Long Lost, стр. 9

Of course Arden had been scolded. But she hadn’t been punished. Not after she’d burst into tears that were even louder than Fiona’s, anyway. Their mom and dad had had to calm Arden down, saying they knew it was all just an accident, that Arden would never hurt Fiona on purpose. Meanwhile, Fiona had glared at her sister across the turquoise water, her throat and eyes still burning, and almost wished that she had drowned. Because getting Arden into that much trouble might have been worth it.

Stupid Hazel, Fiona thought now, rushing on to the next page. If anything bad happened to Pearl, Fiona hoped the guilt would eat Hazel alive.

Pearl did not stop running.

The reflection in the cottage window was dim and blurred. She raced past too swiftly for a good look, but Pearl was certain of what she had seen: a dark, looming figure, far taller than she was, reaching out with one blackened, twisted hand.

She glanced over her shoulder.

The figure was no longer there.

Pearl felt no relief at this. It would be easy enough for something swift and silent and shadowy to dart behind a tree, and then to reemerge when she didn’t expect it, snatching her up in those terrible hands.

Dashing to the other side of the empty road, Pearl veered again at the crossing of Turnpike Road and Oak Street, trying to make her course erratic enough to confuse any followers. Still, she could sense the Searcher’s presence, the threat that could rear up anywhere.

Home waited around just one more corner. And there it was, its windows glowing with watchful lights.

Those lights had never looked so lovely to Pearl.

She leaped up the front steps, flew across the porch, and flung open the door. She slammed it again behind her.

Pixie, sprawled on the foyer rug, skittered onto his paws with a bark.

“Good heavens, child.” Mrs. Rawlins appeared in the great room doorway. Like the lights of home, the housekeeper’s big, broad-shouldered body and stern face had never appeared more welcoming to Pearl. “What can you be thinking, stampeding in here after—”

But she broke off with a good look at Pearl’s face.

“There’s something after me,” Pearl gasped.

Without hesitation, Mrs. Rawlins grasped a tall silver candlestick from a nearby table and threw open the front door. Pixie lunged to the housekeeper’s side, hackles rising, letting out a rumbling growl. Pearl scrambled backward.

Mrs. Rawlins examined the darkness. “What was after you, child?” She raised the candlestick like a club in one sturdy fist.

“It was—” Pearl managed. “It was the Searcher.”

“The Searcher?” Mrs. Rawlins turned back toward Pearl, her expression shifting from concern to exasperation. “Flying in here like a rabid creature, because of an old story? You’ve clearly scared yourself out of your own wits!”

She thumped the candlestick back into place and turned on Pearl with folded arms. Behind her, Pixie remained in the open doorway, huffing at the night air.

“And where is that sister of yours?” Mrs. Rawlins demanded.

“She was at the carnival, in the meadow,” Pearl panted. “She didn’t want to leave.”

“So, you abandoned her and flounced off on your own?” Mrs. Rawlins’s frown deepened as her voice rose. “I have two silly girls dashing around alone in the dark, hours past their curfew?” She shook her head furiously. “Charlie!”

The twelve-year-old boy who had been dozing in an armchair by the fireplace jerked upright.

“Charlie, go and fetch your father,” Mrs. Rawlins ordered. “He’s searching the woods along the lake. Tell him Miss Hazel is at the carnival.”

Charlie nodded. He threw a half smile to Pearl, clapped his cap over his white-blond hair, and darted for the kitchen door.

Mrs. Rawlins returned her frown to Pearl. “You had better hope that your sister is safe, and that there isn’t a spook from a silly old tale wandering around the town tonight.”

“It is out there. I saw it,” Pearl insisted. “And I tried to make Hazel come home with me hours ago, as soon as it got dark,” she went on, stretching the truth to cover her disobedience. “She wouldn’t. So I had to come home alone!”

“Leaving your sister, at night, with a crew of strangers and carnival types . . .” Mrs. Rawlins shook her head. “If your parents had any sense, they would give you both a good whipping, and then lock you indoors until you’ve gained some sense of your own.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Pearl’s voice crested in a shout. “It’s Hazel’s fault that I was alone out there in the dark and nearly got snatched by the Searcher!”

Mrs. Rawlins gazed down at Pearl from her considerable height. “Go up to your room immediately,” she said, just as she had a thousand times before. “Get straight into bed. Pray that Mr. Hobbes brings Hazel home safe and sound, or you’ll have abandoning your sister to add to your list of mistakes.”

“But Hazel was—”

“Go on,” Mrs. Rawlins commanded.

Pearl had known Mrs. Rawlins since the day she was born. She knew each one of Mrs. Rawlins’s frustrated, tired, and angry expressions, and she knew very well when there was no point in arguing.

She stomped toward the staircase.

Pixie didn’t follow. The dog remained in the doorway, waiting for Hazel.

Pearl charged from the upper corridor onto the next flight of stairs. She and Hazel had rooms side by side at one end of the third floor. Mrs. Rawlins’s rooms were at the other end of the hall, with a maid’s chamber, storage for their mother’s out-of-season clothes, and a bathroom in between. Pearl had always liked this privacy, the way the sisters’ rooms were their own little realm. But now, the mere sight of her sister’s bedroom door made her angry.

She had just endured the most terrible night of her entire life, and Hazel was to blame. Yet everyone was concerned for Hazel instead of her. Even Pixie had taken her sister’s side.

Pearl stormed through her own bedroom door, locking it behind her.

It wasn’t long before a fresh wave of noise filled the house. The sounds of Mrs. Rawlins scolding, and