Darkborn by Matthew Costello Read Free Book Online Page A

walking through the light rain, the heavy splats matting down his hair.
    While the others — the sane ones, Will thought — were on their way home.
     
    They started out walking, but once they were across Ocean Parkway, the rain turned nasty. The occasional spritz gave way to a steady downpour that Will’s all-weather coat didn’t do much against.
    His hair was sopping and the rivulets ran off his nose.
    “Couldn’t we have done this tomorrow?” Will shouted through the curtain of water.
    Kiff’s long red hair was, for once, all going in the same direction. Right down his forehead, nearly covering his eyes.
    “I don’t know if Scott’s rehearsing tomorrow,” Kiff yelled back. “And that would just leave us Friday.” He shook his head. “It has to be today.”
    Kiff reached out and tugged at Will’s sleeve. “C’mon,” he said.
    Will hurried, but he pulled his cuff away. He didn’t like being touched by Kiff. Kiff was okay in the group — barely — but one-on-one, he was an unpleasant experience. Too weird.
    Maybe dangerous.
    They passed the Ocean Theater. It was still showing The Sound of Music . The posters showed a giant Julie Andrews surrounded by a bunch of squeaky-clean kids.
     
    Kiff ran ahead and stood under the marquee, getting protection from the rain.
    “Damn, it’s raining like hell,” Kiff said.
    Will pulled his books from out of his coat, checking to see how they were doing. There were times, he thought, when a book bag might be helpful.
    “Stupid-ass movie,” Kiff announced, looking at the poster.
    Will nodded.
    “Did you see Thunderball ?”
    “Yeah,” Will said. “That was —”
    “Yeah, really great. That rocket pack? When Bond blasts off? Bitchin’ movie .   .   .”
    Will looked around. There was no sign that the downpour was letting up. Kiff lit a cigarette.
    “I think we should get going,” Will said. “It’s getting late.”
    “Sure, Will .   .   . we’ll keep going.”
    And like crazy people, Will thought, they ran off, splashing through the growing puddles that gathered in the cracks and curves of the sidewalk, running all the way to Flatbush Avenue.
    And on, past a grungy candy store with a giant faded Breyer’s ice cream sign, until they came to Carroll Street, lined with rows of neat brick homes.
    Thick trees guarded each side of the road.
    The leaves — still on the trees — sheltered them from the worst of the rain.
    But now Will smelled the ground, the car oil brought to life by the sudden splash of water. The smell of garbage cans, empty but marked by years of messy spills, sitting in narrow alleyways leading back to tiny backyards.
    “Okay,” Will said, feeling better now that the incessant downpour was off his face. His shirt and his sport coat were soaked near the top, a ring of dampness that was creeping its way down.
    Kiff came close — the small of his breath, the unhealthy look of his skin — much too close. “It’s the sixth house down, Will. Now listen,” he said, putting a hand on Will’s shoulder.
    Stop touching me, Will wanted to say.
    “We walk down there, as if it’s nothing. Scott always has students coming to see him, even ones that have gone on to college. Nobody will think anything. We’ll turn down that corner, right to the back door.”
    “And then — ?”
    Kiff smiled. “Leave the rest to me.”
    Then he turned and led Will down the block. They passed the protection of one big maple tree. Fresh drops hit Will’s face. And then on to the cover of another tree, until they came to — yes — the sixth building.
    Jim Kiff took the turn into the alley as if he had done it a thousand times.
    “Here we go,” he whispered to Will.
    Too many James Bond movies for the Kiffer, Will thought.
    The alley was dark, almost black. The stale smell was strong here, overpowering. He heard noises. A TV blasting in the house to the left. The smell of food cooking. Garlic. Onions frying.
    Then they came to the backyard.
    “Just walk