The Curse of Eelgrass Bog, page 15
“Thing is . . .” I falter. “I . . . I like you. You’re my best friend, but you’re also . . . you’re also . . .”
I grit my teeth. This was all so much easier in my head.
“Also?” Lilou whispers.
Words fall out like spilled marbles. “You can’t come to the Drowned World because you’re everything to me and I would rather drink a pail of liquefied toe fungus every day than see you get hurt.”
My face burns. Liquefied toe fungus?
Except Lilou doesn’t laugh. At first she just looks surprised. Then she looks relieved, like she’d been waiting for me to laugh at her. “Good,” she says finally, “because . . . um, you’re kind of everything to me too.”
My heart pounds. “Really?”
She nods. “Y’know how . . . how there are people you like, and then people you like-like?”
I think again of Jules and Holloway holding hands. Of holding Lilou’s hand. Of how her dads always found a way to gently brush each other as they moved through their kitchen, and of the special smiles Mam and Da shared in their photographs. It turns my whole body into melted ice cream.
“Yeah,” I say. “I—I think I get what you mean.”
“Do you actually?” Lilou’s eyes are wide and shining with starlight. “It’s just, I remember in fifth grade when I asked Marcia Ratton to a school dance, she said we couldn’t like-like other girls, only boys, and I guess I’m always scared that . . .” She shakes her head in frustration. “I never know how to talk about this stuff.”
She isn’t the only one. I don’t even know how to think about this stuff. I’ve spent so much time worrying about the Unnatural History Museum, I’ve never let myself wonder about the future, or growing up, or crushes or dances or girls or boys.
“Well”—I clear my throat—“for what it’s worth, I would’ve gone with you to the dance.”
Lilou brightens right up. “There’s another one at the end of sixth grade. Maybe you could come as my . . . well, as my date?”
“Date?” I choke out.
“Yeah. If you want.” She tries to say it casually, but I can tell she’s using all her courage right now.
“C-course,” I stammer. “That would be really, really good.”
Wind shivers across the water. Our thumbs brush together. My breath is almost stopped, but inside, my heart is exploding into happy fireworks.
Even if the Drowned World changes everything, trying to break the curse will be worth the risk so I won’t ever forget moments like this. The future suddenly feels enormous.
I just have to find a way to get there.
I point toward Holloway’s house. “How can we unblock the tunnel?”
Lilou considers. Her hand is still touching mine. “Depends. If I stayed behind, I suppose I could figure out a distraction.”
“Perfect,” I say, relieved.
“But you shouldn’t go alone. Maybe you could take Oliver with you. Or your demon-in-a-jar.”
Just thinking about them and their secrets makes my temples throb. I wrinkle my nose and say, “Or not.”
Lilou quirks an eyebrow. “Isn’t your demon from the Drowned World?”
I’m about to point out how he’s also a rotten-skulled liar when I remember something he said earlier: I saw her hide the curse and made my bargain.
Shrunken Jim knows what the curse looks like. More than that, he knows where it was hidden.
“All right,” I say reluctantly. “Jim can come.”
Lilou nods. “Good. You better survive in one piece, Kess Pedrock. Otherwise you’re in big trouble.”
“I promise. At least one piece.”
She swats at me and I dodge, laughing.
“So what’s your distraction plan?” I ask.
Lilou flashes her special silvery smile. “Leave it to me.”
23
My teacup is shaped like an upside-down mushroom. There are even black frills around the edge, tickling my lip whenever I pretend to sip. Pretend because I’m not certain the purplish liquid inside is actually tea. It smells of raindrops and blueberries and old wood, which isn’t exactly unpleasant—but I’m pretty sure even blueberry tea isn’t supposed to sparkle.
