Jane and the Raven King Read Online Free PDF Page B

her and walked down the hall. “Mom…?”
    No answer.
    Jane’s heartbeat throbbed in her ears. “Stop it,” she said. “Please…”
    “Mom?” Michael said again, and he crept toward their parents’ open bedroom door.
    I can’t leave him, Jane told herself and watched Michael near the bedroom doorway. The keyboard-radio noises were coming from in there.
    “Mom?” Michael said.
    When Jane mouthed, “No!” he continued inside, looked at the bed, and stiffened.
    Jane went after him. Their parents sat on the king-size bed, laptop computers on their legs, cell phones wedged between their ears and shoulders. Their father even had a cordless phone pushed against his right ear. The voice on the alarm clock radio said, “…A flash flood warning is in effect for Mercer County until 3:00 a.m. Winds are expected to exceed forty miles an hour, with severe gusts in excess of sixty miles an hour possible. A tornado watch is in effect until…”
    Michael said, “Mom? Dad?”
    Both of their parents pounded their laptop keys. Their father cleared his throat into the phone and grunted, “Uh-huh. Um.”
    “Dad?” Michael said again.
    “…Residents are advised to avoid unnecessary travel and to stay tuned for further advisories. In the event a tornado is spotted, proceed immediately to the basement or to an interior, windowless room…”
    Thunder cracked, and rain battered the bedroom window. Jane held her brother’s hand.
    “Dad,” she said. “Are you okay?”
    He didn’t look up.
    Michael began to tremble. “Jane…”
    Jane stepped closer to the bed. “Mom?”
    “Uh-huh,” she said into her phone. “Okay.”
    When they still didn’t stop typing, Jane clapped her hands in front of her father’s computer screen—he was closer—and he frowned, as if she were a stranger. Slowly, he noticed them.
    “Jane, Michael,” he said and returned to his keyboard.
    “Mom, Dad, stop it,” Jane said.
    They didn’t look up.
    She slammed her father’s laptop shut and braced for his irritated shout. But he didn’t shout. Instead, he blinked at her, through her, his mind elsewhere.
    “…This is a severe weather alert for Harrison County,” the radio said. “A flash flood warning is in effect…”
    “We have to go,” Jane said.
    “I’m not leaving.” Before Jane could argue, Michael said, “If you want to, then go. I’m going to bed, and when I wake up, all this will be back to normal.”
    “Michael—”
    “Get away from me.” He ran downstairs to his room and slammed the door. Jane knew that when he was like this, it was pointless to argue—Michael was too stubborn. I can’t just leave him here, she thought and went downstairs.
    “Please Michael,” she called. “Don’t—”
    “Go away!”
    I have no idea where to go, Jane thought. But that wasn’t true, and she knew it.

S till wearing a yellow poncho, Gaius met her in the street. “We don’t have much time,” he said. “Does your grandmother still live in England?”
    “She’s dead,” Jane said. “I saw it.” Jane’s voice twisted when she said this, and she felt tears behind her eyes. Talking about the horrible, impossible murder suddenly made it real. She lost her balance on a sewer grate, and Gaius caught her.
    “Be careful around pipes,” he said. “All pipes lead to Hotland.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “It’s all right,” he said, but she could tell from the drop in his voice that it wasn’t.
    They went to Gaius’s RV. He opened the door and ushered her inside Like a bric-a-brac shop on wheels, the camper was crammed with junk: bicycle wheels; stone statues with lamps attached to their heads; afghan blankets of red, orange, and yellow-green; a pile of water-stained road maps; a tiny television with contorted antennae; jars of motionless butterflies; and mounds of ivory dice—some with the usual six sides Jane recognized from Monopoly and dozens more with intricate, tiny numbers and symbols. One die was as large as a