“Would you like to come inside?” Marietta asked, gesturing towards her shop. Her teal rain poncho fanned out like the wing of a peacock.
Lucy stifled a sob. She shook her head again.
Ms Corbin waded across the road with her bicycle. “Feeling in over your head?” she asked gently.
Unable to contain her feelings any longer, Lucy began to cry in earnest.
“Here.” Ms Corbin rolled the bike towards her. “Why don’t you borrow this and get yourself someplace dry?”
Lucy took the handlebars with surprise. “But what about you?”
Marietta tilted her head skywards, letting the rain fall on her face. “Just bring it back tomorrow,” she smiled. “I have other ways of getting where I’m going.” She patted the bike and wandered into her store.
Lucy stood at the side of the road, unsure what to do about the multifaceted mess her life had become. So much for the Truth. Crestfallen, she hopped on Marietta’s bike and started riding, headed anywhere but home.
Crodbarres
Milo pedalled through the rain, alone once again. The situation was clearly worse than he’d imagined. A single shapeshifter in Black Hole Lake was one thing, but, according to Lucy’s notes, half a dozen of the town’s residents were part of some kind of invading supernatural force. How could she have lied to him again, after everything they’d experienced together? Enough was enough. It was time to tell his father what he knew.
Mr Fisher had been right, after all. About Lucy. About Sticky Pines. Who knows? Maybe he was right about boarding school in Kansas not being awful, too, which Milo was going to volunteer for as soon as he got home. But, first things first, he had to say goodbye to Thingus. It wasn’t the poor creature’s fault that he was a member of a potentially dangerous inhuman race. Milo didn’t want to think about how much he was going to miss him.
Black Hole Lake was especially steamy this stormy November day. Fortunately, Milo was warm and dry inside his monsoon-grade rain gear. He hid his bike behind the usual bushes, pulled his kayak out from under the decrepit dock and hopped in.
The wind picked up as Milo paddled towards the Siren’s Lair, rain hammering the lake’s surface like fistfuls of gravel. It was late afternoon, but the sky was so darkened by heavy clouds it seemed night had fallen early.
“PHEW-EEEE-OOO,” Milo whistled. He hoped Thingus could hear him over the din. He slapped his oar on the surface. Come on, buddy. One last time, please.
Miraculously, Milo heard a bubbly response below: “PHBEEWWW-BEEEEEEE-BWOOOO.” A moment later, a pair of small leathery hands emerged from the lake and clung to the front of the boat. Thingus, in the form of a river otter, climbed aboard, his cat-like teeth showing through a wide grin.
“Hey, pal,” said Milo. “I like your new shape.”
Thingus scampered down the length of the kayak and leapt into Milo’s arms.
Milo hugged the otter close. “It’s good to see you, too.” The furry being wrapped itself round Milo’s neck and chittered in his ear. “Come on, let’s get out of the rain.”
Thingus scurried to the tip of the kayak and stood on his hind legs like a sailor searching for land.
When they reached the island, Milo pulled the boat on to the shore and followed Thingus under the shelter of some trees just off the shallow beach. The rain pattered the evergreen branches and everything smelled like mud. Milo pulled back his yellow rain hood. Oof. This is going to be hard.
“Thingus,” he began. Goodbye, my friend. I have to go away, now. C’mon, just say it. “I, um…”
The otter spun round in a circle, then stood up and clapped his webbed hands. He held them out like a duck-fingered orphan, hope radiating from his soft brown eyes.
“I’m sorry, pal. I don’t have any candy.”
Not one to take “no” for an answer, Thingus quivered, slimed and grew until he was as tall as Milo’s waist. He scampered in a circle, showing off his new size, as if to say, “Look, I did a trick! Now give me some candy.”
“You’re amazing, you know that?” said Milo, his voice catching in his throat.
The otter took a two-footed step forward, but tripped on his thick tail. Milo caught him before he landed in the mud.
“Nice try,” Milo chuckled, “but your legs are too short.” He set the creature back on his feet.
Thingus gazed up at him and held out his hands again.
Milo looked away. “I have to tell you something,” he said, his tone serious. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go away. Probably forever.”
Thingus’s smile faltered. He seemed confused. Milo felt a blow to his heart.
“I just… I can’t live here any more.” Milo punched a tree trunk, skinning his knuckles. “This whole town is crazy. Sticky Pines makes people crazy. There’s no one I can trust. No one I can talk to. I have to leave. Now.” He turned to go back to the shore, but Thingus wrapped his arms round Milo’s leg.
Milo scratched the furry creature between the ears. “I’m sorry, little guy. It’s not your fault. It’s everyone else. It’s Lucy. And my f-father.” He slumped to the ground and buried his face between his knees, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
A breeze ruffled the hair on the back of his neck, and Milo felt a hand on his shoulder. Huh? He raised his head and found himself staring into a pair of blue eyes very like his own. What the– Who?
Smiling down at him sympathetically, stooping under the low branches, was a boy about his age. Though the humanoid child’s lips and brown skin tone mirrored Lucy’s, the rest of his facial features resembled Milo’s. His hair, though, was unique: thick, shaggy indigo curls falling down to his jawline. The kid appeared to be wearing yellow rain gear like Milo’s, but his “clothes” had no fasteners, wrinkles or any other myriad details of Milo’s own attire. The
