Curse of the Spider King (19 page)

Kat woke up on her bed, Anna holding a cool cloth to her head and looking very concerned. “I am glad to see you awake so soon, senorita. You were out just a few minutes. It es shock, that's all.”

“Anna,” Kat whispered. “Who are you?”

Anna studied Kat's face. “Kat, do you really want to know what es going on?”

“With all my heart. I'm so confused. Mr. Wallace said . . . and now you . . . and this crazy thing happened with a book he gave me . . . and I'm hearing things!”

“Easy, child.” Anna placed a hand on Kat's arm and insisted she lie back down. “There es much to explain, but one thing es sure: you are not safe here anymore. The good news is that we have found you; but the bad news es that they have found you, too.”

“Who's they?”

“Do you remember reading about a ruthless group of warriors, the Spider King's assassins, known as Drefids?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Are you curious about how the book comes to life when you touch the text?”

Kat froze. Things had gone way out of control. There was no way Anna could have known. No one else in the study hall had seen anything. No one but Kat.

“Oh, Anna, you've got to be kidding me!” But Anna just sat there on the edge of her bed. Kat started scooting up toward the headboard as if trying to get away from a spider crawling toward her on the comforter. “That's—that's not possible!”

“Those men are no men at all. They are Drefids, sent here to earth to find you.”

“Earth. You mean, like, they're from another planet?”

“Another
reality
, you might say.”

“Aliens?”

Anna laughed. “Not quite.” Anna tilted her head to one side, revealing a slightly larger-than-normal ear. Nothing seemed to be amiss. Until Anna grabbed ahold of a piece of fake skin and ripped it away.

Kat gasped. Things were getting weirder by the second. “You're—you're—”

“An Elf. Mr. Wallace es, too. But we're part of a special team of Sentinels, sent here to bring you back.”

Kat's mouth hung wide open. “You're . . . an Elf.”

“Please, Kat, focus. I know this is a bit much. But you are just going to have to trust me.”

“You're an Elf who speaks with a Mexican accent?”

“I could have picked any nationality, now couldn't I, lass?” she replied in a flawless British English. “That's rather pointless, you do understand. But when Mr. Wallace contacted me that he had found you, I needed a way into your family. This was no simple thing, and for a time, we were at a loss. But I believe Ellos—er, God—opened the door. Your parents fired your housekeeper, so with my flawless Spanish and English, and my sterling résumé, I stepped in. You Simonsons are far too high profile of a family to approach at school. Mr. Wallace risked everything just to give you the book.”

“I don't get—what do you mean, ‘found me'? Why were you looking for me?”

“Well, Kat, it began long before your power manifested—”

“My power?”

“How else do you think you could read people's thoughts?” Anna's voice now reflected a typical American dialect. “You've reached the Age of Reckoning, the age when your true nature reveals itself.”

“What do you mean, my true nature?”

“Why . . . don't you see? Have you never suspected?” She paused. Kat held her breath. “You are an Elf, too, my dear.”

Kat was breathing heavy. Anna doubted whether this was indeed the right time to give so much information. But when was a better time? Things were escalating far too quickly. They had to act. Fast.

“So, what you're telling me is that I'm an Elf . . . from another world . . . with the ability to read minds, and you've been sent to bring me back to that world, while those things are out there stalking me, trying to keep me from going back?”

“Correction,” she replied. “They are trying to kill you.”

“Oh,” she replied blankly. “So that's your story?”

“Yes,” replied Anna nodding, realizing she was losing Kat. “It's the truth.”

“Look, Anna,” Kat began. She searched the room for her purse and then remembered her cell phone was back in the SUV wreckage. She glanced at the landline phone on the bedside table, six feet away. She began to scoot slowly across the bed. “The ears are impressive, and I have no idea how you could know the things you know, but you . . . you and Mr. Wallace could be the kidnappers.” Kat put her hand on the phone. “Just let me call my mom. If you're on my side, you'll let me call.”

Anna hesitated. Her eyes darted. “Kat, if we were kidnappers, why would I risk bringing you back here?”

Kat started to dial.

“If the Drefids who chased us were actually good guys—police even—then why would they try to ram us? Why wouldn't they use sirens? Why wouldn't they have stormed the house?”

Kat stopped dialing at the last digit. She had wondered the same things about their pursuers . . . police wouldn't drive so recklessly, especially without a siren. “Anna, I want to trust you, but . . . but . . . I just can't. This is all too crazy. Just let me call my mom.”

“Oh, Kat, I am so sorry to put you through all of this. And your parents, too. They are victims here—and you doubly so. Believe me when I tell you, I would not wish this on anyone. But, like it or not, we are all in the middle of it. If you make that call, you will just bring more innocent people into danger. I can think of only one thing that might convince you that I am for real.”

Kat put down the phone. “You want me to try to read your mind.”

“There is no other way.”

“But I don't know how . . . before it just kind of happened. Do you know how to do it?”

“I don't know either, Kat. You've just recently reached the Age of Reckoning. Your gift is untrained and very unpredictable. Maybe just close your eyes, focus on me, and try.”

Kat glanced once more at the phone, but then closed her eyes. At first she saw nothing but darkness and weird, random patterns. She heard nothing except the birds outside and the hum of the air conditioner. But then she began to feel dizzy. Visions and voices streamed into her mind. She saw a castle-city burning. There was a great battle . . . the same she remembered from the book. She saw the Elven children stolen, saw the grief-stricken Elves traveling a long, shadowy tunnel. Kat saw a gathering of Elves, Anna with them, in a candlelit chamber. She heard their plans to get the children back. She heard the desperate hope in their voices. And then it was gone.

“I did it, Anna! I read your thoughts . . . and this time, I could see them, too!”

“Good, Kat. Your gift is gaining strength. Do you believe me now?”