The mood inside the house is very, very awkward. Oliver is sulking by a bookshelf, pretending to read the volumes perched there so he doesn’t have to acknowledge us. Holloway’s spine is knife straight as she sits on the sofa, knuckles tight around the handle of her teacup. I reckon they were both arguing while we were gone. Shrunken Jim watches from the rafters with creased eyebrow-stitches. Lilou is on a stool closest to the fireplace, still wrapped in the bright pink blanket. It was her idea to make tea. She helped Holloway fetch the cups and gather leaves from all the proper jars—For Serenity and For Calm, mostly—but same as me, she hasn’t taken a single sip.
“This is nice,” Holloway says.
From the bookshelf, Oliver scoffs.
“We don’t have to fight.” She tries to smile, though it comes out tense and anxious. “We can enjoy each other’s company, just like old times, then carry on with our lives—”
“We can’t,” I say quietly. “You have to let us try to break the curse.”
Holloway’s smile strains. “I thought I explained why that was impossible.”
“Maybe it isn’t. Maybe we’ll come back fine,” I argue. “Maybe it’ll break easily, and the creatures will stay asleep—”
“I said no,” Holloway snarls. Then she exhales through her sharp teeth and takes a long gulp of tea. Calmer, she says, “We all make mistakes. You shouldn’t have ignored me and snuck into the tunnels seventy years ago. I shouldn’t have interfered with your memories. But you were my only friends, and I was . . . I am looking out for you. I kept you from making a very dangerous decision, and I won’t let you make it again now.”
“How noble,” Oliver mutters.
“But things are different now. I don’t want to become a witch; I don’t want magic,” I point out, folding my arms. “Breaking a curse isn’t the same as trying to raise the dead.”
Holloway glares. “It doesn’t matter what you are trying to do. I never tried to wipe away all your memories. I never wanted to live forever. But the Drowned World doesn’t care, and it will ruin you just the same!”
There’s so much hurt behind Holloway’s words. I imagine how it must feel to live hundreds of years alone. Perhaps that’s why she cared about saving us so much—because it was too late to save herself from the Drowned World’s magic. Still, I’m convinced that I have something Holloway didn’t.
Reasons to come back.
I try a different approach. “Thing is,” I begin, “the Unnatural History Museum is running down. It won’t last another seventy years without visitors. If we forget how much time is passing, we won’t be able to fix it.”
“That’s why my work is important,” Oliver says tersely.
I shoot him a glare. “I told you, I could’ve helped—”
“Says the kid who kept interrupting my work every five minutes!”
“Kess mentioned wanting new bones to bring visitors back,” Holloway interrupts loudly. “I suppose if you both promised to stop fighting the curse—and to stay away from the Drowned World—I might be able to solve your problem.”
She sets down her empty teacup and drags out a heavy wooden chest, carved with unicorns and castles and wild-petaled flowers with ugly human faces. It’s big enough to fit a person inside. Bigger, even. She flips open a clasp, then unrolls a layer of green velvet to reveal something golden underneath.
At first I think it’s a sculpture. I’ve seen oddly colored bones before, of course, but never gold. And I’ve never seen a deer skull as large as this.
It’s spectacular. The eye sockets are dark and fathomless like they’re holding entire universes inside. A single branching antler sprouts from the left temple. In the box, carefully laid against the velvet, I can see vertebrae and ribs, femurs and a pelvis, a mandible and scapula. Each is glimmering gold and at least five times the size of regular deer bones. Even Oliver stares in wonder.
“Wow,” I breathe, forgetting to be troubled for a moment. “What is this from?”
“Aurum venatione cervorum,” Holloway says with a note of pride. “The golden stag of Eelgrass Bog. Perhaps the rarest species of megafauna to live in the past ten thousand years, never before cataloged by a human scientist. I found it buried beneath a long-gone riverbed after I first escaped the Drowned World. It inspired the symbol of the Endling Society.”
“It did?” Oliver splutters. “You told us the golden stag was imaginary! Why didn’t you show us then?”
She pauses. “Because I was worried you might take it and run. This is the only complete skeleton in existence.”
