Long Lost, стр. 20

She slumped back on the bed, head spinning, frustration surging.

What was going on here? Was The Lost One so messed up and infuriating and STUPID that she would never learn the end of the story at all? Had she just stolen a book from a library and lied to a librarian—possibly the worst things Fiona had ever done—for this?

Fiona almost threw the book across the room, which might have been the third worst thing she had ever done, but she was interrupted by a tap at her bedroom door.

“Come in!” she growled.

Instead of her mom or dad telling her that it was time for dinner, the opening door revealed Arden, standing in the hall.

“Hi,” said her sister.

Fiona shoved the book beneath her blankets. If there was anyone who wouldn’t understand what was going on, it was Arden.

“What?” Fiona demanded. “Do you need something?”

“No.” Arden seemed unfazed by her tone. “I was just . . .” She stepped into the room, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Fiona sat very still. Her sister hadn’t set foot inside Fiona’s bedroom since they’d moved. It felt strange having her there now, like an exotic animal had just opened the door and let itself in.

Arden gazed around, taking in the poster of Egypt’s Valley of the Kings and the map of Sherlock Holmes’s London, the bookshelves packed with mythology and history books.

“Your room looks nice,” she said.

Fiona blinked. “Nice?”

“Like it did back home. I mean, it’s nice to see all the same stuff here.”

“It doesn’t look like my room back home,” said Fiona. “It’s completely different.”

Arden leaned against the bookshelf. She swept one pointed toe across the floor in an absent-minded ballet move. “I know. This whole house is different. That’s why I like it that some things didn’t change.”

Fiona scowled.

Some things hadn’t changed for Arden. She was still going to the same skating club she’d belonged to for years, seeing the same friends, doing the same things. But for the rest of the family—including the one whose room she’d sashayed into—there was nothing but loss.

“Everything has changed,” she told her sister.

“I guess.” Apparently, for once Arden didn’t feel like arguing. She switched feet, now making floor circles with the other. “Hey. Does this house feel weird to you too?”

Fiona could have just said yes. Instead she asked cautiously, “What do you mean?”

“Just . . . this town, and everything in it—it’s so old. I keep thinking about all the people who lived here before. Most of them must be dead by now, but . . . maybe their houses remember them.” Arden stopped, running fingers through her glossy ponytail. “Never mind. It’s silly.”

Fiona studied her sister’s face.

Arden was scared. This didn’t happen often—mostly because Arden avoided anything that might scare her. She didn’t like ghost stories or mystery novels. She refused to watch creepy movies. Of course, she had no problem leaping into the air on a pair of blades above a giant frozen floor in front of a huge crowd of strangers, but that was because Arden was a weirdo.

Seeing Arden looking jumpy and anxious was a rarity. It sent a pleased little ripple through Fiona’s body.

Arden was scared? Good. It was her own fault.

“You’re right.” Fiona spoke up before Arden could back out. “I think places do remember things. I think this whole old town remembers things.”

An idea flashed through Fiona’s mind. She crossed her legs, settling back against the pillows. She was going to enjoy this.

“I’ve been researching the history of this town,” she went on, placing her words like paint strokes. “There are stories about something that used to live in the woods nearby. Everyone called it the Searcher.”

Arden folded her arms across her chest. “The Searcher?”

“Yeah. It was this tall, cloaked figure that lurked in the shadows. Every now and then, if somebody was out in the woods alone, the Searcher would grab them. And they would never be seen again.”

Arden held herself tighter, as if she’d felt a sudden chill. “So it’s, like, an old ghost story?”

“Nobody knows if the Searcher was a ghost, exactly. It might have just been a person in disguise. Or it might never have been human at all. It might have been . . . something else.” Fiona let her words hang in the air, enjoying their whispery sound. And the look on her sister’s face.

But Arden straightened up, tapping her fingers on the edge of Fiona’s bookcase. “You know how stories like that get started, don’t you?” she asked, her tone hardening into Big Sister Voice. “Somebody makes it up, because they need an excuse for something, or because they were confused or scared or stupid, and then they tell other people, and then all those people’s imaginations start running away with them too. It’s like when you learn a new word, and suddenly you start seeing that word everywhere.” Arden gave a little smile, like she and Fiona shared a joke. “The word isn’t actually following you everywhere. You’re just noticing it.”

“Right,” said Fiona. “People notice things, once they know what to look for.” She gave Arden a little smile back. “If you weren’t noticing it, the Searcher would look like just another shadow in the woods.”

Arden’s smile wavered like a reflection on water. “Anyway . . . ,” she said abruptly, turning toward the door. “I just wanted to see what you’d done with your room. If you want to come look at mine, you can.”

“Maybe some other time.” Fiona leaned farther back against the pillows. “I’m in the middle of a book.”

“Sure,” said Arden. “Whatever.”

She glided out into the hallway.

Fiona grinned to herself. She could imagine Arden looking worriedly at the woods all around town from now on, keeping far away from any clusters of trees.

She pulled The Lost One out from under the covers and flipped through its ending one last time. The pages were as infuriatingly empty as ever, but there had to be more clues about this book to uncover. Maybe she would find them at the library tomorrow.

When Fiona fell asleep that night, it was with the book placed safely on the