“Lightning never is. If it weren’t still raining, I’d film the Lady.” Antigone moved forward. “She looks amazing.”
Cyrus wiped the rain off his nose. Antigone shifted into a jog. “Hurry up. I want to look in his truck.”
Cyrus followed his sister, scanning the parking lot as he went. Lightning flickered silently behind distant clouds, and he felt his body tense. Everything had been moving so quickly, too quickly to understand. Mrs. Eldridge wasn’t just a half-cracked guest; she was all the way cracked. William Skelton had known his parents.
And he’d had a beetle that could call down lightning.
Antigone reached the truck.
“I wouldn’t open that!” Cyrus yelled.
She pulled open the door. “Why not?”
Cyrus caught up to his sister and stared into the cab. The seat was covered with old sheepskin, now worn down to flat wool. The passenger’s side was crowded with grease-dotted paper bags, ripped and folded atlases, paper cups, and a large metallic box that was probably a cooler. In the center of the driver’s seat, there was a small square of thick, rippled glass. Embedded inside, on its back with six legs folded in against its belly, there lay a single beetle.
“That’s a fat beetle,” Antigone said. “Is that what he meant? That’s your tip?” She reached for it.
“Don’t touch it!” Cyrus knocked away her arm.
Antigone faced him, raised her eyebrows, then reached up to flick her brother’s ear.
“Seriously, Tigs,” Cyrus said. “Don’t.” Antigone flicked, and Cyrus yelped, grabbing her wrist. “You don’t know what happened. Just listen for a second and don’t ask any questions. I have to get my head straight.”
Antigone pulled back her arm. “Your head?”
“My ears are still ringing, and I’m not sure how to say … nothing seems true right now. You’re not going to believe me.”
“Mr. Mouth can’t find his words,” Antigone said. “Should I take a picture?”
“Promise you’ll believe me,” Cyrus said.
“Maybe I will,” said Antigone. “There’s a first for everything.”
“Oh, shut up. You saw the lightning, right?”
“I did. Did you skip school today? And why were you late? I made Dan wait for half an hour.”
“Come on!” Cyrus slapped both hands onto his head, dragging them down his face. “Why now? I’m trying to tell you something.”
“No,” Antigone said. She pushed her short, wet hair straight back and then crossed her arms. “You’re trying to get me to believe something. That’s different. You want me to believe you? Hit me with the truth about school. And Mom. You never miss a Mom day.”
“Fine,” Cyrus said. “I skipped out of school today. Why wouldn’t I? And then I lost my watch in a stream and got back late. You should have waited for me anyway. Now will you please listen?”
Antigone refolded her shirt over her camera. “Why would anyone skip the last day of school? That’s what Dan wanted to know, and I think it’s a good question. All we did was mess around in class and clean out our lockers.”
“Exactly,” said Cyrus. “I glued my locker shut three months ago, and I actually skipped out early this entire week. Mrs. Testy Teal called to talk to Dan about it a couple days ago, but she got me instead. Is that enough truth for you?”
Antigone blew rainwater off her lips. Cyrus knew how this went. A lecture was coming. He watched his older, smaller sister try to look angry. They only ever fought, really fought, when she tried to be his mother, which she seemed to think meant never believing a word he said and hugging him in public.
A pair of headlights approached, slowed, and looped out around the station wagon.
“Cyrus Lawrence Smith,” Antigone began. Cyrus braced himself, but his sister’s eyes had changed. Her wide smile took over. “I can’t believe you glued your locker shut. Will they ever be able to get it open? They’ll probably have to buy a new one. What kind of glue?”
“Not important,” Cyrus said. It was hard not to smile, too. “I didn’t use a lot. It’ll pop open. Now listen to me, Tigs.” He pointed at the glass on the seat. “That’s a lightning bug. I swear it is. Not like a firefly. If you break the glass, it wakes up and then the lightning comes.”
Antigone’s hair fell forward. She brushed it back and scrunched her face. “You were right,” she said. “I don’t believe you. You’re worrying me, Rus. Did you get struck? Seriously. And if you hadn’t skipped school—”
“Seriously yourself,” Cyrus said. “Don’t start in on school again. And don’t call me Rus.” He watched his sister’s face. “You have to believe me.”
“No,” Antigone said. “I don’t. I don’t even believe that
“Fine,” Cyrus said. Leaning into the truck, he poked at the glass. No current. At least at first touch. Folding up a rag on the dashboard, he used it like a pot holder to pick up the glass. “Watch.”
“Not yours, Cy. Put the poor dead thing back.”
“It
Antigone raised her eyebrows. “Like a cursed pharaoh?”
“Ha,” Cyrus said. “Keep talking.”
“Cy! Tigs!” Dan’s yell came from the courtyard. “What are you doing? C’mon! The Baron should be out of the road!”
William Skelton stepped beside him. Cyrus whipped the rag behind his back.
“Careful there,” the old man said. “Don’t waste another perfectly good bug. It took your father weeks to catch it.” He walked out into the parking lot and then down along the front of the motel, stopping at Cyrus’s battered white door.
“When you’ve finished, bring that key ring back to one-eleven.”
“No!” Cyrus yelled. “Dan! What? You gave him my room?”
Skelton opened the door. Saluting Cyrus with two fingers, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.
three. THE LITTLE LAWYER
“I’M NOT GIVING the keys back,” Cyrus said. “Not unless he gets out of my room.” He was trying to pace, but there wasn’t enough open floor. Instead, tossing the key ring from hand to hand, he turned in place between Antigone’s two twin beds. The keys had a strange feel to them — almost a current, though vastly more subtle than the lightning bug. His skin cooled and itched wherever they touched.
Cyrus stuck his finger through the key ring and spun the bundle around his knuckle. His head felt extremely clear.
He was wearing his filthy shirt again, but inside out, with the grime against his skin. The glass-mummy lightning bug was propped up on the bedside table behind him, leaning against a lamp.
“Not a great idea,” Antigone said. She lifted a black projector off a shelf and set it on a wobbly TV tray. “Someone like that, you don’t steal their keys. You don’t steal anything.”
“Did Dan tell you more about him?”
Antigone shook her head. “Just what you heard. He thinks he remembers the guy at Christmas once, but he’s not sure. And he thinks Dad chased him off when we were little.”
“I should look through his camper.”
“Worse idea.” Antigone glanced up from her work. “Go give the man his keys and get some clean clothes. You’re not staying in here until you’ve showered and changed.”
“Whatever,” Cyrus said. The key ring felt strangely light in his hands, and he couldn’t stop himself from fiddling with it. There were only two keys hanging from their own smaller rings — the long gold one with a square head that he’d used to start the truck, and a shorter, round-headed silver key with a green tarnished head and a
