Traps and Specters (16 page)

Solana reached for his hat and paused. “Can I?” When Noah didn't object, she stripped off the cap and dropped it on his lap. Then, with a quick sweep of her hand, she lifted Noah's long bangs out of his eyes. Noah became acutely aware of her touch and a strange, sudden panic coursed through him.

“There,” she said. “Better.”

Ella suddenly strolled past with Ko and spotted Noah sharing the bench with Solana. She stopped, raised an eyebrow, and very loudly said, “Are you kidding me?” before walking off.

“What was that all about?” Solana asked.

“Beats me,” Noah lied. “She's weird sometimes.”

“Sometimes?”

“Maybe all the time, I guess.”

Solana laughed and playfully swatted Noah's leg. Then she rose from the bench and said, “I'm going to check on Hannah,” and walked off. As Noah watched her go, he recalled the way her touch on his leg had felt—the way it had made his skin tingle and his insides churn.

Ella jumped out from behind a nearby rock wall. “Please tell me you don't have a crush on that chick.”

Noah sat up with a jolt and felt his face flush. “
What?
You got to be—”

“She's too old for you,” Ella reminded him. “And she lives in another world. And she has quills … you know … like a porcupine.”

“We were …
talking
!” Noah protested.

“Uh-huh,” Ella said skeptically. She turned and walked off in the same direction as Solana, her ponytail slapping her shoulders in a way that seemed to show her disapproval. Noah rose from the bench, put on his hat, and followed her, careful to stay back far enough to not invite any more conversation.

Back at the camp, Noah rejoined the others, and over the next half hour, the animals began to fall asleep. The prairie dogs curled into balls, and the chickadees huddled in the trees. Blizzard slept on his stomach, his hind legs perched high and his cold snout buried in his outstretched paws. Podgy dozed on his feet, his bill tucked against the side of his body. The hummingbirds perched on the branches, their feathers fluffed out.

When Mr. Darby announced it was time to get some rest, the Descenders walked off and returned with sleeping bags, backpacks, and pillows, which they tossed to the scouts. They divided into two groups—boys and girls—and changed into pajamas on opposite sides of a tall concrete rock formation. Tank and the Descenders headed back wearing baggy sweats and tight T-shirts. Noah, Ella, and Megan wore loose-fitting, two-piece pajamas. Mr. Darby wore velvet pajamas, slippers, and his dark sunglasses.

As Ella unrolled her sleeping bag, she smiled at Mr. Darby and said, “Whoa—Mr. D in pj's! There's something I never thought I'd see!”

“I consider it sleepwear,” Mr. Darby said with a grin. “Comfortable, but dignified.”

Noah found it bizarre that Mr. Darby still wore his sunglasses. Just as he readied a question about it, Richie returned to the site and distracted him. His friend was dressed in one-piece, footed pajamas. They were as shockingly red as his winter hat, which he still had on. Embarrassment washed over Noah: his best friend looked like a young, freshly shaven Santa Claus. Noah glanced at Solana. She was giggling and softly shaking her head.

As Richie walked over to his friends with his sleeping bag tucked under his arm, Ella leaned over and whispered, “Honestly—you couldn't go one night without the footsies?”

“What's the big deal?” Richie asked. “You want my toes to get cold?”

He unrolled his sleeping bag between Noah and Ella. On it was an enormous picture of Han Solo, his big-barreled blaster aimed straight ahead.

“Han Solo …” Ella said. “Are you
kidding
me?”

“What?” Richie said, a little hurt. “Han was the only member of the Rebel Alliance that ever really mattered. Besides Chewie, of course.”

The scouts lay on top of their sleeping bags: Noah beside Richie, beside Ella, beside Megan. On their backs, they stared into the treetops at the chickadees and hummingbirds, which speckled the branches with color.

As Mr. Darby and the Descenders lay on their sleeping bags, Tank walked off, his mammoth muscles quaking beneath his loose-fitting pajamas. He disappeared behind some trees, then the lights in the Forest of Flight blinked out. With the entire building surrendered to darkness, the night sky beyond the glass dome seemed to light up. Hundreds of stars filled the scouts' view.

“Whoa …,”
Megan said.

“Totally, totally awesome!” Ella agreed.

“The light that helps us see only blinds us from what is there,” Mr. Darby said. “True irony.”

