Read Online The Butterfly Clues by Kate Ellison - Free Book Online Page A

edge running beneath it. I think of Sapphire. I wonder whether he is thinking of her, too, or of other cases, of other Neverland kids who have slipped through the cracks.
    We make it to the top of the stairs safely, uneaten by monsters, and the tiny window at the top lets in enough light for Flynt to see the frozen door handle and jiggle it open.
    We walk out onto a wide rooftop, and all of Neverland and the whole city of Cleveland and the distant quilt of the suburbs, too, are spread out before us—brilliantly pink and orange and yellow in the glow of the waning sun. From here Neverland and all of Ohio beyond it look more beautiful than I’ve ever imagined they could look.
    Flynt was right. This is a good place. My head begins to clear now. Maybe I did just get freaked before. I can see seven church steeples and four domed buildings. Seven is a bad number, and I turn a complete circle until I spot one more steeple in the distance, stained ruddy red in the setting sun. Eight and four—both awful, suffocating numbers—but twelve, even if it’s not always as perfect as nine, helps me breathe. Twelve is good for buildings. Twelve is solid, sure, safe.
    Flynt moves to the edge of the building and spreads his arms out wide like he’s a plant receiving nourishment. I move closer and watch him for a second. “
    So, where do you live?” I realize he has never told me.
    “I move around a lot.” Flynt shrugs. “I find a different crash pad every two or three months. I’ve been on my own for five years, since I was thirteen, so it’s something I’ve gotten pretty good at. Moving, I mean.” His eyes glitter.
    The roof is covered in something black and rubbery, and it’s peeling away in patches. “How come you’ve been on your own since you were thirteen?”
    “Oh, you know. I was ready to leave; there was nothing in Houston for me anymore. Thirteen is considered pretty much full-grown in my family.” He squats low, starts aiming little rocks of gravel onto the rooftop across the street.
    “Yeah, but what about your parents? They just let you go?”
    “They were kind of checked out. It was no big deal.” He looks away for a second, maybe remembering. Then he turns back, smiling big big big. “So, the view from this roof is pretty amazing, right?”
    “Isn’t it annoying? Constantly picking up and resettling?” I press, even though I know that, well, of course it is. I’ve done it my whole life.
    “Actually,” Flynt says, “it’s not so bad. I’ve got a bag full of the essentials, and if I need to run, I run, and I find somewhere new, and that’s where I stay until I feel like leaving again. A beautiful system, really.”
    “But what about, like, school and stuff?” I swallow, realizing I sound just like my mother. Or how my mother used to sound, before she retreated to her bedroom.
    “Neverland is a very educational place,” Flynt says, winking at me. I’ve never known someone who could hold a smile for so long. “I’m planning on getting out of here for good pretty soon, though. I’ll probably head to San Francisco. Maybe Portland. I’ll turn to ash and scatter in the western winds and become solid again somewhere by the ocean. Like a phoenix. Or, more like a seagull, with a phoenix-like sensibility.”
    Music drifts up to us from a bar on the strip below: slow, steady beat, languid violin, molasses guitar. Flynt gets up and flaps his arms like wings. He grabs my hand, pulling me with him and twirling me once.
    “You’re a pretty good dancer,” he says. “Bet you didn’t know that, did you? Just like you don’t know that you’re a good bowler, or a good wind-chimer, or that you’re beautiful?”
    Beautiful . That word makes all the other words dry up in my mind. “I—I’m not—”
    He cuts me off. “So what’s ‘Lo’ short for?” He spins me away and back again.
    “Penelope.”
    “Penelllllllopeeee.” He sings it. “I like that. It’s kinda cool, old-fashioned or