Long Lost, стр. 25

Chapter Thirteen

Fiona caught it with the corner of her eye.

A tall, gaunt, black-draped form. Hunched shoulders. Long, bent spine. Its face—if it had one at all—was hidden deep in a black hood. It was close enough that Fiona didn’t have time to think. She could only whirl around and run.

She tore through the underbrush. If the thing was following her, it didn’t make a sound. All she could hear was the blood whooshing in her ears, her own gasping breaths, and the furious, frightened voice in her head.

You IDIOT! it screamed, as Fiona ran. You wandered into the woods alone. Now no one will ever know where you went, or what became of you, just like Hazel!

No, another voice shouted back. No way.

She wasn’t going to let her story end like that.

Fiona pushed her legs faster, farther, flying over the mossy ground. The Xs she’d drawn on the trees beckoned her on. In another instant, the woods began to thin. She could see the brightening glint of the river ahead, and the solid shape of Parson’s Bridge waiting for her. She had nearly made it. This was her chance.

Planting her feet, Fiona whirled around.

There was nothing there. Nothing at all.

Of course there isn’t, said a more reasonable voice in her head. Because the Searcher doesn’t exist.

Fiona choked out a laugh. She’d probably been spooked by a strangely shaped shadow. Maybe she’d seen a black plastic garbage bag fluttering in a tree. Either way, there was nothing—

Snap.

A nearby twig broke.

In the underbrush, just a few feet away, the leaves began to sway.

Fiona’s heart juddered. She took a backward step.

The brush rustled again.

“I know you’re there!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “So come out!”

For one awful second, Fiona waited, wondering how the Searcher’s hands would feel as they locked around her body.

And then, so fast that Fiona couldn’t even scream, a dog burst out of the bushes.

It was medium-sized, with curly brown hair and whiskers that tufted beneath its nose like a mustache. Its eyes were black and glittering.

“Oh.” All the air in Fiona’s body whooshed out with that word. “Hello.”

The dog watched her, keeping a slight distance.

“It’s okay,” Fiona told it, creeping closer. “Are you alone out here? Are you lost?”

She couldn’t see a collar around its neck. But when Fiona got near enough to make sure, the dog skipped sideways—not like it was afraid of her, but like they were playing a game that Fiona hadn’t joined yet.

“What are you doing out here?” Fiona asked it. “Were you following me?”

Abruptly, the dog bolted past her, galloping to the end of Parson’s Bridge. There it stopped, looking back at her.

“And now you want me to follow you?” Fiona asked.

Of course the dog didn’t answer. But it trotted across the bridge, looking back at Fiona with its bright black eyes.

She hurried after it. When she sped up, the dog sped up too. By the time they reached the trees on the other side, the dog was galloping. It led her through the woods, finally bounding up the slope and straight onto the back lawn of the library. Fiona watched, trying to keep up, as the dog neared the building. It stopped beside the back door, throwing Fiona one more look. Then it nudged the door with its nose and scampered inside.

After you’ve chased a strange dog through the woods and watched it sneak into a weird old library, you don’t just stop there.

At least Fiona didn’t.

She rushed through the back door after it.

The door opened into a small, empty chamber with more doors on three sides. To her right stood a set of wooden stairs. The sound of the dog’s scrabbling paws floated down from above.

Trying to make the steps creak as little as possible, Fiona climbed after it.

The staircase ended in an alcove on the second-floor hallway. Over the banisters just ahead, Fiona could see the central reading room, the librarians and patrons going about their business below. No one seemed to have noticed the dog on the walkway above—the dog that was ducking under a STAFF ONLY sign in another alcove and scurrying up yet another flight of stairs.

Well, thought Fiona, she’d already disobeyed one sign. Besides, if she got caught, chasing a lost dog would be a good excuse.

She climbed under the sign and up the wooden staircase.

The library’s third floor was hushed and dim. Unlike on the second floor, there was no open central chamber letting in light from every side. There was only a long corridor, stretching away in two directions, lined by a row of closed doors. Small windows at each end of the hall let in a few beams of daylight. The scents of an old house—aging wood, dust, and something smokier, like dead leaves—spun thickly in the air.

The dog had stopped at the end of the hall. It glanced at Fiona. Then it pawed at the base of a door, whining softly.

“What’s wrong?” Fiona crept closer. “Are you trying to get inside?”

She reached for its shaggy fur, but the dog sidled quickly out of reach, whining again.

“All right,” said Fiona. “I’ll open it for you.”

She turned the heavy brass knob.

The door groaned, swinging inward.

The dog bolted through.

Fiona froze on the threshold.

On the other side of the door was a bedroom. Not a former bedroom, with an empty closet and dark spots on the wallpaper where pictures used to hang. A bedroom that looked as though it might have been used the night before.

If the night before was a century ago.

Fine lace curtains let in enough sun for Fiona to make out every detail. A high wooden bed with quilted silk blankets. A chest of drawers. A mirrored vanity, its top covered with treasures: a vase of birds’ feathers, a chipped bowl full of agates, a silver hairbrush.

Feeling a little like she was stepping into a dream, Fiona ventured over the threshold.

She tugged open