Free The Dark Light by Sara Walsh Page B

smart, at least.
    “Yeah,” I said. “I guess I did.”
    Sol leaned back in his seat, his face tilted in my direction. “Then I wouldn’t look too hard, Mia,” he said. “I doubt you’d find the answer you’re searching for. But remember, even if you remove it, once the dream bird’s touched you, you’ll always have its protection.”
    Sol’s gaze held me. Tiny veins of golden flecks ran through the brown in his eyes. Almost hypnotized, I watched him, as if he’d stepped from the book of myths and legends that now lay between us on the seat. How was I ever going to explain this to Willie?
    “You should get to work,” said Sol, and the moment vanished.
    He was right. After all, it was Thursday night. Chicken special. Always a winner at Mickey’s.
    “Thanks,” I said, though I wasn’t certain what I was thanking him for. The ride? The book?
    Clutching my bag to my chest, I opened the door, part of me reluctant to leave. Whoever Sol was, wherever he’d come from, he’d brought the dream bird to Crownsville and had given meaning to Jay’s tattoo. For that, I was grateful.
    I shot him a half smile. “I’ll see you around.”
    * * *
    I returned from work that night to find the house empty and a note from Pete that Jay was at Stacey Ann’s. I stopped when I entered the living room. An empty whisky bottle stood on theend table beside the couch. The scent was thick in the air. Just when I’d thought Pete was doing better. But then it was always the same with Pete. One trigger and he’d be off again.
    I showered, then threw on my sweats. Rifkin’s assignment waited on my desk. It felt like years since I’d sat in the library with the dream-bird book as Andy invited me to the prom. But the world continued on and with it, Rifkin’s assignment. I flicked through my notebook until I came to the page of doodled S s.
    Sol.
    It was no good. Rifkin’s clash of civilizations couldn’t compete with the images of Sol that swirled in my mind. Sol, who came from some place far away. I wished myself there now.
    Distracted, I reached for my mom’s velvet box and flipped open the lid. Twenty-four hours ago, the necklace had been part of Willie’s plans for prom. It had been all about Andy, about finding the perfect dress. Now the color of the golden stones reminded me of the flecks in Sol’s eyes.
    I took the necklace to the mirror and fastened it around my neck. It actually looked better on than it did in the box. I’d never really thought I’d wear it to prom, but now it struck me as kind of vintage, a sort of shabby chic.
    Headlights appeared outside, followed by the soft rumble of an engine. I wandered to the window as the Bakers’ car pulled up. Jay climbed out.
    Satisfied that he was home, I returned to the mirror, again checking the necklace. Vintage. I liked the sound of that.
    Voices carried from outside. Tires crunched on gravel.
    Golden stones. Crimson veins. Maybe a red dress? After my excursion with Sol, I might soon be known as the scarlet woman of Crownsville High.
    I was lost in the thought, when light began bouncing off the side of my face. Pink. Green. Blue. It looked so pretty against my cheek’s tanned skin.
    Pink . . . green . . . blue . . .
    My gaze drifted to the desk lamp.
    Pink . . . green . . . blue . . .
    The lamplight was yellow.
    I turned to the window.
    Two columns of celestial light—pastel ribbons—danced in the breeze from somewhere deep within the corn. Just like that night behind Rowe. But brighter, closer, stronger.
    Voices outside. Tires crunching on gravel . . .
    But what about the slam of the porch’s screen door? Where were the cabinets banging in the kitchen, the rustle of snack wrappers, the laughter on the TV? Where were the footsteps on the stairs?
    Outside, the lights danced.
    I dashed into the hallway.
    “Jay?”
    Silence.
    “Jay?”
    Into Jay’s room. Bed empty. Computer switched off.
    “Jay?” Louder this time.
    Colored mists floated in my mind as I descended