Free The Last Days by Scott Westerfeld

street, not even any dogs. Just the occasional red flash of cats’ eyes watching me from overgrown front yards.

    The front-door key was where Min had told me her mom kept it, under an iron boot-wipe by the door. It was covered with grime and stained my fingertips a red-brown rusty color when I tried to wipe it off. But it fit smoothly into the lock, the bolt sliding across with a soft click .

    The door swung open onto a silent audience of skulls.

    I took slow, careful steps into the darkness, listening for any noise from the wooden planks underfoot. According to Minerva, her parents were deep sleepers—her little brother, Max, was the one we had to worry about. I just hoped Min was awake and dressed, not surfing some nightmare that would make her scream when I opened her door.

    I took the stairs slowly, my soft-soled fencing shoes pressing on the edges of the steps, not in the creaky middles. As a little kid, I’d once gotten up at midnight and pushed down every key of our baby grand from top to bottom, pressing so delicately that the hammers never struck the strings, making not a whisper of sound the whole way. Once you’ve managed that, you can pretty much do anything without waking the grown-ups.

    The house creaked and settled around me, like a huge old instrument in need of tuning. I passed the blenderized-reality crucifixes, her parents’ room, my slow, trembling steps carrying me silently to Min’s door. Staring at the heavy sliding bolt that locked her in, I suddenly wished I didn’t have to touch the scrollwork symbols carved into the bolt: cat’s eyes and centipedes, worms with eyes and spindly legs, and, of course, more skulls.

    I swallowed as my fingertips grasped the cool metal, then slid the bolt slowly across. I opened the door and slipped inside.

    Minerva was still under the covers, still asleep.

    “Min!” I hissed.

    A cold hand fell on the back of my neck.

10. THE MUSIC

    -MINERVA-

    Pearl was shiny, glistening, smelling of fear. There was lightning in her eyes—like Zombie when you rub his fur the wrong way hard.

    She made sputtering noises, so I put a finger to my lips. “Shhh, Pearl. Mustn’t wake Maxwell.”

    “Jesus, Min!” she hissed. “You scared the crap out of me!”

    I giggled. I’d been giggling for half an hour, waiting in that corner to make her jump. That was the first thing being sick taught me: it’s fun to scare people.

    “Look!” I pointed at the Min-shaped bundle in my bed. “It works like magic.”

    “Yeah, nine kinds of supernatural.” As her breathing slowed, Pearl’s eyes swept up and down me, still flashing. I was dressed in cocktail black and dark glasses, more Saturday night than Sunday morning, but it felt fantastic to be in real clothes after months of pajamas. The dress squeezed me tight, shaping my body, embracing me. My four thickest necklaces lay tangled against my breasts, and my nails were painted black.

    I shook my head, making my earrings tinkle.

    “Cute,” she whispered. “You look like an Egyptian princess crossed with a twelve-year-old goth.”

    I stuck my tongue out at her and snapped for Zombie. He scampered over and jumped into my arms. “Let’s go. I want to make music.”

    Pearl glared at him, still pissy. “You can’t bring a cat to rehearsal, Min!”

    “I know, silly.” I giggled softly, stroking Zombie’s head. “He’s just going out to play.”

    She frowned. “But Luz says he’s not supposed to go out.”

    “We can’t leave poor Zombie in here. He’ll be all lonely.” I stared into his eyes and pouted. “What if he starts scratching on my door and yowling? Could wake up Daddy.”

    Pearl pushed her glasses up her nose, which she does when she’s being bossy. “Luz will freak if she sees him outside.”

    “Luz is mean to Zombie,” I said, pulling him closer to kiss his little triangular cat-forehead.

    “She’ll be even meaner to me if she figures out I took you into Manhattan.”

    “She