Нил Шустерман: Red Rider's Hood

Marissa hid the skull back beneath the counter as the door opened, setting off the jingle bells above the entrance. Marvin's confident stride broke when he saw me. He picked it up again pretty quickly, though.

"Hi, Marissa," he said, and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek. "Hi, Red," he said, with a coolness in his voice he hadn't used when he spoke to her. He looked at me for a moment, then put out his hand like he wanted to shake. I lifted my hand, and he shook it in some strange way that must have been the Wolves' secret handshake.

"Taking an interest in antiques, Red?"

"No, just in your sister," I told him, and winked at her. She threw me back an "oh, please" kind of gaze.

"A lot of guys take an interest," Marvin said. "Few live to tell about it."

Marissa threw him an "oh, please" gaze, too, and Marvin laughed, showing off his gold canine. "Just kidding, Red. Just kidding."

"Ignore him," Marissa said. "He likes to play head games with any boy that comes within five feet of me."

"Hey, that's a big brother's job," I said. "But if he wants to test me, I'll pass any test he wants."

"We'll see," said Marvin.

As it turns out, I wasn't the one to get tested that day.

"Oh," Marissa said, "I just got something in today I want to show you, Red. Something your grandma might like."

Marvin squirmed at the mention of my grandma and turned his attention to the bag of chips we had left on the counter. I didn't quite know what Marissa was up to, only that she was up to something.

She went to a crowded shelf and pulled off a heavy cande­labra, reaching for something behind it. Then she held the candelabra out to her brother. "Marvin, could you hold this for a sec?"

Marvin hesitated. At first I didn't realize why he might hes­itate. Then it dawned on me. The candelabra was silver.

"Ask Red," Marvin said, leaning casually against the counter, eating chips. "He's closer."

"Hey, man, she asked you," I said.

Marvin sighed and left the chips, stepping over to his sister. I watched to see what would happen. Grandma had said that just touching silver will set off an allergic reaction in a were­wolf, whether they were in wolf form or not. It wouldn't be fatal, but it would be painful. If he was a wolf, his hand would turn red and swell up like a balloon in less than a minute. Marissa was putting Marvin to the test.

Marvin gingerly took the candelabra and held it out in front of him like it was a bomb that might detonate at any second.

"I hate holding antiques," he said. "I'm always afraid I'll break them."

Marissa fished around on the shelf a moment more, then came back empty-handed. "That's strange," she said. "I could have sworn it was back here."

Marvin put the candelabra back on the shelf. "Got any dip for those chips?" he said.

Marissa went into the back room, rummaged around a little refrigerator, and came out with a salsa jar that had only dregs left in it. Still, the salsa dregs kept Marvin busy for more than a minute. Long enough for us to see that his hand showed absolutely no reaction from the silver candelabra.

"Listen," he finally said to Marissa. "I came here to drive you home, but if you want to walk in the rain, I got no prob­lem with that."

"Go wait in the car, Marvin," she said. "I've got to close out the register and lock up."

Marvin threw me a suspicious look, then left, letting in the loud patter of rain before the door closed behind him.

Marissa crossed her arms triumphantly. "There. Happy now? That proves he's not a werewolf."

"How come you didn't test me like that?" I asked. "Me, you had to hit over the head and tie up."

"Don't be such a baby," she said.

"And anyway, just because he passed the silver test, it still doesn't explain what he's doing hanging around with Cedric."

"Maybe he's just a pledge, like you. Maybe he's pretending, all the while hoping to bring the Wolves down, just like you."

"Or maybe he's pledging for real."

Marissa shook her head. "My brother does not want to be a werewolf. He's got something else up his sleeve. I'm sure of it."

I threw up my hands. "Fine, whatever you say. But until we know what he's up to, let's not tell him what we're up to."

I thought she'd put up an argument, but instead she agreed. Across the street, Marvin honked the horn impatiently.

"You'd better go so I can lock up," Marissa said.

"I still need the skull."

She pulled it out again and handed it to me. I put it in the empty chip bag, which I tucked under my arm.

"When will I get it back?" she asked.

"I don't know. But if you're lucky, you'll end up with a few more for your collection."

It turns out that the Wolves had more than one hangout. They kept themselves mobile so no one would know exactly where they were at any given time. The manager of the Cave was of no help. He didn't know a thing, but I knew someone who would.

As I had predicted, Cedric's sister, Tina, was playing yet another game on the sidewalk of their apartment building. The rain had let up by dusk, and she was out there with a big red ball, bouncing it in puddles, getting her white socks spotted with mud.

"Where's your brother?" I asked her.

"Ain't gonna tell."

"But I'm a friend now."

"You might be a friend, or you might be a fool. So which is it?"

"A little bit of both," I told her.

She looked at the bag in my hands. "That looks too heavy to be a bag of chips," she said. She was way too smart for a seven-year-old. If she ever joined a gang, we were all in for trouble. When I didn't say anything, she bounced her ball up and down, splattering me with puddle water. She bounced it under her leg, then back again, and said in a singsong voice: "Little Red, Little Red, what's in the chip bag, Little Red?"

And in the same singsong voice I answered, "Nothing at all, nothing at all, nothing at all but your grandpa's head."

That made her miss the ball, and it went bouncing across the street, almost getting nailed by a passing car.

"You're not funny," she said. "Now go get my ball."

"Tell me where Cedric is, and I'll get your ball," I told her. "Unless, of course, you want me to tell Cedric you showed dis­respect to a Wolf."

She looked at me, a little afraid to tell me, and a little bit afraid not to. "He's in the Troll Bridge Hollow," she said. "Now go get my ball before I tell my mama you been teasing me."

Nightshade Boulevard ran into Bleakwood, and Bleakwood ran into Troll. Troll Street went over the river. The Troll Street Bridge was an old gray monster: an iron suspension bridge, with two towers rising like twin tombstones, cables spun like spiderwebs between them. It stretched across the mile-wide river, making you think there was a way out of the city. Like maybe if you crossed it you might find life a little bit easier. But, as everyone knew, when you got to the other side off the Troll Street Bridge, all you found was more of the same.

The bridge itself was the sort of crumbling mess that always seemed minutes away from plunging into the river. Whole chunks of the roadway had fallen away, and you could actually see the river through the potholes. Beneath the roadway, where the bridge touched shore, was a walled-in space at least fifty feet high. In that stone wall beneath the bridge was a single steel door. For as long as I can remember, and before that I'm sure, there were stories about what was behind that door. Some people said there were bodies hidden there, back from the gangster days before even Grandma was born. Others said it was full of gold stolen from Fort Knox. Still others whispered that it held secret stockpiles of nuclear weapons the govern­ment had forgotten about.