Without really thinking, I’ve reached for the skull. The golden bone is cold and mirror smooth. It’s exactly what I wanted—an unnatural artifact from the Endling Society. People would come from beyond Wick’s End to see this. I’d have my very own plaque: Cataloged by Kess Pedrock. We would have enough money to restore the Unnatural History Museum to how it was before, before Mam and Da left, before the exhibits began to decay. Back to when everything was simple and perfect and right.
Except . . . it wouldn’t be the same. Not really. Mam and Da would still be gone. I’d still be full of holes and cobwebs. Slowly, surely, Lilou and I would forget each other. Even if we went to the dance together, my memories would rot away, and we’d never have any future to look forward to.
“Kess?” Oliver watches me warily. I can’t tell what he thinks about the offer; whether he would agree to stop fighting the curse and leave his notes and diaries behind. But it doesn’t matter. For once, I know exactly what I think.
I’m not going to lock my secrets into a box and pretend the past never happened. After all, there are much more precious things than buildings. Whatever happens to the Unnatural History Museum, I still want to be myself—because myself is enough.
Which is why I’m going to break the curse.
My eyes catch Lilou’s. While we’ve been focused on the deer skull, she has quietly snuck over to the fireplace. One of her hands is clenched around a stilt-steering lever. A silent question hovers between us.
I nod.
Then the house lurches sideways, very sharply. The chest slides across the floor and crashes into a bag of soda cans. Flowers tumble from the rafters. Shrunken Jim shrieks as his jar sloshes. Oliver grabs the edge of a table but trips over anyway. Holloway is thrown onto the sofa. My shoulder smacks into the wall.
“Sorry,” Lilou says innocently. “Pulled that lever a bit too hard.”
“Starling,” Holloway hisses. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I tried to give you sleepy tea, but I must’ve miscalculated, because you aren’t very asleep. I’ve never been much good at cooking. Unless it’s snickerdoodles.” Lilou shrugs. “So I’m improvising.”
“Don’t touch—”
But Holloway doesn’t finish her sentence. Lilou yanks another lever, and the house hurtles in a different direction, sending everyone tumbling to the floor. My teacup spills. Shrunken Jim’s jar tips, and automatically, I catch him before he hits the floor.
Thanks, Kess! he gasps.
“Starling, stop this! You’re going to—” Holloway cuts off as the house lurches and a ball of elastic bands narrowly misses her head. “You’re going to break it!”
“It’s a bit like a video game controller,” Lilou muses. “I’ll get the hang of it in a second. Hold tight!”
There’s an earsplitting thunk, then the unmistakable sensation of the house moving. Not just tilting. The stilt-legs groan and start to walk away, which must mean the tunnel entrance below is now uncovered. Holloway tries desperately to reach the fireplace, but she can’t seem to take a step without slipping over. Her movements are clumsy, and I guess Lilou’s sleepy tea worked a little after all—plus the house is sloped at a sharp angle, with Lilou at one end and the rest of us tumbled into the other.
Lilou looks at me, eyes bright with mischief and something else, something fragile. Like she’s scared and trying very hard not to be. “It’s your call, Kess,” she says. “What do you want?”
I know there’s only one way to go from here. We’ve been reaching backward for too long already. It’s time to go forward.
“I’m going to the Drowned World,” I say resolutely. “I’m going to fix this.”
“Kess Pedrock, don’t you dare!” Holloway shouts. “Starling, for worm’s sake!”
Oliver gapes at me, then Lilou, realization dawning. “Wait—”
But I’m done with waiting. I clutch Shrunken Jim’s jar close to my chest and haul myself upright using a toppled cabinet. I’m itching to say something heartfelt to Lilou, in case I end up lost in the Drowned World.
Then Lilou’s hand slips, and the house lurches violently in the other direction. Holloway reaches toward me. She’s stumbling properly now, blinking too fast. I dodge free and crawl to the door and turn the handle. Any brilliant last words I might’ve said are cut off by a yell as I fall out of the house and land—splat—five feet below in the muck.
Dazed, I blink up at the house, twisted into a weird sideways angle above me. Lilou must have gotten control of the levers again, because a heartbeat later, it straightens itself and begins to run crookedly in the direction of Wick’s End. I’m left alone.
