21.
THE RUNAWAYS
-MINERVA-
I pulled out Astor
Michaels’s birthday present right before midnight, just like he’d
told me to.
It was wrapped in
silver foil, my own face gazing back at me in the candlelight,
blurry and twisted. Zombie jumped up onto the bed and sniffed the
package, then looked up at me, his little face
worried.
Astor Michaels wasn’t
family to me and Zombie—and now Moz. He was more like a distant
relative, part of the clan who spelled their last names
differently. It made him smell funny.
“It’s okay, Zombie.
Astor’s going to make Mommy a rock star.”
When I pulled on the
red ribbon, its knot only tightened, so I lifted the box to my
mouth. The ribbon tensed for a moment as my teeth closed, then
relaxed, like a chicken when Luz broke its neck.
Teeth were useful for
all sorts of things these days. Mozzy could open beer bottles with
his.
I slid the box out
from its wrapping, checking the clock. Ten seconds.
I counted down,
hoping the present wasn’t something heart-shaped. Eww. Astor Michaels knew I was with Mozzy. He’d
spotted it faster than anyone else, except maybe smelly Alana
Ray—and Zahler, of course, who Moz had told before he’d even called
me. (Okay, really it was only Pearl who didn’t know. Poor little
Pearl.)
My fingernails slit
the box open, and I smiled.
It was a cell phone,
shiny and microscopic. Lifting it up, hefting the insubstantial
weight, I felt its shape fitting into my palm. What a very
excellent idea . . .
Zombie, who’d been
batting at the red ribbon, came over for another sniff, and at that
moment the phone buzzed silently against my palm, like a housefly
trapped in my fist. Zombie looked up at me and meowed.
“Must be for me,” I
said.
I kept Astor Michaels
waiting for three vibrations before I pushed the big green
button.
“Aren’t you
clever?”
“It’s my job to keep
the talent happy.”
“Mmm.” I was already
wondering when Mozzy would be home from playing down in the subway.
He was supposed to call me exactly at one; I could phone him right
before and give him a little surprise. . . . I
giggled.
“Sounds like I’ve
succeeded,” Astor Michaels said.
“Very much so.” Then
I frowned. “Why didn’t Pearl ever give me one of
these?”
“Maybe she thought
you’d get yourself into trouble.”
“Hmph.” Pearl
probably liked being the only one with my number. Showed what she
knew. “It’s about time. Luz stole my buttons, you
know.”
“So you said. You
needed a real phone, Min. In fact, it’s about time you had a real
life.”
Zombie stared up at
me, as if listening.
“What do you mean by
that, Astor Michaels?”
“Why don’t you move
out, Min?”
“Move . . . out?” My
eyes swept the candlelit darkness around me.
“Red Rat has a few
apartments set aside for our special artists, for when they come to
town to record. Nicely furnished and in Manhattan. You could move
in anytime.”
I swallowed, reaching
out to stroke Zombie. His fur had the shivers. “But what
about—”
“Your parents?” He
made a disappointed noise. “You’re eighteen in two weeks, Min. You
can disappear for that long, can’t you? Do you think the police
will spend much time looking for a runaway who’s about to turn
legal?”
I didn’t answer. I
didn’t care about the police, or my parents much either. But I
wasn’t sure how long I could go without Luz. She could be a total
pain, but she’d cured me, more or less.
And Mozzy needed her
even more than I did. I was splitting Luz’s medicines with him,
making sure he got through the first stages of the illness. So far,
he was keeping it together just fine, but I didn’t want him to turn
all bitey.
“Min?”
I covered up the
microphone. “What do you think, Zombie?”
His eyes opened wide,
glistening, nervous but . . . excited.
Mozzy needed to get
well, but we needed things too—to
breathe the air outside at night, sucking in the smells and the
moonlight. To go down in the subway, like Mozzy got to every night.
I wanted to learn
more . . . to make my songs stronger.
In a couple of weeks
I could call up Luz and have her come to my new place. She could
make birthday mandrake tea for both of us. Once I was eighteen, it
wouldn’t matter if she told my parents where I was.
Me and Moz could make
it for that long, couldn’t we? We knew to eat lots of garlic.
Probably all those other smelly herbs were just for
show.
