Subject Nightingale 1: Birth and Death (15 page)

Nightingale nodded and stood carefully, cradling Whisper in her arms. She remained asleep, but began muttering something about Mister Coffin.

“Oh, I meant to ask earlier,” Nightingale began as Elise drew the tarp aside, “are there a lot of crimes around here?”

“
You mean aside from kids stealing hair dye?” Elise answered.

Nightingale knelt and placed Whisper gently on the blankets, and then covered her with her sleeping bag. “There was a murder last night,” she said. “There was a body, it was...disgusting.”

Elise frowned and repositioned the tarp, placing the bricks down to hold it in place. “Well, things like that even happen up in the rich levels, sometimes... But like I said, it's pretty safe here. The cops keep things under control for the most part.”

The nightingale fluttered up to its nest, settling in for the night. Elise climbed into her sleeping bag beside Whisper, and Nightingale wrapped herself in a swathe of blankets.

...My Valkyrie,
the voice from the other night rang in Nightingale's head once she shut her eyes, and she gasped.

“
Goodnight, Nightingale,” Elise said.

“
G—goodnight...”

Why can I hear you?
she thought.

*Gasp!* My Valkyrie, you answered!

You can hear me?
Nightingale's eyebrows pulled together in worry and confusion.

I've been praying to you, my Valkyrie, I must find you!

No,
she immediately replied,
no, don't. Stop it, leave me alone.

“
Stop hearing him,” she muttered to herself, “stop hearing him, stop hearing him...”

Please, don't block me out,
the voice said, but it was much quieter, and continued to fade.

“
Did you say something?” Elise asked.

“
No,” Nightingale answered quickly.

Elise rolled over and fell asleep, but Nightingale laid awake late into the night.

Chapter 20
Ghost Stories
 

Nightingale only got a few hours of restful sleep. It was a struggle keeping that voice out of her head, and once she managed to get a handle on it, she was too worried to shut her eyes for more than a few seconds at a time. She woke the next morning with a tired groan, and rubbed her eyes as she sat up. Whisper and Elise were outside again, she could hear them talking—she heard something cooking on the frying pan, too, and her stomach grumbled extra loud after skipping dinner.

“I saw it last night, I didn't notice it before,” Whisper said. “Where do you think she got it?”

“
I don't know,” Elise answered, “but it would be rude to ask.”

“
Aw, it would be?”

“
She might be self-conscious about it, you don't wanna hurt her feelings.”

“
Hurt my feelings?” Nightingale asked herself, frowning curiously.

“
What's
self-conscious
mean?” Whisper asked.

Nightingale exited the hut, her bird fluttering to her shoulder as she stepped into the cold air, and found the sisters sitting beside the steel-drum fire. Elise was finishing up tying Whisper's hair back into her usual ponytails.

“What are you two talking about?” she asked as she approached, taking in the scent of breakfast. Omelets were cooking over the fire, the remainder of their meat diced into them.

“
I was just telling Elise about your scar,” Whisper answered.

Elise pulled her ponytails in response. “Whisper, what did I
just
say!? You're so rude!”

Whisper squealed. “You said not to ask her about it, but I didn't!”

“Well it's impolite to
talk
about it, too!” A technicality wouldn't save the girl.

“
Ow, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!” Whisper pouted once Elise let go of her hair.

Nightingale frowned and lowered her eyes. “It's alright, I don't... I don't even think about it.” She honestly had forgotten all about it. She took a cracked mirror from Whisper and looked at her own reflection, but could hardly even see the thin, pink laceration that split her face down the center.

“How'd you get it?” Whisper asked.

And Elise pulled her hair again. “One more question about it, and I'm pulling your hair
out
!”

“
No, I like my hair!” Whisper's eyes began to water from all the hair pulling, and she grabbed her long ponytails closer to her head to counter her sister's pulling.

Nightingale couldn't help but smile at the impromptu game of tug-of-war with Whisper's hair. “It's okay, Elise,” she said. “Remember when I told you I woke up in some building?”

Whisper nodded quickly, suddenly captivated by the countless possibilities this story she was about to hear could hold. She sat on her knees in front of Nightingale, staring up at her while Elise checked on breakfast.

“
Well I had it when I woke up.” Of course, she still didn't intend on telling the full story, and Whisper's shoulders suddenly slumped in disappointment.

“
Aw, that's it!?” she said. “You just woke up with it? That's not very awesome at all!”

