Fool on the Hill Read Online Free PDF Page B

two thimblefuls of tequila so he could w—”
    Puck trailed off abruptly, wondering not for the first time what wrong he had committed that his tongue should run so very much faster than his brain. Zephyr said nothing further, simply picked up the pace even more until Puck was nearly hyperventilating.
    Ahead, a concrete walkway spanned a narrow, stream-filled gully. George was just crossing it, drawn by something on the other side. Zephyr hurtled after him, energetic as ever, while Puck plodded doggedly in her wake.
    They both felt it at the same time.

    It was a presence, a cold radiation that came at them from across the gully, as if a small black sun had been placed somewhere on the other side. Both sprites stopped dead in their tracks, sudden terror rolling over them like thunder.
    “What is it?” Zephyr whispered, as if afraid of being overheard.
    “I don’t know.” Puck had set down his crossbow and was shivering. “It’s bad . . . there’s something very bad over there.”
    Across the gully, George continued to walk along unconcernedly.
    “How can he stay over there?” Zephyr wondered aloud. She too had begun to shiver. “Can’t he feel how bad it is?”
    “Maybe he can’t. And maybe if he can’t feel it, it can’t hurt him.”
    “Do you think it knows we’re here?” Zephyr said.
    As she spoke, two graveyard rats, big ones, sprinted out of hiding from behind a nearby tombstone. Puck saw them coming and scooped up his crossbow, managing to kill one with a shot that was more luck than skill. The other rat continued charging forward, leaping into the air at Zephyr as soon as it was close enough.
    “Zeph!” Puck shouted. “Look ou—”
    But she was already turning, sword in hand.
    VIII.
    George had found what he was looking for.
    It was a plain white marble square laid flat against the ground, more a plaque than a proper gravestone, and weathered by many years. He had no idea why such an unremarkable thing should seem so special to him, yet it was true that he had never visited The Boneyard without coming by here to look. One strange thing he’d noticed—all the other standing gravestones in the area had sagged, seeming to lean away from this one like petals from the heart of a strange flower. Surely that was just coincidence, but it added to the illusion that this was, well, the center of something.
    The stone bore no date, and only a single name, seven letters carved by some long-ago hand:
    PANDORA
    George hunched over the burial site, feeling nothing but a strange and inexplicable fascination. Zephyr or Puck, placed in the same location, would have died instantly of fright, but George merely thought to himself: What story does this one hold? It almost made him wish he could really resurrect the past, rather than just make up fictions. What story? I’ll bet you it’s a good one, whatever it is.
    He ran his fingers over the marble surface, tracing each letter. Lightning flashed in the distance.

    IX.
    Zephyr cleaned her sword with a piece of a dead leaf. She had killed the rat in one stroke, sidestepping and piercing it through the heart as it finished its leap.
    “You see?” she said to Puck when her sword had been resheathed. “I can take care of myself.”
    “Sure,” Puck said, still shaken. The bad feeling from across the gully had subsided a little but remained in the background, like a lingering nightmare.
    “There’s one thing I’m curious about,” Zephyr went on. “It doesn’t look like many people get buried here anymore, does it? Most of the space is already taken. But then why would there be rats? Don’t they need lots of fresh . . . you know.”
    “I couldn’t tell you, Zeph. But there’ve always been lots of rats in The Boneyard. Always. It really isn’t safe to stay here. More of them will probably be coming this way soon.”
    “Let’s go home, then,” Zephyr said, after a pause. “I want to go home now.”
    She had lost all interest in tailing George, at least