“I . . . I guess I have to,” Kat replied, squinting and shaking her head. “But why . . . why are we so important that you want us back and the Spider King wants us dead?”

Anna's lips trembled slightly, and Kat could see tears welling up. “Kat, you and the other lords are our only hope for survival. The

Spider King's power has grown immense. There is some power waxing in Vesper Crag where he dwells—some power we do not understand. But it has enabled him to build a matchless army. He has gained the allegiance of the Drefids and has somehow brought Wisps back from oblivion. The Elves that remain in hiding are too few to oppose such wicked strength. And even the Sentinels and Dreadnaughts have no such power to stop the Spider King. But we cling to hope in you.”

“We're just kids,” said Kat.

“Nay! You are descendants of a royal bloodline, unblemished and unbroken for thousands and thousands of years. You and the others have powers beyond reckoning—especially if you use them together, those powers will magnify, and we will rally around you. And . . . and there's something else.”

“What?”

“I'm sorry, Kat, but I cannot speak openly about this until I consult with Eldera, the leader of our team. But I can tell you that long ago, at the founding of Berinfell, prophecies were uttered . . . prophecies concerning you. Without you and the other lords, the Elven race will perish from Allyra. Will you come? Will you come . . . back home?”

Kat put her head in her hands. “Leave? Leave my family? Leave Earth? I just don't—I mean, maybe my parents could come.”

“Kat, I'm sorry, but I don't want to put them in harm's way. In fact, the longer we dwell here, the more danger they are in. The Drefid who chased us will gather others, and they will descend upon your house in force.”

“But if my parents think I'm in danger, they'll have an army of police to guard the house!”

“It will not be enough, Kat. And more innocent lives will be lost. The people of this world will not know what they are facing. You've got to decide now. Sooner or later, someone will notice the crashed SUV and call the police. We must be gone before the police or the Drefids come back. We must leave right now.”

“Leave? For this other world?”

“No. For Edinburgh, Scotland.”

Kat looked at her in disbelief. “You're kidding, right?”

“No, I'm quite serious. Mr. Wallace will be joining us soon. But we have got to leave . . . for your parents' sake.”

“Would the Drefids really try and kill my parents?”

“If they think they need to in order to get to you . . . yes—but if we escape now . . .”

This changed everything. There was no mistaking those men's . . . those
Drefids'
. . . intentions. And bringing her parents into this was the last thing she wanted. And having read Anna's mind, as far-fetched as it was, it had to be true. Then she had no choice but to go . . . as far away as possible.

“What about when the authorities start looking for me? I'm not exactly hard to miss, you know,” Kat said, gesturing to her blue skin.

“Leave that to me.”

“And my parents? I can't just leave.” Kat thought about how guilty she already felt by not reaching out to her mother more.

“I've left them a note.”

“A note? Somehow I don't think a note is going to help.”

“It will be much more convincing than you could ever imagine. This note, written with the same craft applied to your book, will not convince them of your safety. They might still call out the National Guard to search for you. But it will at least give them some sense that something otherworldly is going on. Regardless, we must leave right now. Mr. Wallace will have your passport. He is waiting for us at the airport now.”

“What, you have some sort of ESP communication technique?”

“No, Kat. We have e-mail.”

19

Off Target

IT HAD been more than a week since the meeting with Mrs. Galdarro and, other than a few whispered admonitions to keep reading the book, the librarian hadn't made any contact with Tommy. And when Tommy went to the library at lunch, he found Mrs. Galdarro surrounded by other students and far too busy to talk to about the strange things he'd been reading in the Elf book. But this day, Tommy wasn't worried about trying to catch a moment with Mrs. Galdarro—he had other things on his mind. No matter how hard he willed the second hand on Mrs. Collen's clock to stop, it ticked relentlessly on toward the twelve and the end of math class. Gym was next, and Tommy's hands were already cold and clammy.

The bell rang. Brock Eastman stood up from his desk by the window and whooped. “Fear the seventh grade, Mrs. Collen! We're going to take down the teachers on Falcon Day.” The rest of the class, minus Tommy, hooted and cheered.

Mrs. Collen didn't stand up. She lowered her glasses and grinned. “I'd say the odds of the students defeating the teachers this year are about one in a trillion.” The class
ooooohhh
ed. “To put it less mathematically,” she continued. “The chances of students outshooting teachers in the archery meet are slim to none . . . and slim just left town.”

“Boo-yah!” shouted Caleb Scrandis, wagging a finger in Brock's face. “She toasted you, Brock!”

“Actually,” said Aaron Worthington, “if you consider the fact that the seventh graders have never defeated the teachers, in combination with a few other select variables, then I calculate the odds to be—”

“Quit, Aaron!” Brock complained, his face reddening. “Yeah, well . . . say what you want. It won't seem so funny after all my bull's-eyes tomorrow. Besides, Haley Shoop's our ringer.”

“Well, Brock,” said Mrs. Collen with playful glee, “if you want to have any chance of defeating the teachers—a feat that has not occurred in the history of Thurgood Marshall Middle School—I suggest you hurry on to gym. Mr. Phitzsinger won't take kindly to anyone being late.”

Chairs and desks scraped on the floor, and twenty-eight seventh graders hurried like blood cells into the steady stream of students already coursing in the hallway.

I feel like some kind of leprechaun
, Tommy thought as he stood second to last in a line of five seventh graders all dressed in Thurgood's standard gym uniforms: green shorts, green T-shirt—both with yellow trim. They waited behind a tall, orange construction cone that had had its top snipped off so that it could hold three fiberglass arrows. Tommy's line was one of a dozen such lines spread evenly in front of the gym's bleachers. Across the glistening gym floor were twelve thick archery targets and a floor-to-ceiling shroud of white netting.