Free The Owl Keeper by Christine Brodien-Jones Page A

gutsy!"
    A drop fell from the tip of his nose. "You don't think I have it in me, do you?" He wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. "You think I'm a wimp."
    In Gran's eyes he'd been a bright, fearless boy, curious about nature, who tramped through bogs and collected wild eggs. What had gone wrong? Why wasn't he brave anymore?
    But Rose's answer surprised him. "I think you're brave. Anybody who comes out here after midnight and has a terrible ailment like yours plus a weird tattoo has to be a little bit brave. But if you're scared of going into the forest, you'll never find the Owl Keeper or the silver owls, or find special plants like the deadly purple sphinx. Your life will be wrecked, Maxwell Unger, because you lacked courage!"
    Max looked at his silver owl and thought of all the terrible things she'd suffered, most of which he could only guess at. When he first saw her, she'd had a damaged eye and broken wing, and her frail body was covered in snow. She had been so courageous and long-suffering, allowing him to feed her and comfort her and put drops in her bad eye. He admired her beyond words.
    "You're wrong," he said, in a burst of defiance. "I don't lack courage, I'm as brave as the silver owl. I'll prove it to you!"
    Rose broke into a wide grin. "Okay, Max Unger," she said. "It's a deal."
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    CHAPTER NINE
    [Image: Max and the owl.]
    Max stumped beside Rose through a field of dry stalks, pale russet in the mist. He looked for the two moons, but they were hidden behind fast-moving clouds. On a distant plateau, the Frozen Zone gave off a wintry light, chilling him to the bone.
    The town clock struck midnight. Rain drizzled down as they crossed the railway line, careful not to slip on the ice-coated tracks. Everything looked spookily unreal, thought Max, drained of color, like the photos in his family albums. He hadn't been this far from home since his owl-tracking nights with Gran.
    He couldn't stop shivering, despite his many layers of flannel
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    and wool. If only he'd thought to bring his silver owl along. She would have enjoyed riding inside his pocket, and Max always felt braver when she was around.
    At the edge of the field, empty factories and warehouses huddled together like a comic-book Wild West town. Max studied the old-fashioned signs: lloyd brothers cement & mix, doctor orlik's medicinal lozenges, grey mop wringer, tintern coffin makers, wormwood's water treatment plant. He knew that, over the years, these businesses had been seized by the High Echelon and shut down.
    "Afraid, Max?" whispered Rose.
    He could see her teeth, shining in the dark. Her round eyes floated through the darkness. Fine drops of mist sparkled in her coppery hair, like star glitter. She might have been a ghost.
    "Nope," he said, keeping his voice steady. "I'm a Night Seer, remember? I love the night."
    It was true: he felt surprisingly at ease in this alien midnight world. He swaggered through the tall grass, trying to exude confidence. Rose didn't seem to notice.
    Tonight he and Rose were going to carry out a daring plan. Using his mother's smart card, they would sneak inside the mysterious Cavernstone Hall. Max knew it was a totally reckless idea--Rose's, obviously--but it gave him the chance to prove his courage.
    Of course, he had other reasons for wanting to go there. Curiosity, for one: finding out what sort of jobs his parents really had and seeing the place where they worked. Then there was the darker side of Cavernstone Hall: the not-quite-real
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    secluded building he flew over in his nightmares. Why was he always dreaming about it?
    Sometimes he worried that, in some inexplicable way, his nightmares predicted the future. If so, did it mean his future was connected to Cavernstone Hall? He hoped not, seeing how his parents had been beaten down by their jobs. He told himself that going into Cavernstone Hall and seeing how ordinary it was might put a stop to his dreams.
    A train whistled in the distance. Hair knotted from the wind,