The Curse of the King Read Online Free Page A

where the edges of thin gash peeked out from behind a Band-Aid. “We lost something in the woods.”
    I didn’t want to mention the shard in front of a stranger. It had taken us about a half hour on our hands and knees in the woods to find it. Which made us very late for school. The cool thing was, no one seemed to care. Cass and I were like returning war heroes. Everyone was nice to us. The nurse cleaned us up and gave me a whole box of Band-Aids.The principal herself, Mrs. Sauer (pronounced Sour ), brought a Welcome Back cake into homeroom. Barry ate most of it, but it was still nice. I even had a session with the school psychologist, who said she was screening me for PTSD. At first I thought that was some kind of a sandwich, like pastrami, turkey, salami, and dark bread, but it means post–traumatic stress disorder. The only stress I felt was from thinking about the great sandwich I wasn’t going to eat.
    â€œJack . . . Cass,” Dad said, “this is Mr. Anthony from Lock-Tite Security. After that strange little visit from the TV station this morning, I figure we’d better make ourselves safe from intrusions, wiretaps, recording devices. Somebody in this town—who shall remain nameless—thinks he’s going to win an Emmy Award for investigative journalism.”
    Cass nodded. “I understand, Mr. McKinley. I met his son. I don’t blame you.”
    â€œWe’ll go upstairs,” I said.
    We raced each other through the living room and up the back stairs. Cass reached the second-floor landing first. He quickly tossed off his shoes and socks before walking on the Oriental rug that lined the long hallway. “I love the way this feels. This house is so cool.”
    â€œYou could have a whole room of your own, you know,” I said. “We have a lot of them. There’s more on third floor, too.”
    â€œWe already decided we were going to share,” Cass said. “Are you changing your mind?”
    â€œNo!” I said. “I just thought . . . if you ever felt like you needed space. It’s a big house and all.”
    Cass shook his head, his face darkening. “Besides we have to be prepared. We can’t be separated if it happens . . .”
    â€œIt?” I said.
    â€œYou know . . . it ,” Cass repeated. “Dying.”
    I leaned over, softly banging my head on the wood railing that looked out onto the first floor vestibule. “I thought we talked about this. We’re going to stay positive, remember? We’re feeling good so far, Dad is on the case—”
    â€œRight,” Cass said. “But doesn’t that first part seem scary to you? About us feeling good?”
    â€œ Dying is scary, Cass!” I said. “Feeling good is not scary!”
    â€œBut we shouldn’t be feeling good!” Cass replied. “By now, both of us—or at least you—should have had an episode. Which would mean we’d need a treatment. No one knows how to give us one!”
    â€œDad is working on it,” I said.
    â€œHe has no contact with anyone in the KI, so how can he figure it out?” Cass said. “I’ve been thinking all day about what Barry Reese said. Why are we still healthy, Jack? We shouldn’t be!”
    â€œUh, guys?” Dad’s face appeared directly below me. He was scowling. “Can you please take it inside?”
    Cass and I ran into our room and shut the door tight. I emptied my pockets onto the desk, yanked off my ripped pants, and quickly pulled on a pair of sweats I’d left on the floor. That was another agreement Cass and I had made. I could keep my side of the room as messy as I wanted.
    Feeling more comfortable, I began pacing. “Okay, let’s think about this. The intervals are irregular. Always have been. We know that.”
    â€œYeah, but the older we get, the closer they should be,” Cass said.
    I couldn’t argue that.