The Spindlers by Lauren Oliver Page B

worried one of them might be eavesdropping. “That’s why it’s such bad luck to cross them.... They carry the seeds Above, and plant them in souls where they’re needed.”
    Liza wished again that she had Patrick with her. Everything about Below was strange and different. “Can I—do you think I could take some? Just a few, I mean?”
    Mirabella waved a paw. “Take what you like,” she said. “The bushes of hope grow everywhere Below. They can grow in the soiliest dirt and the rockiest roads!”
    Liza reached out and skimmed her right hand along the branches. They even felt like poppy seeds, she thought, as the seeds quivered and came away in her hand—a dozen of them, black teardrops against her palm. She transferred them carefully into the right pocket of her pajamas, along with Patrick’s socks and her father’s glasses, which were amazingly intact. She could do with some hope right now. It was nearly the only thing keeping her going: hope that she would reach Patrick in time, and hope that she would not be too late to stop the spindlers.
    â€œPatrick and I will bring some to Mrs. Costenblatt,” she said out loud, because it helped to believe, truly believe, that they would go Above again. True, Mrs. Costenblatt couldn’t see very well—she might, Liza thought, even try to eat them—but she would be happy with the gift even if she didn’t know what it was.
    â€œWho is Mrs. Costenblatt?” Mirabella asked.
    â€œA friend,” Liza replied. “She lives across the street.”
    â€œA friend, a friend.” Mirabella repeated the word, a rapturous expression in her eyes. “What a beautiful word.”
    Liza shrugged. “I guess so.”
    â€œI have never had a friend,” Mirabella said sadly. She began plucking at the remaining panels of her newspaper skirt, which were so coated with dirt that the print had become illegible.
    â€œNever?” Liza repeated, stunned. “Not even one?”
    Mirabella shook her head.
    Liza didn’t know what to say. Mirabella looked so pathetic, in her strange, sloppy wig, fiddling anxiously with her tail, Liza couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Everyone deserved at least one friend. At least Liza had Mrs. Costenblatt. And Patrick, of course. Anna would be her friend, she felt sure, if Anna would just come back from college. And Mirabella was taking her to the nests, where she would—she had to—rescue Patrick and the other souls that the spindlers had stolen from Above.
    Liza made a sudden decision. “I’ll be your friend,” she announced. She had trouble speaking the words but was glad once she had spoken them. She did not really want to be friends with an enormous rat of questionable sanity, but it seemed the right thing to say.
    Mirabella did not seem cheered, however. If anything, she began to worry her tail more frantically, until Liza was scared she would snap it in two.

Chapter 13

T HE Q UEEN’S S PIES, AND THE W AY A CROSS THE C HASM
    T he air grew cold and thin, and Liza wrapped her arms around her waist and panted cold white clouds into the air. Higher up, she and Mirabella came across groups of birds massed among the rocks.
    Birds, or bats; Liza could not decide. They were as ugly as bats—large, about the size of vultures, with webbed wings, hooded eyes, and long, sharp beaks. They were white and featherless. Looking at them gave Liza an uncomfortable, itchy feeling and reminded her of standing in the front of Mr. Toddle’s classroom, reciting her multiplication tables; she’d had the same feeling then of being scrutinized and evaluated.
    The birds—or bats—followed Liza and Mirabella’s progress carefully. As they passed among the rocks, a few of the creatures lifted off from their perches, gliding into the darkness on silent wings.
    â€œShe knows we’re here now,” Mirabella said in an excited