Nevermore

And so, between bouts of sulking and trying not to think about losing all of her friends in one night, or about the crazy way Brad had acted or about how awkward things would be at school on Monday, Isobel spent most of that Saturday trying to devise a plan as to how she was going to meet up with Varen the next day. Of course, she already knew that it would have to involve sneaking out.

By late Sunday afternoon, when her dad had plunked himself in front of the TV, she also realized that, if she wanted to greatly decrease her chances of getting caught, she would also need to position a lookout.

Convincing Danny proved to be more difficult than usual. She started off the bidding by offering to do all of his chores for the week because, in the past, whenever she’d been desperate for a favor, that one had usually done the trick. This time, however, he passed on that proposal as well as on the prospect of collecting her allowance for the next two weeks.

Normally one for immediate gratification, Danny surprised her by cutting an unusual deal, one that would involve Isobel putting on a part-time chauffeur hat after her birthday in the spring, after she finally got her car. The negotiation reminded her of a Mafia do-or-die session, complete with Danny threatening to make her life miserable should she “renege” on any one “clause” of their “agreement,” and it made her realize how enterprising her little brother had become since starting middle school. But she figured that her parents would probably make her tote him around to some degree, anyway. And so, after reminding Danny how he watched way too much TV, Isobel reluctantly conceded.

“But I’m not picking your friends up or taking everybody home to ten different places,” she said before taking his offered hand.

To this, Danny rolled his eyes, giving her hand a stiff shake. “That’s why we have bikes. Duh.”

“So what am I supposed to do if Mom and Dad try to go in your room?” Danny asked this while watching her load her backpack with a notepad, pens, and the books on Poe she’d checked out from the library.

“Don’t let them in,” she said. Honestly, hadn’t they already gone over this?

“Yeah, but I can’t keep them out. You and I both know that I can hardly keep myself out.” He added this last bit while leaning against her vanity and opening one of the drawers.

“Well, you’d better,” she said, shutting the drawer again. “You know the deal is off if they find out.”

That ought to add a little extra incentive, Isobel thought.

She pulled on her backpack and walked over to her open window. Cool air breezed in, stirring her lace curtains, blowing in the scent of rusty leaves and that singed autumn smell that was almost spicy. So far it had been a nice day, if just a little bit cooler than Isobel liked. At least it didn’t look like it was going to rain.

She straddled the window ledge, ducking her head down and out before climbing fully onto the roof. They lived in a split-level, so there had always been a little outcrop she could slip out to sit on if she needed to be alone.

Isobel steadied herself on the decline, the coarse shingles scraping and crunching under her shoes. She tried not to look over the ledge of the gutter. Instead she glanced over her shoulder to see Danny leaning out, looking after her.

“Remember,” she said, but she didn’t have to finish.

“If they start to ask questions, you have a headache, and you’re asleep.”

“And?”

“And keep a watch out at the garage door, because you’ll be back by the stroke of seven thirty and in time for dinner or else you’ll turn back into an alien and be deported to your home planet.” Danny recited all this with his chubby face cupped in his hands, his elbows propped against the window ledge. He flashed a smile at the end.

Isobel rolled her eyes and turned to shuffle along the roof, careful to keep her footing square and sure against the sloped terrain.

“This may be none of my business,” she heard Danny say from behind, “but can I ask why you’re risking life, liberty, and limb to sneak out?”

“Normally,” Isobel began as she reached the far edge, where she knew her mother’s white wood lattice met with the roof, “that sort of information would be classified.” She drew off her backpack and dropped it to the grass below. Then she turned and lowered herself, extending a leg over the ledge, feeling around for purchase. The tip of her shoe slid into a slot on the lattice. “But since you asked . . .” Gaining a foothold, she began to descend. “I’ve got to go do my homework.”

* * *

The door creaked, and a belt of rusty bells clanged as she entered the old bookstore.