Sing Sweet Nightingale by Erica Cameron

Author:Erica Cameron
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
Tags: Sing Sweet Nightingale
ISBN: urn|ean|9781937053963
Publisher: Spencer Hill Press
Published: 2014-04-23T16:00:00+00:00

When Horace and I get home, K.T. is sitting on the porch waiting for us.

“Sorry,” I say as I run up to unlock the door. “Have you been here long? Are you okay?”

K.T. picks up a backpack and shrugs as she follows me inside.

“I’ve definitely had better days.” She looks around, and her eyes widen. “So has this house. Wow.”

“It’s a work in progress,” Horace mutters as he passes. “Piece of shit property.”

K.T. giggles—a surprised little laugh—and relaxes as we show her around. Given what happened last night, all three of us will be spending the evening in Horace’s room where the stones are set up.

“And these will really keep us safe?” she asks, her eyebrows raised.

“Hey, don’t knock it. They’ve already saved my life four times.”

“This was almost his head.” Horace tosses the burned-out cell phone at K.T., and she squeaks when she sees the fried circuitry inside.

“Where do your parents think you are?” I ask while she pokes at the insides of my phone.

“I don’t know. I told them I was going to stay over at a friend’s house. They actually didn’t ask. Might not be as easy on a school night, but I’m fine for now.”

That’s good, I guess. “What about your boyfriend?”

“What?” Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn’t look up. “Don’t have one.”

“Oh. Sorry. I thought Danny was…” I trail off, trying not to shove my foot any deeper down my throat.

K.T. flushes a little and shakes her head. “No, we’re just friends.”

After a few seconds of awkward silence, I tell her, “I saw Mariella tonight.”

That finally pulls her attention away from the phone.

“Is she okay? I worried after she left last night that it might’ve been too much for her.”

I laugh, but it sounds more like choking. “Oh, no. She’s fine. She doesn’t remember going. Or you. Or ever meeting me before tonight.”

K.T. flinches but doesn’t look surprised. “Welcome to my life.”

“That’s not all.”

I tell K.T. and Horace everything I learned and saw tonight—everything except for the image of Mariella wrapped in burning chains as she screamed in agony. I don’t think anyone else needs to be burdened with that picture.

K.T. is quiet when I finish, but she’s biting her lip, and her eyes dart back and forth like she’s reading something in the air in front of her.

“She reacted to the picture, right? Did she remember anything?”

“She seemed to believe what I said, but I don’t know if she remembered anything.”

K.T. purses her lips and falls into silence again, twirling a lock of her dark brown hair around her index finger. “Maybe it wasn’t a night she had any attachment to. What if we pulled from further back? Before she met this creep?”

“Don’t know. It might work, but I don’t know anything about her childhood.”

“I do. And I can talk to her mom.”

K.T. keeps talking, and we outline a plan. We’ll create a scrapbook of pictures. If we pull in enough missing moments, we might be able to convince Mari we’re telling the truth.

“But what do we do after that?” K.

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