Nightstruck Read Free

those last few moments, when the baby had inched out of the shadow and bared those awful teeth at me. And when it had vaporized—for want of a better word—right in front of my eyes.
    Which reminded me suddenly that the cloud of … whatever had passed right over my head. I ran a shaking hand through my hair and practically threw up when I saw the oily black streak that was left on my palm. It wasn’t much. Not so much a streak as a smudge. And there were probably a million things it could be, other than baby residue. I’d been wearing a hat, after all. But I bolted for the bathroom anyway.
    I washed my hair about eighteen times, my skin crawling. The mark came off my hand easily enough, and if there was any more of it in my hair, I didn’t see it amid the suds I rinsed off. Yet I felt sure I was tainted somehow. I didn’t know what that “baby” had been, couldn’t even think of some convenient folkloric label to pin on it, but I was convinced, body and soul, that it had been evil. And I wished I’d listened to my instincts instead of being a Good Samaritan.
    My night went from bad to worse a couple hours later, when my dad got home. He’d heard about the 9-1-1 call, of course, and he didn’t buy my story of mistaken identity.
    â€œI can’t believe you would do something so selfish and childish!” he said. He didn’t yell, but with that deep, commanding voice of his, he didn’t have to. He glared down at me with steely eyes, so furious his cheeks flushed.
    â€œIt was an honest mistake,” I replied, making my eyes go big and wounded. When he and Mom were still together, doe eyes had often worked on him, but ever since the divorce this past summer, he was in a perpetual state of pissed off, and he seemed to like it there.
    â€œNot another word!” he snapped. “You didn’t call the police because you saw a damn cat. What was this supposed to be? A protest about me working so late?” His scowl deepened. “Did that friend of yours put you up to this?”
    This was just what I needed after my already traumatic, terrifying, and embarrassing night. How could my dad think I would make a crank call to the police? And why would he suddenly drag Piper into this just because he didn’t like her?
    â€œNo one put me up to anything,” I said, my own pulse quickening with anger. Sure, I’d gotten in trouble a few times lately, and most of the time it had been with Piper by my side, but I’d given Dad no reason to think I’d call 9-1-1 just for shits and giggles. It stung pretty hard to think he gave me that little credit. “This wasn’t a prank, and it wasn’t some stupid cry for attention. It was an honest mistake, like I said.”
    â€œDon’t make it worse by lying.”
    I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to look defiant instead of hurt. “So what you’re telling me is that you’ve already decided what happened and why, and you don’t give a shit about my side of the story.”
    For a fraction of a second I thought I’d scored a point, that Dad finally realized how unfair he was being. His eyes briefly softened, and there was a hint of doubt in them. But he hadn’t gotten where he was today by allowing himself to feel uncertain of anything. And getting him to change his mind was like trying to turn the Titanic.
    â€œYou are grounded for two weeks,” he told me. “You will not leave this house except to go to school and run errands. No Internet, and no phone.”
    He held out his hand in a silent demand that I hand over my phone. When my dad says I’m grounded, he doesn’t fool around. I guess he was used to dealing with scumbags who made taking advantage of loopholes into an art form. I’d be lucky if he didn’t periodically toss my room just to make sure I hadn’t borrowed a phone from anyone.
    â€œThis isn’t fair,” I