May Bird and the Ever After (31 page)

Pumpkin had yawned and crawled into his bed, shrugging.

May twisted her half of the locket between her fingers, smiling with relief that Pumpkin was okay. But after a few moments her smile faded, and her heart became as heavy as a sack of beans.

Pumpkin had escaped, but just barely. John the Jibber was gone. And there was Lucius, somewhere far below the Dead Sea. She'd caused nothing but disaster to the spirits who had helped her. She couldn't forget what the Undertaker had said, about the danger that surrounded her. She knew as long as he was by her side, Pumpkin was surrounded by it too.

Down on the streets all the spirits seemed to be going somewhere, and May wished she were going somewhere as well. They all had homes. Sighing, she walked back into the room, then dug through her sack for her comfort blanket. She wrapped it over her death shroud.

Suddenly she was lying on her bed in White Moss Manor. There was the tiny hairline crack in the ceiling she used to stare at while daydreaming.

May sat up and peered around at the shelves lined with quartz rocks, picking one up and rolling it around in her hands, her heart aching. Her eyes skipped across the books on her desk and the materializer lying on the floor beside it. She stared at the bedroom door.

“Somber Kitty?” she called loudly, knowing it wouldn't work, but hoping. She waited for several seconds, then slumped back down onto her bed in misery. Finally she tugged the blanket off.

She looked at the embroidered words:
Remember to keep warm,
and she thought she understood them differently than she had at first. Maybe it meant she should remember and that would keep her warm. Only right now, it made her sad.

Pumpkin was still snoring.

May went to her knapsack again and tucked the blanket inside, then swung the pack over her shoulder and looked at Pumpkin, thinking.

She pulled out the blanket again and laid it over him, wondering what kind of place he would wake up to, lying under it. What memories kept Pumpkin warm? “Good-bye, Pumpkin,” she whispered softly, gently patting his tuft of yellow hair. Then she tiptoed out of the room, closing the door behind her.

In room 9,999 the comfort blanket had already transported Pumpkin's dreams far away, to the same place it had taken May: Briery Swamp. He too was in May's bedroom, sitting on a chair. Only he was waiting for a skinny, dark-haired girl to come upstairs and draw her pictures or read her books. Still sleeping, he smiled.

Dragging her feet sadly, May walked down to the lobby and plucked a few travel brochures off the shelves by the front desk. She flipped through them, bewildered.
What to do, where to go?

On a sofa a few feet away, a blue-faced man with a bright red nose and a curlicued mustache, wearing a blue military uniform,
and with what looked like an old parachute case strapped to his back, met her eyes as she glanced up. Next to him was a girl who looked to be about May's age. She was possibly the prettiest girl May had ever seen, with long blond hair, and huge blue eyes, and a long white dress with a sash going through the middle.

May surveyed a map of the city, tracing the streets with her fingers, not knowing what she was looking for. When she glanced up a second time, both the girl and the man were watching her intently. They both looked down quickly. May noticed the girl was holding a newspaper.

Uneasy now, May stood up and tucked the brochures into her knapsack, walking toward the door. The man and the girl stood up at the same time and followed her.

Out on the street, May picked up her pace. The two kept up with her. No matter how fast May walked, they drifted effortlessly just behind her. May balled her fists and spun around.

“If you're going to call the Bogey, do it!” she cried. The man and the girl both floated back in surprise.

“Excuse us,” the girl said. “We didn't mean to startle you. Can we talk to you for a moment?”

May didn't reply.

“That's a pretty bathing suit,” the girl said. “It looks just like stars in the sky. Isn't it nice, Fabbio?”

The man, Fabbio, looked May up and down with an air of dissatisfaction. “Eh. Is all right.”

“Don't you find it dusty in the street this time of year?” the girl continued, looking slightly embarrassed. “We do.”

May glanced around, confused. Really what she noticed on this street was the smell. “Urn, I guess so.”

“Mmm.” The girl nodded her head politely, seeming to be at a loss for more to say. “Oh,” she finally said. “I'm Beatrice; this is Fabbio.”

“Captain
Fabbio Fabbiani,” Fabbio added.

Tm May Bird.” May eyed both of them, suspiciously. They seemed to want something. But she couldn't imagine what. Beatrice reminded May of the girls at school—perfect, normal, pretty. But Beatrice was gazing at her with much more friendly interest than any girl at school had ever had.

The three stared at one another for several seconds in awkward silence. A couple of ghosts holding hands drifted by, and Beatrice eyed them before continuing. “Maybe . . . maybe we could talk in private?”

The two strangers drifted into a small, decrepit gazebo, full of spiderwebs, that looked out on a particularly wide canal. May followed, crossing her arms over her chest and expecting very little. But what did she have to lose?

The three sat down. Fabbio shifted his parachute tighter onto his back.

“Ask her,” Fabbio finally whispered, elbowing Beatrice and rubbing at the tip of his red nose.

Beatrice gave him a stern look, then elbowed him back. “You ask her.”

“You.”

“No, you.”

Captain Fabbio flung out his hands in a rock-paper-scissors gesture. “Shoot you for it.”

Beatrice's chest heaved in a big sigh. “Don't be childish.” She looked at May. “We were wondering, are you by any chance here for the Book?”

“Book?”

“
The Book of the Dead.”

“Um.” May tried to think fast, wondering how they could know, and whether she should say yes or no. “Ummmmm.”

Beatrice thrust a newspaper into May's hands. “It's all over the news that there's a Live One in the city. I saw you in the lobby, and I saw this article.”

The front page of the newspaper was covered in a huge headline:

LIVE ONE BREACHES CITY GATES, PHANTOM FIRED AFTER
150
YEARS OF SERVICE

Below it was a glowing, moving picture of May and Pumpkin running. It looked like it had been taken from the sky. Just the tops of their heads and their running legs and flailing arms were visible, and May's cloak trailed behind her. A tiny line along the bottom read: “Courtesy of Holo-Pix.”

