Night Owls Read Online Free Page B

argue—Father Value
hated
asking for help—but then she remembered being ten years old and waking to Father Value’s voice drifting in through an open window. When she’d peered out, she’d seen him on the street below, his broad shoulders hunched over the pay phone. Now that she remembered that first time, she realized, there had been a few of those calls scattered over the years, often followed a few days later by a delivery or a drop of something they’d needed—clothes, supplies, books.
    If I thought back, would we have been near Edgewood when they happened?
She thought maybe they were.
    From down the hallway came a rattling that nearly sent Elly out of her skin. Tea sloshed over the rim of the cup, scalding her hand, but she ignored the pain. She was out of the chair in a flash, settling herself in a crouch in front of Helen and digging the knife out of her boot. “Stay behind me,” she said. Her eyes flicked from the doorway to the window. She wondered how heavy the desk was, if she had time to barricade the door.
Stupid of me. Should’ve checked its weight when I was walking around.
    Then Helen’s hand was on her shoulder, her voice soft and soothing in Elly’s ear. “Elly. It’s only Henry. He’s home.”
    “Oh. Oh, I . . .”
So much for manners.
“I’m sorry.” Sheepishly, she slid her knife back into her boot and stood.
    Helen Clearwater took it with grace; you’d think she had students go all combat-ninja on her on a nightly basis. She patted Elly’s hand, set the teacup aright, and glided out into the hallway. “Come with me. I think Henry will like you.”
     • • • 
    T HE OTHER LIBRARY —the
real
one—spanned nearly half of the second floor. The books here were much more to Elly’s taste—texts on monsters, survival, rituals from hundreds of years ago. One whole bookcase was dedicated to Bibles in all different languages and editions—King James, American Standard, New International—she had a feeling Professor Clearwater had leafed through most of them over the years. The chairs up here were twins of the ones downstairs, but they looked more lived-in, the leather far more supple. Elly sank into one and breathed in the smell of pipe smoke and old books.
    When Helen brought a fresh pot of tea, Professor Clearwater produced a flask and poured a healthy dollop of whiskey into Elly’s cup.
    He waited until Helen had closed the door behind her and Elly had taken a scalding sip before he spoke. “My wife tells me I’ve kept you waiting. My apologies.”
    “It’s all right,” Elly said. “I’m the one who showed up at two in the morning. I didn’t know where else to go.”
    He patted her hand, a grandfatherly gesture unlike anything she’d ever received from Father Value. It made her feel awkward and comforted at the same time. “You came to the right place, my dear. You’ll be safe here.”
    She smiled, but couldn’t keep it up. “I wish that were true, Professor.”
    “Henry, please.”
    Just like his wife.
“Henry, then. You know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t bad. The Creeps killed Father Value, and they’re coming after me. If they’re not here by morning, then they’ll come tomorrow night. Nowhere’s really safe.”
    “You’re safe enough for the moment, that I promise.” He sat back in the chair, the leather creaking as he settled in. He even
looked
grandfatherly, his white hair neatly trimmed, his wrinkled features kindly and nonjudgmental. “Elly, why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”
    She took a deep breath. He wouldn’t turn her out, that much she knew. He’d have done it as soon as Helen announced who she was, if he was going to. Still, the urge to snatch up her backpack and run out of this room, out of this house, nearly overwhelmed her. Her hands gripped the smooth wooden arms of her chair as if they were all that anchored her.
    The professor pulled out his flask again. It hovered over her teacup for a second before he