Free Prospero's Children by Jan Siegel Page B

air around her appeared to diminish: the house settled into a nervous quietude. Fern got out of bed so cautiously the duvet barely rustled, feeling her way to the door without switching on the flashlight. It took an effort of courage that made her sweat to turn the handle and peer into the passageway. Her vision was well-adjusted to the darkness and for an instant she thought she saw something, not a black animal shape with glowing orbs but something much smaller, furtive, skulking in a corner by the end window, shrinking into invisibility even as she caught its eye. Her heart leaped into her mouth—but whatever it was, it had gone. The corridor was empty. She could sense its emptiness. She groped her way along the wall to Will’s room and entered without knocking.
    “Who is it?”
He was awake.
    “Me. Shush.” She closed the door carefully, switched on the flashlight. “I don’t want to make too much light. Move your legs: I’ll sit on the bed.”
    “Did you hear it?”
    “Yes.”
    “It was
inside
. How could it be inside? Did we leave a door open?”
    “It doesn’t matter,” Fern said. They were talking in whispers and the flashlight was on the table; little light reached their faces. She found she was holding his hand for mutual reassurance, something he would never have allowed if he could see it. “It can’t come in unless invited. That’s the ancient law.”
    “What law? How do you know?”
    “Never mind. I just do.”
    “Laws can be broken.” Will sounded skeptical.
    “Maybe.” Ragginbone, after all, had not been sure. “Maybe not.” She glanced upward toward Alison’s room; Will saw the whites of her eyes gleam, followed her gaze.
    “You think
she
—?”
    “It’s too much of a coincidence. The day she arrives,
it
comes inside. She invited it in. She must have done.”
    “What are we going to do?”
    “There’s more,” she persisted, adhering to her train of thought. “There was something in the corridor when I came out of my room—something else, I mean. It was quite small and it vanished very quickly but there was definitely something there.”
    “It’s too much,” Will said. “Alison Redmond and the Sniffer and the
Seawitch
and the chest and the rock that isn’t there and the missing treasure . . . and now this. Whatever it was. It’s too much. I can’t cope. Do you think . . . do you think we should try to tell Dad?” She knew from the note in his voice even more than his words that he was struggling not to betray the level of his terror. Despite her own fears, she was comforted to feel herself the stronger. If she could only be strong enough.
    “Pointless,” she said. “For one thing, there’s a limit to what you can say over the phone. For another, what
would
we tell him? That we heard some unknown creature sniffing inside the house and we can’t find the keys to the treasure chest and we think his girlfriend could be a witch? He’d probably assume we were both on drugs—or raving. And even if he
did
come home, there’s nothing he can do. Alison’s a lot smarter than he is. We’ll have to handle it ourselves.”
    Will’s soft gasp might have been sudden laughter. “You’ve dealt with all Daddy’s girlfriends to date,” he said.
    “This might be a bit more difficult,” Fern admitted.
    There was a short pause. She reached for the flashlight but did not move from the bed. “I think you ought to stay here for the rest of tonight,” Will said with an air of selfless chivalry which deceived neither of them. “We’ll be safer together.”
    “Okay,” she said. “Move over.”
    The bed was large but they curled up, back to back, each warmed by the other’s nearness, falling swiftly and unexpectedly into sleep.

III
    Fern got up early the following morning and returned to her own room. Instinct warned her that it would be preferable if Alison did not suspect they were on their guard. However, although it was barely seven she was no longer sleepy, and she