Warriors of the Black Shroud by Peter Howe Read Free Book Online

asked. “It makes you different and that’s so great. I love being different. Why would you ever want to be the same as everyone else? What’s the point of that?”
    â€œI dunno,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Sometimes it just seems easier.”
    â€œOh, please!” she replied.
    And that was that, end of conversation, or at least of that topic. Her final word on Walker’s birthmark didn’t prevent Frankie from discussing the merits of her cell phone when compared to that of her best friend’s; her favorite food—meatloaf; her least favorite food—fish because it tasted fishy; her favorite books, movies, cars, card games, skateboards, teachers, and on, and on, and on. The fact that Walker barely said a word didn’t worry her in the least. In fact she hardly seemed to notice, because when she looked at the clock beside Walker’s bed she suddenly said:
    â€œOh my gosh! Is that clock right? I have to go home. It’s been fun. I like you a lot. Do you like me? Shall I come by again tomorrow? Do you wanna go tracking in the woods? Do you think your mom would let you go?”
    Walker could only mumble “Yeah, sure” in response and hope that his answer covered most of her questions. After promising to come by the same time the following day, Frankie bounded out, leaving Walker exhausted but okay. A few minutes later his mother poked her head around the door.
    â€œWell, what did you think of Frances?” she inquired anxiously.
    â€œShe’s different,” he replied, and she certainly was.

Chapter 7
    T rue to her word, Frankie arrived at exactly the same time the next day. Now she was dressed more comfortably in a pair of shorts, some old sneakers, and a T-shirt that said VAMPIRE IN TRAINING . She asked Walker’s mom if it was all right for him to go for a walk with her, but had grabbed his hand and was already heading out of the door before Mrs. Watson had a chance to answer. They went to the bottom of the yard, past the hole in the ground behind the barn, and into the woods at the far end. Walker had always loved the woods because he rarely saw anyone else in them, and he was surprised at how much he liked being there with Frankie. Her constant chatter was soothing, like the buzz of bees on a hot summer’s day. They came to a clearing where somebody had made a bench out of two tree stumps and a log. Frankie ran over to it and lay down, her hands clasped behind her head, looking up at the patches of sky between the branches of the trees.
    â€œMy mom told me that your mom told her that you don’t have any friends,” she said without turning to look at him.
    â€œI do so,” Walker protested.
    â€œI knew you must,” said Frankie. “It would be terrible not to have friends. Who’s your best one?”
    â€œWell,” Walker replied, pausing for a minute as if he was mentally going through an extensive address book, “my newest is a boy called Eddie.”
    â€œDoes he live near here?” she asked.
    â€œSort of,” Walker said.
    â€œWhat do you mean—sort of?” Frankie demanded. “Either he lives near here or he doesn’t.”
    â€œWell, if you really have to know,” Walker said, getting irritated by her constant questions, “he actually lives in another world, but you can get to it quickly.”
    â€œWhat do you mean—other world?” exclaimed Frankie.
    â€œIt’s underground,” Walker replied. “At least, I think it is. You get there through a long black tunnel.”
    â€œYou mean he’s like a miner?” asked Frankie, completely confused.
    â€œNo, he’s a prince and he lives in a Kingdom,” Walker replied.
    Frankie folded her arms and looked Walker straight in the eyes.
    â€œWalker Watson,” she said, “I will believe everything you tell me, because I think you should believe what friends tell you, but if you