Read Online Blackwood by Gwenda Bond - Free Book Online Page A

straight out of house and beach garden, huh? My mom should be cool, but if she's not, I'll just drop my stuff, and then we'll get you home," Phillips said, aware he was rambling. Now that he was about to see his mom again, he worried he'd underestimated how ticked she'd be about the whole 'stealing her car and leaving her at the airport' thing. "OK?"
      Miranda straightened. "Oh, frak, it's after nine. I missed curtain."
      He turned off the car. Where did the fake-curse frak come from? He couldn't remember. He'd have to look it up later. "They'll cancel, won't they?"
      Her shoulders slumped. "Right. They already did. I forgot. Everyone's left town. No show to go on. But Sidekick will need food at some point soon."
      Her disappointment about the cancellation was clear and he wished he'd kept his mouth shut. He had never seen The Lost Colony and vaguely wondered what it was like: he pictured cartoon savages wampuming around a set, overdone Elizabethan stuff. He managed to keep these ideas quiet as they left the car, since the show was clearly important to her.
      There was one interesting thing about the house besides its history. His mother. She swung back in the porch swing and then rose from her perch in a smooth motion. She waited at the top of the steps, arms crossed, as they dragged lead feet across the lawn.
      "Phillips Rawling," she said. "I should kill you right now."
      He ducked his head. "You probably should. This is Miranda."
      Miranda directed a shy wave at his mom.
      Whose arms did not uncross in welcome. "And she is?"
      "Miranda Blackwood. You remember her."
      "Of course," his mother said, nodding after she got a better look at Miranda. She stuck out her hand, but Miranda didn't take it. Unbothered, she took Miranda's arm and squeezed. "I'm Sara Rawling."
      "I know. Small town," Miranda said.
      "Please come in and pretend not to listen while I yell at my son."
      Miranda blinked. She probably hadn't expected his mother to be funny.
      "Sounds like fun," Miranda said.
      "It will be," his mom said. She steered Miranda across the porch toward the door, leaving him behind.
      "Don't worry, I'm here for my entertainment value," Phillips said.
      His mom hung back to hold the door for him after Miranda went inside. She caught Phillips' arm, and said, "Why is she with you?"
      He wished he knew. "Be nice to her. Please? I'm… helping her with something."
      "I'll need more than that later. But for now, OK." His mother squeezed his arm, with affection rather than any intent to harm. "It's good to see you. How are you doing?"
      "Quiet," he lied. Sure, there had only been the one voice so far, but where there was one whisper, more would follow. So much for brain disorders. He didn't understand what cursebearer meant yet. He didn't want to.
      But he'd have to puzzle it out anyway, and talking to his mom about how quiet it was wouldn't help there. "I bet Miranda's starving," he said. "I am."
       One, two … His mother processed his meaning in less than the five seconds he'd guessed it would take. "Oh!" she said. "I'm the world's worst hostess." She dragged Phillips through the door with her. "Let me fix you guys something. Go clean up, wayward son. Leave us girls to it."
      His mother's voice was far easier to read than most of the ones he heard in his head. He had no choice but to leave them "to it." He couldn't believe that with everything going on – a hundred and change missing people, most of the voices missing too, and Miranda's murdered father – he was nervous that "it" would involve baby pictures, embarrassing anecdotes, and cutesy nicknames being spilled. Moms were psychic and evil.
      But relief beat his nerves about that into submission. He had a few more minutes to figure out how to tell Miranda about the curse-bearer thing. The thing he didn't understand yet.
      An explosion of laughter shattered the silence behind him.
     
    "That should drive