The Secret Horses of Briar Hill

I ease it open and close it behind me. Only once I’m in the room do I breathe out.

There are three beds, but I know which one is his. Even if I didn’t, the smell of onions would give it away. I tiptoe over and lift his pillow: no comic book. I slide open his bedside table: nothing but a bag of old nuts and letters from home. I drop down to look under the bed: nothing.

I sit on the bed, thinking. I have to find it.

If I were a nasty, hound-faced boy, where would I hide my comic book?

My eyes fall to the big Bible on his desk, and I remember him reading Popeye last Sunday instead of the Bible. I flip it open, and a few pages in, Popeye looks back at me. My eyes go wide. What would God think of that?

I grab the comic book and stuff it down my shirt just as footsteps sound in the hallway. Through the cracked door, I watch the winged horse in the mirror pace back and forth, blue eyes wide, as though to warn me. I drop down and crawl under Benny’s bed just as the footsteps stop at the bedroom door. Black boots. Narrow width. Sister Mary Grace’s. The urge to cough rises, and I clamp a hand over my mouth. She stands still for a moment, and then closes the door.

I wait.

The floor under his bed is sticky, and there’s a fallen nut or two. I cannot stay here long. The radio broadcast will end soon, and he will return. I cough into my hand as quietly as I can.

I crawl out slowly, blood pounding in my ears, and twist the doorknob. Outside, the hall is quiet. The winged horse with the blue eyes has her back to me, as though she is asleep. I take a deep breath, and then tiptoe down the hall on sock feet and dart into Anna’s bedroom. They haven’t taken out her big bed and heavy furniture yet. I press the hidden lever on the underside of the desk that releases the secret drawer. It pops open, and suddenly the room is filled with Anna again. Dried lavender. Her naturalist books. A single fine black-ink pen and the broken pencils I placed there for safekeeping. I shove the comic book in and close the drawer, and then dash out. I veer at the hall corner and go flying by, ducking beneath the door of Sister Constance’s office and onto the attic stairs just as the broadcast ends and the children emerge into the hall.

I stop to catch my breath at the top of the stairs, in the shadows where no one looks.

In the dark, I smile.

“WHERE IS IT?”

Benny’s shouts carry all the way to the top of the attic stairs. I draw in a sharp breath, but that triggers the coughing again. I can barely muffle it against my sleeve.

Outside the attic window, the late afternoon sun sinks farther. Soon the moon will rise. Nearly a full moon. I only have one day to spare, as tomorrow the moon will be completely round and bright. I need to sneak out to the sundial garden. I need to set the comic book in its place on the wall of ivy. I need to complete the spectral shield to protect Foxfire. All eight rainbow colors just like in the manufacturer’s description. A complete set.

And yet.

As soon as I stand up from the stairs, my vision goes black, and I immediately sit down again. My lungs. The beast that waits there, deep beneath the stillwaters, is clawing at my throat.

I throw a hand over my mouth. Not now. Please. Not tonight.

I try to think soothing thoughts: Water flowing down my throat. Warm melted chocolate. Fresh milk straight from the pail. But the tickle won’t be ignored. It grows into a briary rose that someone is scratching up and down the insides of my throat.

“NO!” Benny yells. “Someone took it!”

There are frantic footsteps and more shouting from beyond the attic door. Benny saw me sneaking around in his room. Benny has sharp eyes like a hunting dog. He will know it was me.

But he can search my room all he wants—he won’t find it.

I take one long look outside. Is Foxfire waiting for me? Is the Black Horse blinking, clearing his vision, waiting for the light of tomorrow’s full moon so he can attack again? But my limbs are shaking and my vision is going wavy and it’s all I can do to crawl to my attic room. One inch at a time, each step its own small battle, and I think of the men in the rubble, lungs choked with dust from German bombs, crawling and crawling to safety. At last, I reach my bedroom. I kick the door shut and lean against it, breathing hard. The stillwaters beast is not going to calm down this time. It came for Anna and now Anna is gone and it wants more lungs to thrash around in, other throats to claw and shred.

I pull myself onto the rope mattress and collapse on the quilt. The cough comes freely now. I let it. It shreds the inside of my throat, forcing its way out. I feel like someone is wringing me out. No water left. No life left. I taste the bitter bite of blood. Beyond the doors, there come angry footsteps stomping up the stairs.

They stop outside of my door.

KNOCK, KNOCK.

Benny’s voice. “I know it was you, you thief!”

The door opens a few inches. Benny’s angry face haunts the crack, his sharp eyes hunting around the room, his spindly nose sniffing. Then he sees me and his eyes go wide. “Emmaline? Are you…” He stumbles back. “Sister Constance, come quick! There’s blood everywhere!”

His footsteps going down the stairs are even faster.

I smile. It is the last thing I remember, before my head lolls back. I smile, and think of the rainbow that Marjorie and I saw that day in the rain. I was afraid it would be the last one I’d ever see.

But soon. Soon. I will finish my own.