Wonder Light Read Online Free PDF Page B

by the date.
    Beside it, under a magnet made of baked clay smooshed into the shape of a horse, was an index card, stained with a ring of coffee and bearing the neatly printed words “Let us not grow weary in doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”
    What a strange place she’d ended up in. But the food was good. Were midnight snacks allowed? Well, she’d find out soon enough. Pondering who was supposed to not lose heart—the Murleys or the girls—she pulled the door open, then jolted.
    A high whinny broke the near silence of a kitchen at midnight, pierced the buzz of the ceiling light, the hum of the refrigerator. Twig’s heart beat faster. She gripped the fridge handle tighter. It was nothing. She was going to have to get used to living here, to animal sounds.
    Another whinny. Twig froze. This whinny was desperate; as little as Twig knew about horses, there was no denying that. A shiver ran down the back of her neck.
    Twig shook the shiver off and slammed the refrigerator door shut. She’d lost her appetite. But even without the cold draft from the fridge, the shiver came back. This was silly. Why would any of the ponies be desperate? There was no one here to bother them. The stable doors were latched tight against wild animals. Ponies made noises. Maybe one of them was having a bad dream. Did ponies dream?
    But no pony whinny from inside the stable could travel into the kitchen so clear like that. Was there a pony outside the stable?
    Another whinny—more of a scream. Twig scrambled up onto the counter, reached over the sink, and tore the curtains back. The three-quarter moon hovered high above the tree line, but the low fog hung heavy in the yard, shifting slowly. In the fog, something else moved. It might have been invisible if it weren’t moving in the opposite direction of the mist. Twig gasped. No ranch pony had made that whinny! It belonged to the ghostly form flowing against the mist.

Chapter 9
    Ghost Boy and his horse formed a gray-white silhouette, creeping through the shifting fog. Ghost Boy leaned toward another pale, phantomlike form. He was riding one horse and holding the lead of another, pulling it along. It followed, but not without tossing its head and kicking up the turf right beside the boy. Where was he going? Then Twig realized—he was headed right for the stable!
    Twig half fell off the counter and skidded across the glossy hardwood floor, through the great room and the entryway, to the front door. She paused, fingers trembling on the deadbolt. What was she thinking, going out there? She’d just open the door, real quiet, and watch. At least she could know. She had to know. She slid the bolt and eased the door open, then slipped out into the shadows of the porch. She searched the fog for any movement that didn’t belong to the mist, but the yard was empty. She was too late. Ghost Boy was gone.
    No, not gone. The stable door was standing wide open. Inside, ponies neighed and snorted indignantly. There was a deeper, wilder snort and cry—a horse cry. Was Ghost Boy in there?
    Twig was still frozen there, trying to decide what to do, when the boy emerged. His cloak billowed in the wind, moss green—or maybe it was mist blue. Moonlight filtered through the mist and skittered over it, shifting the color of the fabric. It wasn’t just the moonlight, Twig realized; the cloak itself was a dapple of colors, like Daddy’s camouflage.
    Ghost Boy shut the stable doors carefully, silently. His horse made a low, warning whinny and pawed at the ground. The boy stiffened for a fraction of an instant, listening, or maybe sensing in some other way, just as the horse had, a presence in the night. Then the boy sprang into action with a heightened urgency. He slammed the latch in place, gave the doors a jerk to test them. Gone was all concern for stealth. He caught the horse’s lead just as a fearsome animal noise came from