The Keepers Read Online Free PDF Page A

now. He could not stop worrying about the thin man. He pondered for the twentieth time that morning what he would do if he encountered the thin man again, especially since Mrs. Hapsteade had really only given him one piece of advice: avoid him . Horace had the leestone, of course,whatever good that was supposed to do. He took it out of his pocket—still warm, but it had faded badly overnight. It was completely clear around the edges, all the color shrunken into a jagged purple cloud in the center.
    The bus turned the corner onto Wexler Street and immediately wheezed to a stop. Horace looked up and sucked in a gasp of surprise. The thin man was clambering aboard the bus, as if Horace’s own thoughts had conjured him. Horace ducked down, peering around the seat.
    The thin man looked even more inhuman than last time, like some monstrous insect. He was far too tall to stand up straight on the bus, so he more crawled than walked, bent over between his knees. As he crept down the aisle, his elbows knifed over the heads of the other passengers. They seemed to see him, but clearly not the way Horace was seeing him, because they weren’t staring. The thin man spoke to them, his head swiveling on his long neck, his pleasantly lilting voice so out of place coming from that mouth: “Good morning. Lovely day, isn’t it? How do you do?” He got polite nods and mumbled greetings in return. His dark glasses were gone. His eyes were black points that flicked from side to side like tiny, darting fish.
    Horace dropped completely out of sight, pressing his face against the seat. He squeezed the leestone between his forefinger and thumb and realized he was counting, his brain marking off seconds on its own, as it sometimes did. Seventeen, eighteen —how long did it take to walk to the back of the bus?
    Thirty-five. Forty . At last Horace sat up slowly and peeked. The thin man, improbably, had folded himself into a seat. He was right in front of the rear doors, his back to Horace, the stairway the only thing separating them. His long-fingered hands were wrapped around his head as though he was deep in thought.
    Any moment now, they would pass the House of Answers. If Horace had any chance of getting off the bus unseen, he would have to sneak out behind the thin man and hope that the man didn’t turn around. He reached up and yanked the cable to call for a stop. The chime sounded. The bus began to slow. The man was still facing forward. Horace stood, his eyes boring into the back of the thin man’s head. The man’s hands, thrust into his thick black hair, did have too many joints, and his pinkies were crooked, almost like second thumbs. And that bitter burning smell—brimstone? Horace wanted to retch.
    Just as he stepped down to reach for the rear doors, the bus lurched to a stop, nearly tumbling Horace into the man. The thin man lifted his head and inhaled sharply. He began to turn, his limbs bending and twisting like a spider’s.
    The doors opened. Horace leapt from the top step. As he hit the sidewalk, he remembered Mrs. Hapsteade’s words: “Do not run.” But he ran. He sped away from the bus as fast as his too-long legs would let him, cursing his too-shaggy hair that fell across his eyes.
    He was just reaching top speed when a voice called out,clear and loud: “Hey! Here!” Horace slowed. A girl in a green hoodie stood in the doorway of a bookstore, waving at him. The girl from the bus—but that was impossible! No one had gotten off ahead of him. “Here,” she said again, gesturing impatiently.
    Horace glanced back at the bus. His stomach crumpled. The thin man was unfolding from the rear doors, a savage scowl tearing his long face in two. Horace darted toward the bookstore, hoping desperately the thin man wouldn’t see him. The girl heaved the door open and rushed in ahead of him.
    The girl was tiny, but she had a confident, feline swagger. She strode deep into