The Owl Keeper Read Online Free Page A

delicate she was, how warm to the touch.
    "See, Rose, this is her way of saying hello. It's owl talk." He never tired of petting her sleek feathers or breathing in the grassy sweetness of her breath.
    "You should know," said Rose, hanging upside down. "I never had a pet owl." She swung herself up and sat on the branch. "Tell me about your parents, Max," she said, catching him by surprise.
    Max couldn't think of anything impressive to say. Gran always described his father as the kind of man who liked his bread white and his hedges straight. His mother wore bifocals and was in the habit of falling asleep at the dinner table. Dr. Tredegar prescribed pills for her nerves.
    Then he brightened. "My mom and dad both work at Cavernstone Hall. It's a chocolate factory where they make
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    high-end chocolates and gourmet cocoa mix," he said importantly. "They have high-ranking jobs and they use smart cards to get in and out. And, oh yeah, my dad won an award for perfect attendance."
    He didn't tell her that he had no idea what his parents did there. It made his stomach knot up, thinking how distant and quiet they'd become, especially since Gran died. Sometimes his heart ached for them. If only he could tell his parents about Rose and the silver owl--but how could he? They lived in constant fear of the High Echelon and its tedious rules.
    "What kind of jobs?" demanded Rose.
    "Umm ..." Max groped for words that would sound important. "Management, computers, that sort of thing." Why was she always quizzing him?
    Soft silvery sounds came from the owl's throat and Max stroked her iridescent wings. "I know lots of things about silver owls," he boasted, eager to change the subject. He tried to recall owl facts that would impress Rose. "Mostly they see in black-and-white, but they sometimes recognize the color blue." His voice caught as he remembered that blue was the color of Gran's eyes. "And they can turn their heads right around, two hundred and seventy degrees."
    There was no comment from Rose; she was too busy swinging on the branch. Her wiry frame and quick movements reminded Max of a tamarin monkey. He'd seen pictures of tamarins in Gran's book on rain forests.
    Why didn't Rose say anything nice about his silver owl?
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    Couldn't she see how intelligent the owl was? How extraordinary and elegant? Max considered his owl perfect in every way. He sighed, thinking how his words were lost on Rose. She obviously thought owls were boring.
    "I guess you're wondering who this weird kid is who talks to owls," he said bravely. "Right?"
    Rose swung down. "Wrong," she said, dusting off her hands. "I don't think you're weird. I think you're mysterious.'" She looked Max over and nodded to herself. "Yep, there's a whiff of mystery about you. Something along the lines of... spellbinding"
    "Really?" Max was astounded. He had never thought of himself as mysterious before--not with his dull brown eyes and stringy hair, his skin the color of paste, and his habit of breathing out of his mouth instead of his nose.
    "You don't see things like ordinary people, do you, Max?" Rose pushed her face up to his. Her hair had a sticky smell, like tree sap, and for a moment her eyes seemed fathomless. "You're like that owl. She's mysterious too."
    Max smiled to himself. Maybe Rose had noticed his owl's special qualities after all.
    "You still didn't answer my question from the other night," she persisted. "What are you doing out here in the dark?"
    Max thought a moment. "Ever since I was little, I've loved the dark. My gran and I used to sneak out of the house at night and go looking for owls." He felt a familiar sadness inside his chest. "She said if you look into the dark long enough, you'll see things that others don't."
    "She sounds like one smart granny." Rose glanced over at the
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    silver owl. "That's one smart owl, too. She understands everything we say, doesn't she?"
    "Yeah, she does. And sometimes I understand her, too!" said Max enthusiastically. "I'd give