And finally, I can see the tunnel entrance to the Drowned World.
24
It’s quiet underground. Not entirely silent, thanks to the dripping roots above my head. But it’s the kind of quiet that makes me feel very small and alone. The tunnel stretches darkly. Even with the greenish glow from Shrunken Jim’s jar, I can’t see more than a few meters ahead. I take a steadying breath, but my pulse races like a rabbit. Oh, vermin, it’s dark down here.
Kess? Shrunken Jim says.
“Yeah?”
I’m sorry I lied to you. About your parents. And . . . well, everything.
I push up my glasses with a shaky finger. “Why’d you tell me those Drowned World stories, if you wanted me to stay away?”
Shrunken Jim pauses for a long time. Because sometimes I wanted to tell you the truth. And sometimes I didn’t. You never stopped being curious, and I—I never completely stopped missing the place I came from.
“Were you ever my friend?” My voice catches. “Or were you just pretending because Holloway told you to?”
Kester Wynn Pedrock, he says firmly, you are the most stupendous acquaintance a shriveled-up demon-in-a-jar could possibly possess. Even without a heart, I care for you very much.
“You were as bad as Oliver.”
We were both doing what we thought was right, but doing it the wrong way. Maybe that’s why we always disliked each other. Shrunken Jim sighs. I swear on all the pickles in the world, I will not lie to you again.
“Even about the nasty stuff?” I say.
Especially about the nasty stuff.
“Jim?”
Yes?
“Is your full name really Jimontheos?”
A laugh escapes from his mouth-stitches. Then I’m laughing too, despite the gloom and the fear in my bones, and I think maybe this is what it feels like to forgive someone.
Indeed, I am Jimontheos. Shrunken Jim laughs again. Demon formidable and extraordinaire. I’m quite impressive outside of my jar, actually, but this form is necessary for living topside in Wick’s End. And let me tell you, I’d consider stuffing myself into an even smaller jar if it meant I got to be your friend for another seventy years.
“Don’t push it,” I say. But I’m smiling too.
We continue deeper into the tunnel, one boot in front of the other. I tell myself that’s all I have to do—nothing heroic or wild, just one boot in front of the other without turning back. But my heart continues to pound. The shadows seem heavy enough to touch.
“Jim?”
Yes, Kess?
“Do you think I’ll be able to break the curse?”
If anyone can visit the Drowned World and escape unscathed, it’s you, Shrunken Jim says carefully. I’ll help wherever I can.
I nod. It’ll have to be enough.
As we go deeper and deeper, the air thickens with that awful rotten-egg peat smell. It tingles up my nostrils and makes my whole body feel as though it’s being bathed in chemicals, the embalming kind Mam and Da used to preserve specimens. I pick up my pace. This time I’m paying closer attention, so I notice when the mud walls start to glimmer with world-serpent scales. It’s hard to believe it was only a couple of days ago that I was here with Lilou, figuring all I’d find on Eelgrass Bog was a handful of bones. I hurry past the scales without stopping to admire them, even as they glint prettily in the jar-light.
One boot in front of the other.
Suddenly the tunnel plunges downward, steep enough that I almost fall forward. My stomach churns. I have to squint to make sure the ground doesn’t drop off into a bottomless chasm.
“They should’ve built handrails,” I mutter shakily.
Agreed. Make sure to tell the world-serpents when you see them, Shrunken Jim says. No handrails! Those monsters!
I roll my eyes and start to navigate the slope. It’s easier said than done. The rotten-egg smell is turning my stomach inside out. Even though I’m not usually bothered by dark spaces, as dirt keeps raining down on my head, I’m uneasy about how deep we’ve traveled. Was this how the accident happened, when Jules Starling tried to follow us into the Drowned World? Was he scared? Were we scared? I try to imagine me and Oliver running together into the dark, hoping to change ourselves into the kind of witches that could conjure the dead. It only makes my head hurt.
