white, except for the black tufts tipping its ears.
I switch my focus to my image in the mirrored glass and watch, astonished, as my body begins to take on the colors of the snowy harbor around me. My suntanned skin fades to milky white. My black hair transforms to a pearl-white blond. And as I lean toward the mirror I see that my eyes match those of the rabbit whose feet I hold: dark brown, almost black. No starburst in sight.
Size, I think. Make me bigger. Taller. But my shape in the reflection stays the same. This is the extent of the Conjuring. Now I must make it last long enough to get me safely past the men and into the boat.
I swing the pack onto my back and stride purposefully toward the boat, adding what I imagine to be a boyish gait to my steps. My stomach twists itself in knots as I near the men, but I keep my gaze steadfastly on the ferry and try to ignore them.
I near the base of the gangplank. My palm has coated the rabbits’ feet in sweat, and my heart hammers painfully in my chest. I feel the men’s eyes on me, studying my face as I wait my turn behind an elderly couple wearing fur-lined cowboy hats. My throat clenches as I see one of the men get up and walk toward me until he stands only a couple of feet away.
I can’t help myself: I look his way. As soon as his eyes meet mine, the aggressive hunch of his shoulders relaxes. He crosses his arms and nods at me, and then turns to go back to his partner. I am so numb with fear that I can barely move forward when the couple in front of me steps onto the boat. But I manage to hand my ticket to the woman at the door, and climbing into the artificially lit room beyond, I slump onto the first bench I see. Dropping the amulet, I feel my rabbit-invoked disguise disappear, and I become myself again.
14
MILES
I GET HOME TO FIND AN EMPTY HOUSE. THERE’S A note on the kitchen counter.
Miles, I’ve got a family emergency. Left you a casserole for tonight and will stop by tomorrow to check on you. Give me a call if you need anything.
Mrs. Kirby
I finally have a weekend alone . . . no, make that a long weekend, since on Monday the office is closed for a holiday. Three days to myself. I load my plate with chicken casserole and settle in front of the TV. I notice a light on in Dad’s office and go to turn it off, only to see that it’s the glow from his computer screen. When I touch the mouse, his screen saver disappears to show his open email account. Several unread messages sit in his in-box, and the subject of the last one is Re: the girl .
I click on it and read the two-sentence message it holds. Source says she’s taken a boat from Anchorage to Seattle. Sending men there.
I mark it as unread so Dad won’t know I saw it. It’ll come up on his cell phone anyway.
I turn the screen off and go back to the couch. And sit motionless for about five minutes. Because an idea’s forming in my head that’s too crazy to entertain. But maybe Dad won’t find out. If I keep checking in with Mrs. Kirby by phone, I could be gone for the whole weekend, and back to work on Tuesday without anyone knowing.
This could actually work. I mean, they’re looking for a teenage girl. Who better to find her than another teenager?
And then my rational mind kicks in. I check the distance on my iPhone—it’s a nineteen-hour drive from L.A. And Seattle’s a big city. And I’m not only grounded, I’m on lockdown—only allowed to leave the house to go to work and back.
But if I can pull this off, Dad will be so impressed that he might excuse me from the whole mail-room torture scheme. He might even pull strings to get me into Yale in the fall. And with that thought, I’m decided.
I scarf down the casserole and then throw some clothes in a suitcase. I don’t need much. I’ll only be gone for three days.
15
JUNEAU
I HAVE BEEN HIDING IN MY ROOM—MY “CABIN”—since we embarked two days ago. As soon as we launched, I found the ship’s self-service dining
I switch my focus to my image in the mirrored glass and watch, astonished, as my body begins to take on the colors of the snowy harbor around me. My suntanned skin fades to milky white. My black hair transforms to a pearl-white blond. And as I lean toward the mirror I see that my eyes match those of the rabbit whose feet I hold: dark brown, almost black. No starburst in sight.
Size, I think. Make me bigger. Taller. But my shape in the reflection stays the same. This is the extent of the Conjuring. Now I must make it last long enough to get me safely past the men and into the boat.
I swing the pack onto my back and stride purposefully toward the boat, adding what I imagine to be a boyish gait to my steps. My stomach twists itself in knots as I near the men, but I keep my gaze steadfastly on the ferry and try to ignore them.
I near the base of the gangplank. My palm has coated the rabbits’ feet in sweat, and my heart hammers painfully in my chest. I feel the men’s eyes on me, studying my face as I wait my turn behind an elderly couple wearing fur-lined cowboy hats. My throat clenches as I see one of the men get up and walk toward me until he stands only a couple of feet away.
I can’t help myself: I look his way. As soon as his eyes meet mine, the aggressive hunch of his shoulders relaxes. He crosses his arms and nods at me, and then turns to go back to his partner. I am so numb with fear that I can barely move forward when the couple in front of me steps onto the boat. But I manage to hand my ticket to the woman at the door, and climbing into the artificially lit room beyond, I slump onto the first bench I see. Dropping the amulet, I feel my rabbit-invoked disguise disappear, and I become myself again.
14
MILES
I GET HOME TO FIND AN EMPTY HOUSE. THERE’S A note on the kitchen counter.
Miles, I’ve got a family emergency. Left you a casserole for tonight and will stop by tomorrow to check on you. Give me a call if you need anything.
Mrs. Kirby
I finally have a weekend alone . . . no, make that a long weekend, since on Monday the office is closed for a holiday. Three days to myself. I load my plate with chicken casserole and settle in front of the TV. I notice a light on in Dad’s office and go to turn it off, only to see that it’s the glow from his computer screen. When I touch the mouse, his screen saver disappears to show his open email account. Several unread messages sit in his in-box, and the subject of the last one is Re: the girl .
I click on it and read the two-sentence message it holds. Source says she’s taken a boat from Anchorage to Seattle. Sending men there.
I mark it as unread so Dad won’t know I saw it. It’ll come up on his cell phone anyway.
I turn the screen off and go back to the couch. And sit motionless for about five minutes. Because an idea’s forming in my head that’s too crazy to entertain. But maybe Dad won’t find out. If I keep checking in with Mrs. Kirby by phone, I could be gone for the whole weekend, and back to work on Tuesday without anyone knowing.
This could actually work. I mean, they’re looking for a teenage girl. Who better to find her than another teenager?
And then my rational mind kicks in. I check the distance on my iPhone—it’s a nineteen-hour drive from L.A. And Seattle’s a big city. And I’m not only grounded, I’m on lockdown—only allowed to leave the house to go to work and back.
But if I can pull this off, Dad will be so impressed that he might excuse me from the whole mail-room torture scheme. He might even pull strings to get me into Yale in the fall. And with that thought, I’m decided.
I scarf down the casserole and then throw some clothes in a suitcase. I don’t need much. I’ll only be gone for three days.
15
JUNEAU
I HAVE BEEN HIDING IN MY ROOM—MY “CABIN”—since we embarked two days ago. As soon as we launched, I found the ship’s self-service dining
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