figure formed, then stepped into the light. A robe of dull yellow covered every inch of her body, the hood pulled up and over her head, almost hiding the face.
Except there was no face. At least, not a human face. The figure wore a red mask of metal, its features pulled into a smile that somehow looked more frightening than a scowl of anger.
“Mistress Jane,” Tick whispered, his senses having turned numb. He knew it was her before she nodded ever so slightly to confirm what he’d said. So he hadn’t killed her after all.
But that mask. And her voice. What had he done to her?
He waited for her to speak, to explain why she’d come. But she only stood there, completely still, her hands hidden within the folds of her robe. The red mask was impossibly shiny, almost as if it were molten metal. Liquid. Wet.
One of the eyebrows twitched, moving half an inch up then back down again. As he stared, the smile on the mask slowly melted into a frown, into a grimace. The eyebrows slanted with unspoken rage.
How did she do that? Tick could feel blood rushing in his temples, in his neck. What was she going to do to him?
Still, she said nothing. She didn’t move.
Tick couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Jane… Mistress Jane
…” He was stuttering, searching for words. If his hands hadn’t been firmly holding onto the stair beneath him, they’d have been trembling uncontrollably. “I promise I didn’t mean to do whatever I did to you. I lost control-I don’t even know what I lost control of. My mind wasn’t working right. I don’t know what happened.”
He paused, hoping for a change on that mask. If anything, it looked angrier.
“I’m sorry,” he continued. “I could tell by the way you
… screamed, that, um…” He looked down at the floor. “I know I hurt you. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
When he lifted his eyes again, he almost cried out. She was three steps closer to him, the mask as scary as ever, the rage evident on the sparkling, deep red surface.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, barely getting it out.
“Stop talking,” Jane said, her raspy voice muffled but strong, creating a dry whisper of an echo in the room. “Don’t say another word until I give you permission. Do you understand?”
“Ye-” Tick stopped himself. He nodded.
Mistress Jane stood still, her robe unruffled. She reminded Tick of a statue. A very angry statue with a red face. “I don’t want to hear your apologies. Your excuses. Don’t insult my pain by refusing to take responsibility for your actions. You know the nature of Chi’karda. You know the nature of your heart. You did this to me by your own choice. It couldn’t have happened against your will. Your conscious… current… evident will.” She spat out the last few syllables.
Tick felt awful. It wasn’t so much the words she’d used. He felt the meaning of them more in the tone of her voice. Worse, he felt the truth of it. Shame and guilt blossomed like diseased flowers in his lungs, making it hard to breathe.
“I-” he began.
“I DIDN’T ASK YOU TO SPEAK!” she screamed, her body shaking beneath the robe, the first movement Tick had seen in several minutes. Terror pinched Tick’s nerves.
Then, as if it came from another world, one in which he used to live but could barely remember, he heard footsteps upstairs. Urgent footsteps. The basement door opened above them.
No! he thought, even as he turned to look up the stairs, ready to tell his parents to run.
But when he saw who stood in the doorway, confusion and surprise almost burned away his fear. He blinked, forcing himself to swallow.
It was Sofia.
Chapter 8
Shocked to see her, Tick stood up and fully turned around, facing the stairs, his eyes riveted on one of his best friends. He could almost forget he had the most dangerous woman in the Realities standing behind him.
“Sofia?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“Is she down there?” she responded in a whisper, gesturing with a nod.
Tick was completely baffled. “How do you…” He didn’t know how to finish or what to ask first. What was going on?
“Is she down there?” Sofia repeated, her emphasis leaving no doubt who she meant.
Tick jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. “Yes!” he snapped in a loud rasp. “She’s standing right behind me!”
“Bring them down,” Mistress Jane said. “They’re late.”
Tick wilted, hoping against hope that maybe the woman would have gone away when she realized they had company. How had she gotten to Tick’s house in the first place? Only inanimate objects should be winkable to his house and its relatively low amounts of Chi’karda. And what happened to that pulsing thing? He felt completely unsettled, like the old dream where he walked into class at school dressed in nothing but his underwear.
At the top of the stairs, Sofia leaned back out the door and seemed to be talking to someone. Then she popped back in and started down the steps, each footstep a thump. To Tick’s complete surprise, others followed her.
Master George, dressed in his fine, dark suit, red-faced and dry-skinned as usual, as if he’d been standing in a windy desert for hours. Behind him came Paul, an inexplicable grin on his face. Next was Tick’s dad, then Tick’s mom, both of them looking bleary-eyed and disheveled as if they’d just been awakened.
Tick could only stare, his mind trying to convince himself he must be dreaming. When Sofia reached the bottom step, he absently moved aside and let her pass, then Master George and Paul, both of whom patted him on the shoulder as they walked by. No one said a word, and it was impossible to read anything from the look in their eyes. There was fear there, but only a little.
His dad stopped beside him, then his mom. They both put their arms around him as Tick turned toward the middle of the basement. Everyone stood in a semicircle, facing Mistress Jane in her yellow robe and red mask, which was now empty of expression, neither angry nor happy. For what seemed like the hundredth time, Tick felt relief that his sisters had gone to Seattle for the weekend.
The whole situation was just too bizarre, and he finally found his voice.
“What’s going on here?” he asked to no one in particular. He felt like he was on one of those hidden-camera TV shows where they play pranks on people. He half-expected a cameraman to step out of the shadows any second.
“Ask her,” Sofia said almost viciously as she pointed at Jane.
“Yes, my good friend,” Master George added. “Ask our host.”
Tick looked at Jane, surprised. She’d arranged this?
Jane didn’t move as silence settled in the room, anticipation palpable in the air. Tick stared at the shiny surface of her red mask, trying to understand what was happening. He stood huddled with his parents in his basement, next to his two best friends and the leader of the Realitants, staring at a woman in a robe and mask, who could probably kill them all without breaking a sweat.
Time stretched as they waited for Jane to speak, to give an explanation. Tick wanted to scream, wanted to “I sent my waterkelts as a little opening exercise to our meeting,” Jane finally said, her voice scratchy but calm and cool. “Though I’m very disappointed they didn’t kill at least one of your parents, Atticus.”
Tick said nothing, fighting the urge to run at her.
“Anyway,” Jane said, “you’re probably wondering why I’ve brought you all here.”
No one replied, but Tick’s thoughts ran wild. She’d brought them all to his basement?
The face of Jane’s mask remained expressionless. “I knew Atticus would have the hardest time getting permission to leave due to his.. unusual gift. That’s why we’re here. That’s why I sent you the note this morning,