Tank returned and dropped into his sleeping bag. The group quickly fell into silence. P-Dog curled into a ball near Richie's legs. Ko crawled up and took a spot between Ella and Megan. Marlo swooped down and perched on Noah's leg.

Blizzard yawned and plodded over to Noah. He lay beside him, his coal-black nose a few feet from Noah's face. Blizzard slid his leg across the grassy floor and stopped his meaty paw just inches from Noah. As Noah placed his palm against it, the bear slid his paw away.

Noah twitched with surprise. It was as if Blizzard had meant to give Noah's hand a high five. Smiling, Noah closed his eyes. Within minutes his rambling thoughts settled on Solana. He saw her face, her eyes, her skin. He saw her flip her long, dark hair over her shoulder. He felt her touch.

After a few deep breaths, Noah fell asleep. As he did, he brought Solana—his first real crush—into the world of his dreams.

CHAPTER 24

A
s the scouts slept beneath the starry view in the Forest of Flight, six young teenage girls walked along the neighborhood streets, the magic of chameleons keeping them in perfect camouflage. They moved like ghosts. Specters. Jordynn was watching the western wall. Elakshi and Lee-Lee, the southern wall. Kaleena, the northern wall. And Evie and Sara, the eastern wall.

Evie didn't like being on the Outside. Everything was different. The smells, the sounds. The air stung her throat, and it had a taste to it, something that came from the smoke that Outsiders poured into the air. And Evie missed the noise of the Secret Zoo, its ceaseless chatter of a thousand species. Birds cawing, elephants trumpeting, snakes hissing, frogs croaking—an endless song of animal voices.

Evie became bored and took a seat on the front of a car. A few chameleons jumped down, and she watched spots on the hood swirl and swell as the magic reptiles adjusted to the new surface.

Something nearby slammed shut and she jumped back to the street, startled. To her right, a middle-aged man stood outside his front door. The porch light revealed a briefcase in his one hand and a steamy mug in the other. He yawned, stretched, then walked down the sidewalk. At the end of his driveway, he headed to his car, which was the one Evie had been sitting on. The Specter backed into the middle of the street and watched, knowing she was invisible to him.

His face was freshly shaven, and he smelled like musk and spices—strange aromas that Outsiders put on their skin. He wore a stiff-looking jacket and an irritated expression: eyebrows pulled down, lips pursed tight. Evie imagined what bothered him. Being forced to wake early? Having to report to work? His brief walk through the cold?

Anger coursed through her. This man hadn't earned the right to be troubled. He couldn't imagine what Evie and the other Specters had been through, the savagery they'd experienced. Outsiders knew nothing of real pain.

As the man walked past, she reached out and tapped the bottom of his mug. Hot coffee splashed over the brim and streamed down his fingers. He dropped his briefcase, switched the mug to his other hand, and shook the heat off his skin. He cursed under his breath and leaned over for his briefcase. As he did, Evie moved behind him and kicked the case, which slid forward about two feet and stopped, still standing on end.

The man lurched back and stared all around.

Evie smiled. Being a Specter could sometimes be fun.

He set his mug on the roof of his car, leaned over, and watched the briefcase, his eyes wide, his mouth in a worried frown. He poked a finger forward, touched the briefcase, then pulled back his hand. Nothing happened. As he reached for the case a second time, Evie kicked it, sliding it forward again.

The man gasped and craned his neck in new directions. All the color had washed from his face. As Evie stepped around him, he turned left and right. He'd sensed Evie—felt her body stir the air.

“Who's there?” he asked. “Is someone … there?”

She smiled. Then she turned toward the man, putting the briefcase between her and him. She knew he probably didn't deserve this—but maybe that was the point. Evie, after all, hadn't deserved what she'd got.

None of the Specters had.

The man hunched over and rushed for his briefcase, the hard heels of his dress shoes clapping against the pavement. Evie kicked the case as hard as she could. It slid through his legs, toppled over, and spun to a stop at least ten feet behind the car.

The man's bottom lip trembled. He lurched toward the rear of the car, tripping over his own feet. Forgetting about his briefcase, he ran for his driveway, his limbs flailing like a string puppet's. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his face frozen in fear, then pushed through his front door, sheltering himself from the unknown thing in the darkness. Evie. The leader of the Specters.

CHAPTER 25