Dianne Salerni - The Eighth Day

Rattled by his presence, by him knowing who she was, by who he was , she’d shut the curtain with a snap of her wrist. He could have been lying, although when her heart stopped pounding and she thought it through, she decided he probably wasn’t. By the time she’d reconsidered his offer, he’d given up and gone inside his house.

The Taliesins must have sent him to watch her, although why they’d done so, she didn’t know. Evangeline had been in this house five years by her own counting, and she’d spent the first four utterly alone. This boy was the first person she’d seen since the Taliesin brothers brought her here and left her, so long ago. She didn’t count the Taliesins as friends, but they were Kin, trapped in the eighth day like she was, and they had every reason to keep her safe.

By their definition of safe , of course.

The day Evangeline’s parents died, she’d been running through the woods with Elliot hanging on to her hand and Adelina on her heels when two men stepped into her path. She’d gasped and drawn her younger siblings close before she saw the strangers’ pale blond hair and piercing blue eyes and realized they were Kin and not Transitioners. She thought they must be allies of her father’s, sent to help her.

But they weren’t. She’d learned that when it was too late to do anything about it.

The Taliesins had separated her forcibly from her brother and sister and ordered her to stay in hiding until she received further instructions. That was how she’d become the lonely ghost in this house—her only company, books and the photographs of the Unger children who shot up like weeds, quickly surpassing her. Eventually they’d all moved out, and then Mr. Unger had died, leaving Mrs. Unger a widow.

Five years of her life in this house equaled thirty-five to the Ungers and the rest of the world, and she’d received no further instructions from the Taliesin men.

Just the boy who moved in next door.

He hadn’t spoken to her after that one time, hadn’t threatened her or done anything to frighten her into running away. Occasionally he acknowledged she was there—like with the thumbs-up just now or the snowmen last winter. Once in a while she even acknowledged him back. Recently, he’d started hooking a generator to Mrs. Unger’s house on the eighth day, providing her with electricity. He seemed to live a solitary life, but he was in contact with other Transitioners. There was Fat Friend and the two people she thought were Fat Friend’s parents. Once there was a Black-Haired Girl who drove an expensive-looking blue convertible.

And now there was New Boy.

His arrival probably had nothing to do with her, but the other one—Red, she’d nicknamed him—had been absent a lot lately, which was a change in habit for him. She sensed trouble afoot. Although she hadn’t inherited her mother’s talent for prognostication, Evangeline always tried to listen to her instincts. One never knew when a feeling might really be a premonition.

She should renew her protections on this house.

All the symbols she needed for home protection were stocked in the kitchen: salt, basil, fennel, dill weed, bay leaves, and olive oil to bind them together. Once she had the elements gathered in a porcelain bowl, she closed her eyes and rubbed the herbs between her fingertips.

“No harm shall enter here.”

She repeated the command over and over, building the potential until she was breathless and gasping. Her eyes flew open, and she looked down at her work. Her ancestors would have ground this mixture into paste with a mortar and pestle. But Mrs. Unger had a Cuisinart, and thanks to Red, Evangeline had electricity.

Minutes later, she was marking every entrance to the house—window and door—with a thin line of paste. “No harm shall enter here.” It wasn’t a perfect form of protection, but it was the best she could do without making a permanent alteration to the house that would frighten Mrs. Unger and attract unwanted attention. Putting the library card out to request new books was one thing. Painting magical symbols on the walls was a different matter entirely.

She had just finished and was heading for the kitchen to clean up when she heard footsteps on the porch. Evangeline threw herself into the corner of the hallway, where she could see the front door but not be seen from it.

New Boy was at the door. He was a couple of years younger than Evangeline, with an unruly mop of dark-brown hair. He knocked tentatively and peered through the glass.

Evangeline pressed against the wall.

The mail flap clicked open, and a folded piece of paper flew into the house, sailing in a graceful arc before landing on the floor.

Evangeline looked at the bowl in her hands. “Some protection.”

RILEY HAD TWO RULESregarding the girl next door. “Number one, don’t tell anyone about her.”

“Of course not.” Jax stared up at the window.

“Number two, leave her alone.”

“But—”

“Leave her alone.”

“What if—”

“What’s rule number two, Jax?” Riley growled.

“Why’d you point her out to me, then?”

“You’d wonder why I was hooking up a generator to Mrs. Unger’s house. And I wanted her to know she shouldn’t be afraid of you.”

“Why would she be afraid of me? I just want to meet her.”

“She doesn’t want to meet you.” Riley flipped the switches in Mrs. Unger’s electric box. “I’ve lived here for years, and she’s never spoken to me.”

Jax’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s never talked to you, but you’re giving her electricity?”

“It’s a courtesy. And sometimes, when she feels like it, I get a courtesy thank you. You’ll see.” Riley motioned him over. “C’mere, and I’ll show you how to do this. That way, if I ever have to be gone on a Grunsday again, you can hook up both houses.”

Riley talked him through the procedure, and they started up the second generator. “They’re quieter than I expected,” Jax commented.

“I paid extra to get the quietest on the market. Didn’t want to attract attention.”

Jax looked around. “Who would hear it?”

Riley didn’t answer. “The gas stove works, and we’ve got public water, so that works. But the only way to have electricity on Grunsday is to supply your own. The power companies are run by computers, and anything with a computer chip is dead today.”

“Why?”

“Because processing chips measure time, but Grunsday exists on a timeline they don’t recognize. Unfortunately, almost everything has a chip these days. That’s why we have to keep the old refrigerator from quitting.”

“Ohhhh.” Jax nodded. “And that’s why your motorcycle is a piece of junk.”

“Junk? The Honda 350 is a classic!”

A classic piece of junk. “But wait,” Jax said. “There’s electricity in town. The traffic lights are on, even if they’re stuck, and the emergency lights were on in Walmart.”

“That’s an afterimage of the light that was there at midnight on Wednesday.” Riley picked up the gasoline can and walked it to the shed. “The lights in Walmart—did you have trouble seeing by them?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Don’t break into a store again. If it’s an emergency, there are other ways to get what you need.”

“I thought it was an emergency,” Jax said indignantly. “I’m not a thief.”

“I’m not a thief either,” Riley replied. “But I have stolen when I needed to.”

As much as Jax wanted to hold himself above those ethics, he couldn’t. He had a closet full of Walmart goods that proved otherwise.

Riley spent the afternoon working on his bike. Jax kept his eyes on the windows of the house next door. He wanted to ask Riley what the girl did in there all day, but if she refused to talk to Riley, he probably didn’t know. So instead, Jax asked a bunch of other questions Riley couldn’t or wouldn’t answer.