Zombie meowed, still
staring at me with gleaming eyes. In our own place, he could go
play with his little friends whenever he wanted.
Astor Michaels was
talking again. “Once you’re out of that room, the band can rehearse
every day. Think what that would do for you, especially with your
first gig coming up.”
I bit my lip. Pearl
had been complaining about having only one more Sunday to rehearse.
Zombie stared at me, tail twitching, anxious.
“Okay. I’ll
move.”
“I thought you might
say that,” Astor Michaels said, and I could hear his smile. It slid
through the airwaves like a needle. “Go pack.”
“What, right now? But
it’s midnight.”
“Best time to run
away, don’t you think? I’m on the road as we speak, coming over to
collect you.”
“Um, but Moz said he
was going to call later.”
He filled my ear with
a little sigh. “You can call him
instead, Min. Remember my little present? The one we’re talking
on?”
“Oh, right.” I
giggled. “Clever Astor Michaels.”
“I’ll see you in
twenty minutes. Pack light.”
Pack light?
Puh.
I needed lots of
dresses—all my black ones, for wearing onstage. All my necklaces
and rings too, even though my old jewelry box was pink and
tattered. Only a few pairs of shoes, because I really had to buy
all new ones; none of mine were very rock star. I packed every bit
of the underwear me and Pearl had bought the day we’d gone to Red
Rat Records, but no pajamas, because I was so bored of lying around
all day. Bored of sleeping.
Never again, I thought as I stuffed my two
suitcases full. I could save up all my sleeping for the
grave.
I packed my
notebooks, of course. I’d memorized most of the songs in them, but
they smelled good, and I liked to stare at my old handwriting. It
was sweet how only I could read the songs, all of them in my own
special language.
Zombie trilled from
the top of the dresser, reminding me to bring cat food and a place
for him to pee. I grabbed his bag of dry food and promised to get
him a litter box. And big piles of bones—Moz and I were going to
need lots of meat, especially without Luz’s tinctures and teas to
help us.
I wondered if he
would come and stay with me. . . .
The thought made me
shiver a little, and I looked around my room again, the place I’d
lived for almost eighteen years. It was time to grow up, after
all.
The illness had
emptied this room of meaning. Luz had cleared all my old
possessions out, back when they’d made me scream. She was
reintroducing familiar things one by one, but none of them held any
significance now. Everything from before the disease smelled like
old toys from childhood, sugary with memories, a little
embarrassing.
Better to let my
parents keep it all.
Mommy and Daddy would
be upset, but I could call them from my new phone and tell them how
happy I was.
I snapped the
suitcases shut, then crossed to the door, closing my eyes to
listen. Maxwell was sleeping loudly down the hall. He’d started
snoring lately, puberty making him prickly and restless. He’d be
much happier without a crazy big sister sucking up everyone’s
attention.
I listened harder,
trying to hear through Max’s snuffling. The slightest creak of
settling sounded below . . . was it Astor Michaels on the stairs?
But he didn’t know about the secret key.
The phone vibrated
again, like a tiny, nervous animal in my hand.
“I’m ready,” I
whispered.
“Excellent. We’re
just pulling up now. Heavens, this neighborhood’s seen better
days.”
“It’s not our fault.
The mean garbagemen won’t come here anymore.”
“Well, I’m glad I’m
taking you away.”
I frowned. Suddenly I
wished it wasn’t Astor Michaels helping me escape. Maybe this
wasn’t such a great idea, rushing off with him. Mozzy could help me
instead. . . .
But I couldn’t
imagine unpacking my bags, putting everything back into closets and
drawers and under the bed, defeated.
One more day, even
one more hour, was too long to stay here.
“Okay,” I whispered.
“First you have to get the key. Then you sneak to the top of the
stairs without making any noise—”
He laughed. “Just a
moment, darling Min. I don’t do
sneaking.”
“But . . . there’s a
lock on my door.”
“Yes. And you can
break it.”
“The
lock?”
“The door. You’ve had the condition for five months,
Minerva. You can feel your strength, right? I’ve broken doors down
by accident. Just hit it with the palm
of your hand. Hard.”
I touched the door
softly, thinking of all the nights I’d tried to stare holes in it.
But knock it down?
“It’ll make noise,” I
whispered. “Wake them all up.”