“Why do you think this is me?” May said, looking back and forth between them.

“Beatrice is very smart,” Captain Fabbio said tightly.

Beatrice laid a hand on Fabbio's wrist gently. “I just saw you and thought,
maybe.
And I . . . we couldn't think of any reason a Live One would come to the city, except if they were looking for the Book.”

“Urn.”

“You see, I'm looking for my mother. And Fab—Captain Fabbio here is looking for his retinue who died in the Alps. And we thought the Book might tell us where to look. It's supposed to have the answers to everything.”

May was silent.

“I thought, well, three is better than two. Safety in numbers and all that. And it seems that you're so brave. That photo took my breath away! And coming through the gates like that! And
escaping^

Oh, oh,” May stammered, blushing. “Well, the truth is I don't know if I'm going after the Book anymore.”

“Please,” Beatrice pleaded. “We need someone like you. And I can't spend Eternity without my mother. If I have to, I'll . . .” Beatrice's bottom lip trembled, but she set her jaw and composed herself. “We've already tried to get into the Edifice three times. I'm afraid neither Captain Fabbio nor I are very good with strategy.”

“I beg your pardon.” Fabbio stiffened and tugged tightly at his mustache.

Beatrice rubbed his arm affectionately. “I'm sorry, Captain.” She turned to May. “I read somewhere that Live Ones are nine times out of ten more likely to be able to read the Book. And then, you're so heroic.”

“Anyway, we can't afford to stay here anymore. Neither of us has reported for haunting duty. Which is why we had to come stay in Sewerside.”

May tugged on her fingernails with her teeth. “I'm sorry. I'm not here for the Book. And if I did go, I'd only be trouble for you, trust me.”

Beatrice nodded, her pretty pale lips coming together in a thin line. Tears trembled on her eyelids. “Okay, well, we thought we'd give it a try. Thank you for your time.”

May swallowed the guilty lump in her throat and stood up. She
liked Beatrice. She liked them both, and she didn't even know them. She couldn't help it.

Fabbio's eyebrows had lowered into an angry V, directed at May. His cheeks flamed. “You should be ashamed at yourself. No helping poor innocent Beatrice. Look at her, she is angel.”

May clasped her hands together tightly. “I'm not heroic, you know. You think I'm someone that I'm not. Trust me, I'm really doing you a favor.”

Fabbio threw his hands in the air. “Favor? Pah! Someone in this world ask for help, nobody is giving it. How is that favor? And all she wants is to find sweet, beautiful mother. And now she may never find. I am not so sad for me. I am captain in Royal Italian Air Force, I am strong and courageous, I can withstand anything, but Beatrice . . .”

Fabbio turned stiffly, clicking his heels together. “Beatrice, we go.”

“Wait. . .,” May said. She kneaded her fingers together, deciding. “You know how dangerous it will be?”

Fabbio and Beatrice nodded. “Most likely, we do not survive. But Beatrice and I think, it is worth the risk.”

“You're going to go anyway?”

Beatrice nodded.

“Well . . . I guess . . . I don't really have anything here. I . . .” May faltered.

She closed her mouth into a thin, firm line. And nodded her chin, just slightly.

Watching Beatrice's face light up was like watching the sun rise. She threw her arms around May and kissed her cheek, making May blush.

And without May saying the final word, it was decided.

Minutes later the three of them were a cozy trio drifting down the sidewalk. As they talked about what things the Book might tell them, May marveled at how kind and beautiful Beatrice was, and how quickly her shyness was fading. Beatrice had linked her arm through May's as if they'd been friends forever. Of course, she had never seen May fly off a car while tied to balloons.

“I haven't felt this hopeful since before I died,” Beatrice said. May, catching the spirit, got up the courage to ask, “How did you die?”

“Typhoid.” Beatrice's big blue eyes became doleful. “My mother died before me. When I got here, I couldn't find her. I've been looking ever since.”

May looked at the ground.

Beatrice tried to smile. “Poor Fabbio and I met at the Spectroplex. He is in the same situation I'm in, in a way.”

“My men and I, we die of frostbite after we parachute into the Apennine Mountains by mistake,” Fabbio explained. “Supposed to be a field in Germany. But I come through portal, and they are not waiting for me. I no understand. My men would follow me anywhere.”

Beatrice gave May a meaningful glance, patting Fabbio's back underneath where his parachute lay.

“Isn't that heavy?” May asked, pointing to the chute, remembering a book she'd read about paratroopers in France.

“A soldier must always be prepared,” he answered, thrusting his chest out. Beatrice and May grinned at each other, and Beatrice rolled her eyes.

“What were you planning to do?” Beatrice asked. “If you weren't going to the Edifice, where were you headed?”

“I don't know.” May thought for a moment. “To hide somewhere, I guess.” She squeezed her knapsack close to her and listened to the crumple of her letter inside. “I heard there's a train north, but

May's voice trailed off. But what? But she was too scared to go. But she was too small to help anyone. But the Lady might not want her anymore.

“I know that train—it runs just outside the city. I've thought for a long time that my mother might have gone north,” Beatrice said. “She always liked the mountains and the cold.” May nodded. “I've thought many times about just taking it up there,” Beatrice continued, “and looking for her. But of course, the North is vast. And I've read that many ghosts that go there don't return. It would be foolish.”

They moved along in silence for a while.

“Beatrice, what's your mom like?” May asked finally.

Beatrice sighed gently. “Pretty. Kind. She has a nice singing voice.”

“Sounds like my mom,” May said softly.

Beatrice gently took May's hand, and the girls stared at each other, tears in their eyes.