Defy the Dark by Saundra Mitchell Read Free Book Online Page A

question wasn’t rhetorical.
    Patricia grabbed the bouquet that he had painstakingly selected and threw it so hard, it sailed over the wrought-iron fence and smacked a passing soccer dad in the face.
    Patricia didn’t understand him, but sometimes Cado didn’t understand her, either.
    After she helped him to his feet, he grabbed his duffel bag and flute case from the petunias and followed her through the back door into her home.
    â€œWant a cool drink?”
    â€œMaybe later,” he said, distracted by her outfit, a black dress with no back and shoes that exposed her manicured toes—definitely not a milkmaid. She smelled cold and Parisian. “You look nice.”
    Patricia twirled for him, showering the floor with pink petunia petals. “My folks are at a canasta party, but after they’ve heard all the neighborhood gossip, they’ll swing by to pick me up. They’re treating me to a farewell dinner at Gitano’s before you steal me away. Wanna come?”
    They hadn’t seen each other since he’d gone to Castelaine to see her perform two months ago. They almost never saw each other except at recitals and band camps, like the one they were driving to tomorrow. Although they talked and texted all the time, the whole long-distance thing was beyond suck. “I’d rather stay here with you.”
    â€œThey’ll be home any minute,” Patricia insisted, and before he could stop her, she popped the zit on his chin. She was always doing that to him. “I don’t care if it scars you,” she’d say whenever he complained. “I’d rather look at scars than pus.”
    â€œWe only have enough time to change you into something less transy,” she said, dabbing his chin with a kitchen towel.
    Cado held her away and looked down at himself, his worn jeans and new, blue Fourth of July T-shirt. “Transy?”
    â€œIt’s short for transient.” She put her hand over her mouth briefly, as though she had been impolite. “It doesn’t mean anything bad; it’s just what we call people who obviously aren’t from Portero. Usually Porterenes wear black in public.”
    â€œHow can y’all stand it? Especially in the summer.” It had to be close to one hundred degrees outside.
    â€œWe’re used to it, though it helps not having anything to compare it to.” She led him upstairs and into her room. “I mean, it’s not exactly a law, but it may as well be.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause people die all the time here,” she said solemnly, taking his duffel bag and setting it on her bed. “Death surrounds us. Did you pack a suit?”
    â€œUm . . .” He was inclined to take Patricia seriously when she spoke of death and monsters, now more than ever after what he had seen last month, but still, her mix of weirdness and practicality always mystified him.
    â€œI have a black shirt and pants.”
    She rummaged through his poorly packed bag, but after finding the shirt and pants, the search continued. “Where’re your ties?”
    â€œTies? I thought we were going to dinner, not Buckingham Palace.”
    â€œYou can take the boy out of the country,” she muttered, giving him a pitying look. “I’ll get something of my dad’s.”
    Cado changed clothes while she was gone, noting the real art on the walls, the violin from Austria gleaming in an open case on her desk, the blue silk covering her bed and pillows, and the fresh yellow daylilies ironically scenting the air. He tried his best not to smudge anything.
    Patricia returned and gave him her dad’s jacket and tie, which he struggled into while she dumped the contents of a red purse into a metal one that reminded him of an anorexic version of his mom’s toaster.
    Cado examined himself in Patricia’s full-length mirror. The jacket fit tightly on his arms; if he flexed, he would burst the seams like the