“You’ll be down and
out the front door while they’re still wondering what’s going on.
Don’t be shy. Just hit it, Min.”
I remembered how I’d
lifted Pearl’s mixing board with one hand last Sunday, making her
eyes as round as buttons.
But bash down my own
door?
“Do you want to stay
in your room forever?” he said.
I hissed at the
phone. Astor Michaels and his little tests. Were we mature enough
to stay together? Tough enough to face a nasty audience? Strong
enough to . . . bash things down?
Fine.
I hung up, scooped
Zombie from the floor, and placed one palm against the wood. Drew
my arm back . . .
And smashed it into
smithereens.
Moz stood just
outside, his jaw open.
“Mozzy!” I
cried.
His smell rushed into
the room, and Zombie struggled to jump down and say
hi.
I stared at my
stinging palm. “I’d have heard you coming up except for smelly
Astor Michaels distracting me.”
“Um, I . .
.”
“Poor Mozzy. You look
frazzled.”
“Something happened
to me. Something weird.” He looked down at the bits of wood around
him. “Why did you do that?”
I bent to pick up a
suitcase. “I’ll tell you on the way.”
“What way? The way
where?”
“My new place,” I
said. “Quit squirming! Not you, Mozzy. Grab that, would
you?”
He blinked a few
times, then saw my other suitcase and gripped its
handle.
I paused for a
moment, listening. Maxwell was definitely awake, his snores
shattered into little pieces, just like my door. I could hear him
twisting on his bed, snuffling with confusion.
Downstairs in my
parents’ room, the floor was creaking with footsteps.
“Come on,” I
hissed.
We didn’t bother
sneaking. The stairs complained, but it felt so good not to be
worrying over every squeak of the cranky old steps. We were past my
parents’ room, almost at the front door, when Daddy flicked on the
lights above us.
“Minerva?” he called
softly. “Max?”
I pulled open the
front door. The outside smells rushed in: the garbage mountains,
the rotting leaves of fall, Zombie’s little friends skittering in
the dark.
“Bye, Daddy,” I
called up, trying to sound a little sad at leaving. “Don’t worry,
please. I’ll call you soon.”
“What are you doing?
Who is that?”
Moz looked very
embarrassed to be stared at. But it was Daddy in his pajamas who
looked silly.
“Tell Max and Mommy
goodbye and that I’ll see you all on my birthday,
okay?”
“Minerva! You can’t
just leave. . . . You’re not well! Where are you—?”
“I said I’d call
you!” Daddy never listens. I stomped
out the door.
“How are we going to
get anywhere?” Moz sputtered, running after me. “Won’t they call
the cops? I sent my cab away, and we can’t take the subway! There’s
this thing down—”
“It’s okay, Moz.
Look, there he is!”
Astor Michaels was
half a block away, standing next to his limo, looking surprised to
see Mozzy. His driver hovered close to him, scanning the piles of
garbage nervously, one hand in his pocket like he was getting ready
to shoot some of Zombie’s little friends.
We ran up, and I
handed Astor Michaels my suitcase. “Take this; Zombie has his claws
in my dress.”
“You’re bringing your
cat,” he said flatly, staring at Moz.
“And Mozzy too!” I
said.
“Yes, I see that.”
Astor Michaels sighed tiredly. “Hello, Moz.”
“What’s going on
here?” Moz said, sounding all manly and jealous, which made me
giggle.
But then Daddy yelled
something, and we all got in the limo, dragging the suitcases in
behind us instead of opening the trunk. The driver put the car into
gear and whisked us away.
I waved to Daddy out
the back window.
“We’re going to our
new place, Moz,” I explained. “You should come stay there with
me.”
“Um . . .” Astor
Michaels said.
“I can’t go home,”
Mozzy said, staring out at midnight Brooklyn rushing past. “I saw
this thing down in the subway, and the angels caught me. They
almost took me away, like Luz always says.”
“Angels?” I asked.
For the first time, I noticed how shaky Moz was. He was pale with
shock, twitching and sweating like he’d seen something much worse
than my door exploding.
“It’s real, Min,” he
said softly. “The struggle’s real.”
I wrapped my arms
around him. “Don’t worry, Mozzy. We’ll take you someplace
safe.”
“By all means,” Astor
Michaels said. “Must keep the talent happy.”