Marguerite leave for their date, Professor came over and rubbed up against Lenaâs leg. She absentmindedly scratched behind his ears, marveling at everything that had happened the past few days. The whole power-swapping fiasco had messed things up with Brent Adamson and ruined her chances of getting into the play, but if her dad was finally happy, then maybe it wasnât all bad after all.
Chapter 17
Marcus walked home from school the longest way he could think of. If he took his time, maybe heâd avoid seeing Caspar Brown. He was starting to wonder if Caspar had put a tracking device on him or something. How else could he keep popping up around every corner? After the phone incident, Marcus had stopped carrying Grandpaâs book around with him, just to be safe.
As he walked past the old playground where his dad had once brought him to do pull-upsâbefore it became painfully clear that Marcus would never be anything but skinny and unathleticâhis phone beeped in his bag.
Marcus held his breath and grabbed the phone from the side pocket where heâd hidden it. The Cajun rice had done wonders absorbing the water from the phone, but it had also made it smell like a spice rack.
He hoped it was a message from Eddie. Marcus and Lena had spent all of lunch working on a list of everything they could remember about Connieâs party so Eddie could re-create it. But it was Marcusâs mom asking if heâd want to visit Grandpa Joe tonight.
Marcus accidentally breathed in the spices wafting off his phone and started to cough. He sucked in a breath of fresh air and typed back: Canât go tonight. Test tomorrow . After the crying incident at the nursing home yesterday, he doubted his dad would let him set foot in there again anyway. Thereâd been no more talk of getting him new running shoes, which should have been a relief. But it had only made his dadâs disappointment in him even clearer.
He rounded the corner, holding his breath again, and let out a relieved sigh when he didnât see anyone in front of Casparâs house. He hurried his steps until he was practically running. If he kept this up, maybe he really would be able to jog three miles one day.
He was almost in the clear when he heard a sound that cut right into his soul. It was a cry so pitiful that Marcus knew he couldnât ignore it, not if he could do something to help.
With a glance over his shoulder at Casparâs houseâwhich still looked emptyâhe went to the pond on the other side of the street and listened intently until he heard the cry again. It was coming from a nearby clump of bushes.
He pushed some branches aside and saw a pair of yellow eyes staring at him. It was a cat, an old skeletal thing with mangy fur. It didnât have a collar around its neck, and the wild look in its eyes made Marcus wonder if it was feral.
Suddenly, the world shifted, and Marcus could see the catâs soul barely clinging to its body, like a piece of dandelion fluff about to blow off its stem. Then the colors faded away, and the world went back to normal again.
Lena hadnât said anything about collecting animalsâ souls. He wasnât even sure if that was part of her job. But Marcus had no doubt that this cat wouldnât be alive for very long. He stood frozen for a minute, not sure what to do.
He remembered what Lena had told him about souls wandering aimlessly if they werenât collected at the right time. Did that mean he should collect the catâs soul and make sure that at least it would die peacefully?
No. He couldnât kill it, not even if it was already dying. But he had to help it somehow. He would bring it to the vet, he decided. Maybe it wasnât too late.
He slowly took off his jacket, careful not to make any sudden movements, and then reached out to wrap the cat in it. The creature tried to wriggle away, clearly afraid but too weak to run.
âI wonât hurt
Chapter 17
Marcus walked home from school the longest way he could think of. If he took his time, maybe heâd avoid seeing Caspar Brown. He was starting to wonder if Caspar had put a tracking device on him or something. How else could he keep popping up around every corner? After the phone incident, Marcus had stopped carrying Grandpaâs book around with him, just to be safe.
As he walked past the old playground where his dad had once brought him to do pull-upsâbefore it became painfully clear that Marcus would never be anything but skinny and unathleticâhis phone beeped in his bag.
Marcus held his breath and grabbed the phone from the side pocket where heâd hidden it. The Cajun rice had done wonders absorbing the water from the phone, but it had also made it smell like a spice rack.
He hoped it was a message from Eddie. Marcus and Lena had spent all of lunch working on a list of everything they could remember about Connieâs party so Eddie could re-create it. But it was Marcusâs mom asking if heâd want to visit Grandpa Joe tonight.
Marcus accidentally breathed in the spices wafting off his phone and started to cough. He sucked in a breath of fresh air and typed back: Canât go tonight. Test tomorrow . After the crying incident at the nursing home yesterday, he doubted his dad would let him set foot in there again anyway. Thereâd been no more talk of getting him new running shoes, which should have been a relief. But it had only made his dadâs disappointment in him even clearer.
He rounded the corner, holding his breath again, and let out a relieved sigh when he didnât see anyone in front of Casparâs house. He hurried his steps until he was practically running. If he kept this up, maybe he really would be able to jog three miles one day.
He was almost in the clear when he heard a sound that cut right into his soul. It was a cry so pitiful that Marcus knew he couldnât ignore it, not if he could do something to help.
With a glance over his shoulder at Casparâs houseâwhich still looked emptyâhe went to the pond on the other side of the street and listened intently until he heard the cry again. It was coming from a nearby clump of bushes.
He pushed some branches aside and saw a pair of yellow eyes staring at him. It was a cat, an old skeletal thing with mangy fur. It didnât have a collar around its neck, and the wild look in its eyes made Marcus wonder if it was feral.
Suddenly, the world shifted, and Marcus could see the catâs soul barely clinging to its body, like a piece of dandelion fluff about to blow off its stem. Then the colors faded away, and the world went back to normal again.
Lena hadnât said anything about collecting animalsâ souls. He wasnât even sure if that was part of her job. But Marcus had no doubt that this cat wouldnât be alive for very long. He stood frozen for a minute, not sure what to do.
He remembered what Lena had told him about souls wandering aimlessly if they werenât collected at the right time. Did that mean he should collect the catâs soul and make sure that at least it would die peacefully?
No. He couldnât kill it, not even if it was already dying. But he had to help it somehow. He would bring it to the vet, he decided. Maybe it wasnât too late.
He slowly took off his jacket, careful not to make any sudden movements, and then reached out to wrap the cat in it. The creature tried to wriggle away, clearly afraid but too weak to run.
âI wonât hurt
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