Everfound

Then, just a few minutes after they had gone, Allie was visited by the strangest spirit. A boy that seemed part cat. Clearly this was not one of Mary’s children.

“I thought you were bound by a spell,” he said as he approached, “but now I can see it’s nothing but rope that has crossed into Everlost.”

Allie had seen all sorts of body modifications in Everlost—some intentional, some not—but few were as exquisite as this boy’s. “Who are you?” Allie asked. She waited for an answer, but he gave her none.

“They fear you,” he said. “If they didn’t, they wouldn’t treat you this way.” She knew it was true, but it didn’t change her sense of powerlessness.

“Are there many of you?” Allie asked. “Are you going to attack the train?” If there was a whole army of cat-kids, then this could be a good thing. If they saw Milos and the others as enemies, then they could see Allie as a friend, and might free her.

“I am here as a guest of the Eastern Witch,” the cat-boy said, which, again, did not answer her question.

“There is no Eastern Witch,” Allie told him, taking a little bit of pride in the fact. “She won’t be back, no matter what her children think.”

The cat-kid raised an eyebrow. “Then who is it who sleeps in the last car?”

At first she thought she had misheard him. Then she thought he was making some sort of joke. Then she realized he didn’t have a sense of humor. He was dead serious. But if Mary was in the last car, she wasn’t just sleeping, she was hibernating. She was in transition between life, and—

“No!” Allie didn’t want to believe it. “No! Milos didn’t! He couldn’t have . . . he wouldn’t dare!” But she knew he would dare. Milos was audacious to an extreme—he would have no compunction about killing Mary, then pulling her out of the tu

Allie had thought that the one consolation of being on the front of a moving train was knowing that they were moving away from Mary. . . . Little had she known that Mary was with them all along.

This was the worst of all possible news—because Allie had seen into Mary’s mind, and knew the monster she was. Allie knew what Mary pla

“You have to help me,” Allie said to the cat-kid. “Mary can never be allowed to wake up.”

“And why is that?”

“Because she plans to end the living world. She means to kill everyone and everything.”

CHAPTER 6

Cat on a Cold Tin Roof

Jix found Allie’s accusation against Mary worthy of further investigation. He wasn’t sure he believed that the Eastern Witch would dare to do such a thing as end the living world, or if she even could. Regardless, with so many months until Mary Hightower woke up, there were more immediate things to tend to.

Jix found that he had freedom to move through the train as long as Jill was with him. She was assigned to escort him wherever he went.

“I’m not an escort,” Jill grumbled to Milos when he gave her the assignment. “I’ve got better things to do.”

“I don’t see you doing anything,” Jix pointed out.

“Nobody asked you,” Jill said in a threatening growl—a tone that suited her.

Milos had gri

Jix made note of everything. He learned how many kids were in the regular train cars—about fifty in each—which made it cramped but not unlivable.

More than once he witnessed kids deserting the train—usually in groups of four or five. Safety in numbers.

“Let them go,” Jill had told him. “If we catch them now, they’ll only run away tomorrow.”

Once a day, Jix would go to the sleeping car, and visit the girl he had killed, making sure she was kept comfortable, and whispering his apology into her ear. In the living world, his younger sister would be much older than him now. He preferred to think of this girl as his sister, perpetually twelve, just as he was perpetually fifteen.

He would join in the various games the children played when the train stopped—everything from jump rope to hopscotch to tag. He got to know many of the kids, and although they were put off at first by his odd appearance, they always warmed to him.

Only the caboose was off-limits to Jix, which just piqued his desire to get in. He wanted to see the face of the sleeping witch. So great was her legend that gazing on her would be like gazing on the face of a queen. He couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe each time he looked at the brightly decorated tomb—for a tomb is exactly what it was. In Everlost, however, a tomb was only a temporary thing.

After a few days, Jill seemed less and less attentive of Jix’s comings and goings. On Thanksgiving night, the skinjackers went off to feast on turkey in the bodies of fleshies, and Mary’s children, who had lost all track of living-world celebrations, settled into their evening routines. Jix decided this was the perfect moment to pay a visit to the Eastern Witch. He used his catlike stealth to climb up to the roof of the caboose, cold and rough beneath his bare feet. Then he pried open the small skylight, and quietly slipped inside.

The glass coffin in the center of the caboose was impressive, and the girl inside was at peace—as if she knew Everlost was still under her control even during her slumber. She was both unremarkable and extraordinary at the same time; an angelic face that could belong to any girl and yet also unforgettable. He knew that if Afterlights dreamed, Mary Hightower would be at the core of many of them . . . and perhaps at the core of many nightmares as well.

“Estos niños te veneran,” he said, slipping into Spanish. “These children worship you—I’m not surprised you rest in such peace.” He wondered which would be better: to be in the service of Mary Hightower, or to present her as a gift to His Excellency? Certainly Jix would be rewarded for it; in fact, the king might even remember his name.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer,” Jill said.

Jix spun and growled, reflexively crouching to a pounce position.

Jill came out of the shadows—but how could she even be in shadow? Afterlights all have a glow about them—the dark provides no concealment. Even now Jill’s glow filled the dim caboose as brightly as his own. How could he have missed seeing her?

“What are you doing here?” he growled, but it came out more like weak mewling.

“Waiting for you.” She pointed up to the skylight. “I saw you climbing up to the roof.” She produced the combination lock from her pocket. “Milos thinks he’s the only one who knows the combination.”

“So you were stalking me. . . .”

“Maybe you’re just not as stealthy as you think.”

Jix quickly composed himself. Jackin’ Jill was shrewd and crafty. He already knew she was dangerous—he knew that on the night he met her reaping. The thought of how dangerous she must be made him feel the slightest bit electrified.

“You hid in the shadows. How did you do that?” he asked.

“I dimmed my afterglow.”

“How?”

“You’re in no position to ask questions,” she told him. “I should go to Milos right now, and tell him I caught you breaking in on Mary.”

“You’re the one with the lock. I could tell him I caught you.”

“Do you really think he’ll believe that?”

“Yes,” said Jix. “Because he trusts you even less than he trusts me.”

The smug expression left her face, and she took an aggressive step closer. If she attacked him, it would be an interesting contest. Would she scratch or punch or slap? Or maybe she would move in closer than that, and wrestle him. Jix would often volunteer to fight for His Excellency’s amusement, and he knew many impressive wrestling moves. Which moves could he use on Jill, he wondered? Would he choose to pin her, or throw her off? Again, the thought of it sent a wave of excitement ru