“We’re done here, Tyler,” I said. “You got your warning.”
“Oooooh,” he said.
Child.
We both walked away from him through the thickening mass. We emptied out near the back door. I threw the sliding glass slab open and took a step into the orange glow of the back porch. The dark silhouettes of an urban-grown forest leaned toward us. Thankfully, the smokers had dispersed.
Daphne was shaking. She didn’t like to lose, or even stalemate, and our confrontation with Tyler had been at least one of those.
“It’s okay,” I said, and leaned against the stucco wall next to the door. “We’ll head back in when it loosens up a little and watch her. And him.”
“Yeah,” Daphne said, and sat down on a little green garden chair. “Blech. What a little punkass.”
I agreed, and we sat in silence for a while, stewing.
When Daphne went inside to pee, I cupped my cheeks with my hands and leaned forward in my chair, trying to summon my thoughts.
I heard something crunch in the backyard—it sounded like a twelve-foot kid eating a mouthful of giant cornflakes. My heart jumped, but either horror or curiosity made me hold my place and my tongue. The inky blackness of Benny’s backyard jungle stirred, and I saw something moving. My first thoughts ran to werewolf—weird, I know, but inexorable—and then to the man-in-white.
I thought of smoky-black eye-pits, of a face twisted like taffy. I slammed back against the sliding glass door with a whimper that I wasn’t too proud to take credit for, and my fingers dug for the stun gun in my purse.
“Luce?”
I froze…and a wide smile split my face in half when the figure came into the orange-amber light of the back porch.
“Morgan?”
I thought of her phone call. Was this about Benny? I remembered quickly that I was angry at her, even through the light haze of alcohol.
“What’s going on?”
Morgan shook her head. Her arms were tight to her sides, and her hands curled into balls at her hips. Her eyes darted from me to the door behind me.
“What is it? Is this about Benny or something?”
I took a step off the porch and reached for her hand.
“Morgan, what is it?”
“I’m so sorry, Luce,” she said, her blue eyes wide. “I didn’t know what to do.”
The hairs on my neck saluted.
She took a step back, and the leaves crackled beneath her. I took another step forward.
“Morgan,” I said. “What the hell is up?”
She bit her lip, her eyes darting again to the sliding glass door. I looked over my shoulder but saw nothing but oblivious party-goers. I turned back to her.
“He found me…he told me…actually I guess he showed me,” she shook her head. “He had to speak to you.”
The man-in-white. I stared into the black curtain behind her, trying to sort shapes out of the shadows. I had to help Morgan, somehow, but I couldn’t—
“Wait,” Morgan said. “He doesn’t seem dangerous. Just…kind of weird, actually.”
My hand froze. What?
The figure standing behind and to the side of her walked forward. Tall, lanky, old and sprightly. Identically dressed, as before, in his worn tweed coat. He bowed deeply, and his rakish smile turned his wrinkles and dimples into canyons.
“Puck,” I breathed. “You’re alive!”
He held one hand up, sighed, and made a see-saw gesture.
Chapter Twelve
When It All Fell Apart
I leaped down from the back porch and tackled him. He caught me with surprising strength and squeezed me hard in his thin arms. When he set me back down again, he flashed Morgan an apologetic look. When I glanced at her, I watched her tense posture and terrified expression deflate into something more like weary confusion.
“Lucy,” Morgan said, and leaned back against a dead-looking tree. “You owe me a hell of a lot of explanation.”
“I know,” I said, and turned to Puck. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
And I was. Puck had saved me from the monster-in-white, and more importantly, he had convinced me I wasn’t alone and spiraling into madness. The grey beach was real, or realish, and my condition wasn’t…internal.
I looked up at his boyishly old face, but he gave me nothing but an understanding smile. Then I knew.
“You really can’t talk, can you? Not even here?”
Puck shook his head apologetically. I sighed and covered my face with my hands.
“What?” Morgan asked. “What does that mean, not even here?”
I glanced at her, then back at Puck.
“It means…it means we need to talk,” I said. My legs went rubbery. “But first just…listen.”
Morgan frowned.
“I need to ask Puck a few things and I’m gonna sound…well, like a nutjob.”
Puck pointed at me and nodded to Morgan. Her face cracked a smile.
I glanced at Puck and raised an eyebrow, “But, um, how do we do this, exactly?”
Morgan made a face at me, turned to Puck, and made a gesture with her hands. I didn’t catch the quick movement, but Puck did. He made something like a fist, his palm toward Morgan, and bobbed his knuckles.
“You know sign language?” I asked them both.
Puck bobbed his fist in time with Morgan's grin.
"My cousin Lance?" Morgan said.
I bopped myself on the forehead. I’d completely forgotten that her cousin was deaf—still, she’d never mentioned the fact that she knew sign language. Figures. Tall, gorgeous, sporty philanthropist. And me, well I’m…not that. Moving on.
Puck smiled at me and touched my shoulder. He had an uncanny ability for setting me at ease.
“He isn’t deaf,” Morgan said. “He just can’t speak.”
A revelation popped in my head.
“Did you get Morgan because you knew she knew sign language?”
Puck laughed without sound and clapped his hands together once. He nodded furiously, and something akin to pride beamed from his face. Morgan, standing next to him, looked more freaked out than anything.
“How’d you know she knew?”
Puck took a deep breath, looked at Morgan, then began signing.
“He says… ‘I know more about you than you think, Lucy. I mean, in a not-creepy kind of way. We had an exchange…’”
Morgan couldn’t have looked more perplexed. She glanced back at Puck for confirmation. Puck smiled softly and re-signed the end of his sentence.
“...I think he said ‘we had an exchange in the Grey. You know about me, too, if you try hard enough.’”
Morgan looked at me sharply, “What the hell? An exchange?”
I held out a palm to her, effectively hushing her. I only had time for one ridiculous thing at a time, thank you very much.
“Just…wait. I know—”
Her mouth turned into a white line, and she flashed me a glare that could peel paint.
“I know I’m being an asshat,” I said. “But something…abnormal happened to me last Friday. And Puck knows more than I do.”
Morgan’s lip twisted, and after a beat, she nodded. She didn’t look happy about it, but she did turn to watch Puck’s hands.
“Oh…of course. What’s your name, Puck? Your real name.”
He made four sharp gestures. Morgan laughed.
“P-U-C-K,” Morgan said.
I glared at him.
“‘You knew my name the same way I knew your friend knew sign language,’” Morgan translated.
My eyes popped open. So I hadn’t made up the name—was that possible? I’d picked up on his thoughts without even trying? Or his memories, maybe?
“‘The things we do…are even easier with each other.’”