The Stolen Child(45)

playing piano, but I loathed performing. That first year back. Tess showed up with Brian or a girl-friend

a couple of times. Seeing her there reminded me of the dreams I had deferred.

"You were a mystery man," Tess told me one night between sets. "Or mystery boy, I should say,

back in grade school. As if you were somewhere totally different from the rest of us."

I shrugged my shoulders and played the first measures from "Strangers in the Night." She laughed

and rolled her eyes. "Seriously, though, Henry, you were a stranger. Aloof. Above it all."

"Is that right? I certainly should have been nicer to you."

"Oh, go on." She was tipsy and grinning. "You were always in another world."

Her boyfriend beckoned, and she was gone. I missed her. She was about the only good thing that

happened as the result of my forced homecoming, my reluctant return to the piano. Late that night, I

went home thinking about her, wondering how serious her relationship was and how to steal her away

from the guy with the deja vu face.

Tending bar and playing piano kept me out late at night. My mother and sisters were long asleep,

and I ate a cold dinner alone at three in the morning. That night, something stirred in the yard outside the

kitchen window. A flash through the glass, visible for an instant, that looked sort of like a head of hair. I

took my plate into the living room and turned on the television to The Third Man on the late, late movie.

After the scene where Holly Martins first spies Harry Lime in the doorway, I fell asleep in my father's

chair, only to wake up in the depths before dawn, sweating and cold, petrified that I was back in the

forest again amid those devils.

• C H A P T E R 1 4 •

Looking far ahead on the path, I spied her returning to camp, which set my mind at ease. She

appeared between the trees, moving like a deer along the ridgeline. The incident at the library had left

me eager to apologize, so I took a shortcut through the forest that would allow me to cut her off along

her route. My mind buzzed with the story of the man in the yard. I hoped to tell her before the important

parts vanished in the confusion. Speck would be mad, rightfully so, but her compassion would mollify

any anger. As I drew near, she must have spotted me, for she took off in a sprint. Had I not hesitated

before giving chase, perhaps I would have caught her, but the rough terrain defeated speed. In my haste,

I snagged my toe on a fallen branch and landed facedown in the dirt. Spitting leaves and twigs, I looked

up to see Speck had already made it into camp and was talking with Béka.

"She doesn't want to speak with you," the old toad said upon my arrival, and clamped his hand on

my shoulder. A few of the elders—Igel, Ragno, Zanzara, and Blomma—had sidled next to him, forming

a wall.

"But I need to talk to her."

Luchóg and Kivi joined the others. Smaolach walked toward the group from my right, his hands

clenched and shaking. Onions approached from my left, a menacing toothsome smile on her face. Nine

of them encircled me. Igel stepped inside the ring and jabbed a finger at my chest.

"You have violated our trust."

"What are you talking about?"

"She followed you, Aniday. She saw you with the man. You were to avoid any contact with them,

yet there you were, trying to communicate with one of them." Igel pushed me to the ground, kicking up a

cloud of rotten leaves. Humiliated, I quickly sprang back to my feet. My fear grew as the oth-ers

hollered invectives.

"Do you know how dangerous that was?"

"Teach him a lesson."

"Do you understand we cannot be discovered?"

"So he won't forget again."

"They could come and capture us, and then we will never be free."

"Punish him."

Igel did not strike the first blow. From behind, a fist or a club smashed into my kidneys, and I

arched my back. With my body thus exposed, Igel punched me squarely in the solar plexus, and I

hunched forward. A line of drool spilled from my open mouth. They were all upon me at once like a

pack of wild dogs bringing down wounded prey. The blows came from all directions, and initial shock

gave way to pain. They scraped my face with their nails, ripped hunks of hair from my scalp, sank their

teeth into my shoulder, drawing blood. A ropy arm choked my neck, shutting off the flow of air. I

gagged and felt my gorge rise. Amid the fury, their eyes blazed with frenzy, and sheer hatred twisted their

features. One by one, they peeled off, sated, and the pressure lessened, but those who remained kicked

at my ribs, taunting me to get up, snarling and growling at me to fight back. I could not muster the

strength. Before walking away, Béka stomped on my fingers, and Igel delivered a kick with each word