“
This is real life,” Elise chimed in, “it isn't a comic book. People don't get scars in awesome ways, they usually get them from accidents or surgery.”

“
It's kinda like that ghost story, though, isn't it, Elise?” Whisper said as Elise began scooping the omelets onto their plates.

“
Ghost story?” Nightingale asked, taking a seat on the cardboard.

“
Sometimes, a ghost steals kids off the street!” Whisper said, suddenly excited. “It cuts them in half, right down the middle—but you must have escaped, since the ghost only cut your head in half.”

“
Her head wasn't cut in half, Whisper, she wouldn't be eating breakfast with us if it had been.” Elise sat down with the others and they began to eat.

“
Well what about that rumor, then, where the mad scientist kidnaps girls and cuts them in half for experiments?”

Nightingale froze for a moment, that particular rumor hitting a bit too close to the truth. “What's that one?” she asked.

“It's exactly the same as the ghost story,” Elise said, “someone just replaced the ghost with a mad scientist.”

“
Is it true?” Nightingale asked.

Whisper nodded quickly. “Yeah, totally!”

“It is not,” Elise said. “They're just stories. If all these girls are getting cut in half and aren't ever heard from again, then how'd the stories get started?”

“
Well!” Whisper said, about to launch into an explanation, but nothing came to mind... Elise had a pretty good point. She frowned and continued eating for a moment, and then just shrugged. “Well I think you're a mad scientist's escaped experiment, Nightingale.”

Nightingale frowned thoughtfully and stared at her food as she ate. Was it really such a prominent rumor? She knew it was more than that, but did they just get lucky and get one right, or were there actually others like her out there?

“So,” Elise began once she had cleared her plate, “what's everyone doing today?”

“
Oh!” Whisper piped up first. “I wanna ask Mister Grant when Christmas is! It's gotta be soon, right?”

Elise nodded. “Yeah, it should be. It's getting pretty cold.”

“Christmas?” Nightingale asked as Whisper rushed to the front of the alley, where the Grants were sitting as usual.

“
You don't know about Christmas?” Elise asked, and Nightingale just shook her head. “It's a holiday where friends and family exchange gifts.” She didn't have time to get into the whole
the true meaning of Christmas
thing.

“
What sort of gifts?”

Elise shrugged, looking up as Whisper ran back. “Whatever you think the other person would like. Whisper and I usually make each other something, since we can't afford to buy anything.”

“It's close!” Whisper announced. “It's next month, just four weeks away! Oh man, I've got the perfect gifts for you both in mind!” She clapped her hands together excitedly and rubbed them. “That's what I'm doing today, I gotta find everything I need to make them!”

“
You're making something for me?” Nightingale asked.

“
Of course!” Whisper replied. “We're all family now, right?” She looked at Elise next. “I mean, it's only been a few days, but Nightingale's awesome!”

Elise grinned and panned her gaze between the two. “Oh, alright, we can keep her,” she said.

“Yeah!” Whisper cheered, and then grabbed her backpack and slung it over her shoulders. “Plus one to family, just like a normal person! I'm going to the pit to look for stuff, I'll be back this afternoon!”

“
Is it okay to let her run off alone like that?” Nightingale asked as she watched Whisper disappear into the crowd the instant she exited the alley. She was concerned after yesterday's murder, and further by the voice she kept hearing at night. She felt like they were somehow connected, but was too scared to reach out to the voice and ask.

“
Yeah, she'll be fine,” Elise said. “And hey, welcome to the family.”

Nightingale smiled. “Thanks.”

Chapter 21
Routine
 

For the next couple weeks, the girls simply continued living—existing, keeping busy—in the alley on Baker Street. For Whisper and Elise it was business as usual, and Nightingale quickly fell into pace. She continued learning the ropes of life on the street: foraging for food and supplies twice weekly, refilling their water bottles daily, discerning whether found items were for keeping or selling, even finding secure and private methods to bathe... But as time marched on, and the temperature continued to drop, Nightingale began to worry about keeping warm.

This isn't our first winter out here,
Elise reassured her.

Yeah, we've been keeping toasty for years!
Whisper added.

And Nightingale trusted them both.

Along with learning how to live on the streets, she continued to practice and hone her powers. She quickly learned that levitating large objects was just as easy as levitating smaller ones; items as large as truck tires four times her height were at her mercy as she flung them all around the air, and soon she graduated to multiple items at once.

