been. The City of Night molded itself
to that distorted image, reminding me how much it had hurt. The
difference was that this time around I didn’t believe what I was
seeing. My memories might be faulty in other respects, but I knew
my neighborhood had not looked this bad. So my feelings were split
between curiosity in the present and pain in the past.

“This is where you
come from?” asked Blue. “No wonder you have so little
imagination.”

I didn’t have to
fake the feelings of shame and disappointment she expected to see
on my face, because that was how the young me had felt, and I was
still gripped by that memory.

This is important
,
that inner Voice warned me.
This is your chance to learn something. So don’t
argue with her! Keep your mouth shut and just go with
it!

But I also went
along with it because, crazy as it may sound, I reveled in the
painful memories that assailed me as Blue and I walked toward my
old house. They were mine! The things I had said about the flowers
and the Faerie Tree were really true, so I had a little of Mom
back, too. As long as we kept following the path of that old
memory, I could be the kid I used to be, all the way down to my
toes. And I realized that I wasn’t such a bad kid, after all.

Why do you cut your hair so short?
asked the girl.
You look like a boy.

You’re adorable
. Mom
used to ruffle my hair.
You look like a pixie.

“Your catsuit is
getting dirty,” remarked Blue.

And she was
right.
Her
dress remained pristine. The
farther we advanced into the desolation, the more she looked like
some celestial creature whose shoes didn’t even touch the ground.
And the more I looked like a ragamuffin out of a Charles Dickens
novel. Yet I didn’t worry about it. She probably thought I did – I
sure looked unhappy, I could feel it on my face like a mask. But
she couldn’t see what was going on underneath.

My
Mom polishes the floors once a week,
I assured the popular girl.
And we wash the couch covers and dust the
books
. I prattled on about
all of the things I thought were wonderful about my house and my
Mom, and she never said a word; she just grew more aloof, floated
father beyond the reach of ordinary mortals like myself. I knew I
was talking too much, trying too hard, but I couldn’t make myself
stop. If I could just say the right thing, make her see my world
the way I saw it, these houses would look right again.

I’m bored
, said the
girl.
This is
taking too long, I’m going home.

Wait!
I begged.
Just a little longer.
Wait ‘till you see my house, it’s so nice!

And we turned the
final corner. And we walked up three houses. And there was my
house.

You’ve got to be kidding,
said the popular girl.

“I’m not
surprised,” remarked Blue.

My house was the
ugliest, poorest, most run-down and neglected place on the block.
The front windows were broken, and a reek of sewage hung over the
scene. Blue picked her way through the trash out front. I followed
her, and we both peered inside at the stained floor and battered
furniture.

“
Look.” Blue
pointed at the broken window, and I saw my reflection in the glass.
It was distorted by layers of grime. “This is the real you. Don’t
you understand, Hazel? You can’t lie, here. The City of Night
always finds out the truth about you. Your house looks shabby
because it’s a reflection of
you
.”

Tears welled in my
eyes. The popular girl looked sideways at me, her perfect features
revealing mild contempt – and pity, in equal measure. “What a waste
of time,” she said, and then she turned her back on me and walked
away.

Blue did the
same.

When the popular
girl walked away, I watched her go. She got all blurry because of
my tears, and then because she was so far away. I imagined her
ascending to some heavenly neighborhood where all of the mansions
had grand ballrooms and secret gardens.