Thief of Souls by Neal Shusterman Read Free Book Online

parasite that had leeched onto his soul. But how much of it was the beast, and how much was Dillon? Winston found it hard to have any sympathy for him.
    In the bathroom, his mother bandaged Thaddy’s feet. Winston watched her, marveling. She had been out of her wheelchair for almost a year now. Winston’s touch, which had once been the cause of her paralysis and all forms of stunted growth, was now responsible for making her get up and walk. His curse under the tyranny of his parasite had turned into a blessing once the thing was dead: a gift of growth in every sense of the word.
    â€œHeard you thrashin’ in your covers even before the window broke,” his mother said, finishing up on Thaddy. “Must have been some fright you were having.”
    I won’t go help Dillon, Winston told himself.
    â€œJust a dream,” he told her.
    â€œGuess that’s what you get for sleeping in.” His mother never probed for details. Winston had never spoken of his experiences out west to her, and she had the wisdom not to ask.
    They ate breakfast quietly, Winston’s mind full of heavy, distracting thoughts. He knew his mom could read the troubled look on his face.
    â€œYou know, I’ve been thinking of putting the house up for sale,” Mom said. “Too much bad blood between us and the neighborhood, anyway.”
    Winston shook his head sadly. Folks around town hadn’tknown what to make of him before, and now they surely didn’t. But that was okay. Winston had grown to understand them a bit better now. Their fears. Their superstitions.
    â€œMomma,” he said, before he knew the words were coming from his mouth. “Momma, I gotta leave.”
    His mother took a deep breath. It had become her habit to take Winston’s pronouncements in stride.
    â€œI suppose it was only a matter of time till you outgrew this place,” she said. “Although I didn’t think it would be so soon.”
    â€œStone ain’t outgrown it,” chimed in Thaddy. “His feet don’t hang off the end of the bed or nothing.”
    Winston chuckled. “That’s not what she means, Thaddy.”
    In the year since coming back home, Winston had found himself driven to think. To learn. He had pulled down all of his father’s dusty books—the ones his father had treasured—and he read them all. “Education is a black man’s greatest ally against injustice,” his father had been fond of saying. He kept a fine library that was left to his wife and sons when he died. Books of science and art, classic literature and world history. Volumes on philosophy. Great thinkers, with grand thoughts. Winston downed all he could at home, at school, at the library. He hadn’t come up with any grand answers to the mysteries of life yet, but now at least he felt he knew some of the questions. He had grown to know how much he didn’t know.
    But that wasn’t why he had to leave.
    I won’t head west. He struggled to convince himself. I refuse to help Dillon Cole. But there was a gravity pulling on him now. He knew he could resist it, but didn’t know if he should.
    Thaddy just looked down, his thoughts buried in his cinnamon toast. Winston’s mother took a long look at Winston, with a certain wonder in her eyes. He let her have her moment. To be honest, he felt kind of teary-eyed himself.
    â€œI know you’ll do great things for this weary world,” she said. “I’ve got faith in that.”
    A few hours later, he kept her faith cloaked around him as he boarded the bus alone toward all points west, and Dillon Cole.
    T HREE HUNDRED MILES AWAY, the yolks of a dozen eggs oozed through their smashed shells, blending with the milk, Gatorade, and maple syrup that spilled forth from their ruptured containers. Everything in Tory Smythe’s arms had fallen to the ground in the wake of her sudden vision, and now the polished white floor of the