She even attempted to lift herself once, but only managed to give her internal organs a good stir. The sensation of nearly floating made her sick, and then she sensed the nanobots working inside her. She had injured herself, so she decided to keep her feet firmly planted.

Eventually she even stopped looking over her shoulder, and just started living; but that voice continued to haunt her nights. She used their one-sided conversations as a chance to practice. Some nights she was able to block the voice entirely, but then the next he would come back stronger—and angrier—than before. It wasn't just anger at being ignored, though; every night he was angrier and angrier that he couldn't find her. His
Valkyrie
, as he called her.

The thought of being hunted frightened her, but she still didn't worry. She had recognized some sort of sixth sense developing—she couldn't tell the future, but she could just
sense
when something unexpected was about to happen to her. The best she could guess was she accidentally picked the skill up from her bird after linking with its mind so frequently. She began honing that skill just like the others, and soon, she didn't even need to dedicate additional brainpower to keeping an eye on her surroundings. Before long, not even Whisper could get the drop on her.

Every few days, she caught wind of another grizzly murder—back sliced open, ribs cracked, lungs pulled out—but the reported locations were farther and farther away from Baker Street, and closer to the tunnel. The killer was moving inward, so Nightingale became less and less concerned that the owner of the voice was also the killer.

The next time she brought it up with Elise, Elise said,
Well, if the killer's moving closer to the tunnel, then it'll only be a matter of time until he's caught. Security's a lot heavier that far in, so someone can only run around tearing peoples' lungs out for so long.

Nightingale thought that made sense, so she allowed herself to worry less about the killings and the voice, and more about what to get the girls—her sisters—for Christmas.

And then finally, after three weeks of waiting...

Chapter 22
Hermit Crabbing
 

Nightingale woke up first, for once. She crept out of the hut and stretched her arms high over her head, yawning and running her fingers through her hair as her bird landed on her shoulder. She immediately shivered and pulled her hat onto her head, and wrapped her scarf around her throat and face. She shoved her hands into the side pockets of her jacket and strolled toward Baker Street, just to stand near the sidewalk and people watch.

What she spotted on the other side, though, just across the street in O'Shea Memorial Park, caused her eyes to open wide as saucers and her breath to catch in her throat: a vacant shack. The door was wide open and there was nobody inside—it was completely free!

“
Elise!” she shouted, immediately turning and running back to the hut. “Whisper! Wake up, wake up!” She pulled the front of the tarp aside, nearly sending the entire structure to the ground in her excitement. “Come on!” She knelt and began shaking Elise, and then reached for Whisper.

Whisper began thrashing in her sleeping bag, suddenly kicking and shouting nonsense. “What!? Who is it, what, get off'a my comics, quit pulling my hair, Elise! Save me, Mister Coffin!” Her long, untied hair was a tangled mess, and Nightingale was a little concerned that Whisper may strangle herself if she continued thrashing like that...

“Oh, come on, Whisper, wake up quicker than that!”

“
Wha—” Elise curled up in her sleeping bag and shied away from Nightingale. “Quit it, Whisper, you're kicking me.”

“
I'm gonna kick you if you don't get up! A shack's opened up across the street!” Nightingale said, but she kept her voice low; she didn't want to risk anyone else hearing, even though the only other people within earshot were the Grants.

“
What!?” Elise immediately sat up, and then sprung to her feet. In one motion she was out of her sleeping bag and it was curled up in her arms, and she bolted out of the hut.

“
Did you say a shack!?” Whisper shouted, springing up along with Elise. She grabbed her shoebox of comic books and followed her sister.

Nightingale jumped up and grabbed her bird's nest, then sprinted after them.

Elise was over there in a flash. She dropped her sleeping bag onto the old wooden floor, and then knelt to spread it out—to make it look like the space was occupied, because it was!

Whisper dropped her shoebox into a corner, and once Nightingale caught up, she began looking for a safe place to put the nest.

Elise stood up straight, nearly jumping with excitement. She threw her arms in the air and cheered. “Yeah! We did it, we're here! We—” She cut herself off when she saw Whisper taking inventory of her comic books, and Nightingale cradling a bunch of twigs. “The first things you brought were comic books and a nest?” she asked.

Nightingale and Whisper just nodded in response.

“Well it's a good thing
one
of us brought something that doesn't make this place look vacant...”

“
Oh, right!” Whisper said. “Let's go get the rest of our things, Nightingale!” She grabbed Nightingale's sleeve and led her out the door.

“
Wait!” Nightingale shouted as she was pulled outside, the nest flying into the air as she lost her grip. She reached up to grab it, but was just out of reach and it bounced off her fingertips.

Elise plucked it out of the air. “I'll find someplace safe for it.”

Once they were out, Elise let out a quiet sigh, still unable to wipe that wide smile off her face. The shack wasn't much to look at—from the outside or in—but it was finally theirs. A single chest-high window in the left wall looked out onto Baker Street, she could see Nightingale and Whisper rushing back into the alley; Whisper got caught up talking to the Grants, who were just coming out of their hut for the morning.

The walls and ceiling looked sturdy enough—mostly individual planks nailed together, and reinforced over time. There didn't appear to be any gaps for a breeze to slip through. “Whoever lived here before us took good care of the place,” Elise commented to herself. She looked down at the floor, and couldn't even see the ground through any gaps.

On the other side of the street, Whisper was telling the Grants about their amazing find. “It's totally awesome, you guys! I love it! It's big enough for all three of us, there's so much space! We could even put a couch in there if we wanted!”

Mister Grant chuckled. “What a sight, the day I see you girls hauling a couch home from the pit!”

“Hey, it could happen!” Whisper insisted. “People throw out all sorts of stuff! I bet we could find a bed, too! Just you wait and see, Mister Grant, we're gonna have a fireplace, a couch, a bed,
and
a TV!”

“
A fireplace?” Misses Grant said next, bundled up extra warm in the chilly morning air. “No rough housing near the hearth, alright? You'll have to invite us over one of these evenings.”

“
Actually, Whisper,” Mister Grant began, “we wanted to say goodbye to you girls. It's about time for us to be moving on, too. Our friends on the other side of the city have got a nice, warm spot ready and waiting for us!”

“
Aw, that's too bad!” Whisper said. “I'll tell Elise, she'll come by later today.”

“
We're not leaving until tomorrow afternoon, so she can put it off. Don't wanna ruin her move-in day!”

Nightingale rushed by Whisper, then, with practically all their possessions in her arms. She was wearing two backpacks, carrying several blankets and Whisper's sleeping bag, and was telekinetically balancing a stack of pillows on her head (partly for practicality, but mostly because she was in a good mood and thought it would be hilarious).

“Hey, how are you doing that, Nightingale!?” Whisper asked, amazed at the balancing act.

“
Go grab the rest of our stuff!”

“
Right!” Whisper ran back to their hut, waving at the Grants. “I'll talk to you later!”

Nightingale returned to the shack to find Elise placing the nest on a small shelf built into the wall, opposite the window. She dropped all the blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows into a pile in the center of the room, and then Whisper came rushing in with the rest of their belongings (minus the items used to construct their hut—she wanted to leave it standing there so someone else could
hermit crab
into it).

“
Elise, did you see Nightingale's awesome balancing trick!?” She shoved the items into a corner to keep them out of the way.

“
No, I must've missed it,” she answered.

“
She had a hundred pillows on her head!” Whisper said as she grabbed a brick from the pile. She retrieved a wooden plaque from her shoebox, and then found a nail that was half sticking out of the floor. She bent over and grabbed it with her fingers, straining as she tried to pull it out of the wood.

“
Hey, quit pulling the place apart!” Elise said. “We need those nails to hold this shack together, you know!”

“
It's just one nail, and it's—
hnng!
—already sticking out! It's a safety hazard!”

When Nightingale saw Whisper struggling, she gave the nail a bit of a telekinetic nudge. It slipped out of the floorboard and Whisper fell back onto her rear with an
Oof!
, but immediately picked herself back up.

“
Well, okay...” Elise said, uncertain as she felt the floorboard with her foot. It seemed like it was still sturdy enough. “But if this all comes crashing down on our heads in the middle of the night, I'm blaming you.”

“
Nightingale, hold this up!” Whisper said as she stood at the door, holding the plaque against it.

“
Roger!” Nightingale said as she grabbed the wood, and held it in place.

Whisper positioned the nail at its top, and hammered it in with the brick. Once she was finished, she took a step back and wiped some sweat from her brow, hands on her hips as she admired her handiwork.

The plaque read
Whisper and Elise
, carved a bit crudely into the wood with a pocketknife. A bit smaller (to compensate for the lack of space) beneath those words, Whisper had recently carved,
and Nightingale!

“
It's official!” Whisper said excitedly as Elise joined them at the door. “We're not homeless anymore!”