What Zoey Doesn't Know Read online

the eye. “I’m not an idiot.”

  He looked at me as if I were, in fact, an idiot. “Ignore me if you want. But that mummy I saw leaving your house isn’t the only one infected. Humans all up and down this street were exposed, and I’ve seen several acting like they think they’ve got magic powers. Mummy guy is harmless, but Sandra in there thinks she’s a harpy. If you don’t do something, the lady’s likely to jump off her own roof thinking she can fly.”

  I closed my eyes, imagining how upset Zoey would be that her helping so many Hidden creatures had put her human neighbors in danger. “Well, hell. So how do we cure this?” I looked around. “Silas?”

  He’d disappeared without a sound, just as Sandra came around the corner, dragging a ladder with her. She didn’t see me crouched in her marigold patch because she was too focused on securing the ladder against the side of the house. She hummed as she worked, an eerie, tuneless song that sounded more like it came from a carnival ride than the radio.

  She climbed the rungs, a weird little hop to her step, almost as if she were trying to flap a pair of wings she didn’t have. When she made it to the top, she stood tall, flung off her ruffled blouse and industrial-strength bra, and spread her arms wide.

  As much as I hated to admit it, Silas appeared to be telling the truth.

  Fortunately, I have that monster super-speed thing. Before she jumped, I scurried up the ladder, grabbed her from behind, and dragged her down the ladder and into her house, where I locked her into her own bathroom by hooking a chair under the doorknob. It all took about thirty seconds.

  I backed away from the door, breathing hard. She banged a few times, then shrieked, sounding very much like the harpy she thought she was.

  She never saw me, so that was something. Still, I couldn’t keep her locked in there for long. I rubbed my head. What was I supposed to do now?

  “It’s an easy cure, you know.” Silas sat in the next room at Sandra’s kitchen table, stuffing his face with toast that was liberally dusted with sugar and cinnamon. He belched and gulped down a glass of milk. “I can write down the ingredients for you.”

  “You would do that?” My tone was flat. “What’s the catch?”

  He made a face as if he were hurt. “No catch. I don’t want to see people suffer.”

  “Dude. You live to see people suffer.”

  He grinned. “Fair enough. I really do.” He wiped his greasy, sticky fingers on Sandra’s checked tablecloth. “But I’d rather not see Zoey suffer. You? You I don’t care about. But Zoey’s cool. I kind of owe her.”

  Before he could change his mind, I raced through the unfamiliar house and grabbed the first pen and blank piece of paper I could find. “Write it down.”

  He chewed as he scribbled, crumbs flying everywhere. It didn’t take long. He held out the paper, then pulled it away when I reached for it. “Wait.”

  “I knew there was a catch.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “What do you want?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing much.” He tossed a crust on the floor. “I can’t live on toast, you know.”

  I shook my head. “Dude, I don’t have time to make you breakfast. I’m already an hour and a half behind schedule today.”

  “Dinner, then. Tonight. Steak.”

  Zoey hadn’t exaggerated. This guy was a pain in the ass. “Fine. But not a word of any of this to Zoey.”

  “Deal.” He handed over the list and shook my hand.

  I resisted the urge to wipe my hand on my shirt for fear of my hand sticking to the fabric forever. “This is it?”

  He shrugged. “You’re dealing with a virus. You can’t actually cure it. It’s got to run its course. That list helps you manage the symptoms in the meantime.”

  I stared at the short list in my hand. It didn’t have a lot to offer, and none of it seemed likely. “Hairspray? Why hairspray?”

  He smelled his fingers, as if shaking my hand might have left a residue behind. I tried not to curl my lips in disgust as he licked his palm and fingers with a thoughtful look. “Hairspray is sticky. It helps to ‘set’ their true identity rather than the delusions their minds are projecting.” He stuck his wet fingers into the sugar bowl and swirled them around. “Any brand will do.”

  I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was pulling a prank on me. “What about the calamine lotion? What’s that for?”

  “Makes them comfortable in their own skin.” He stuck a finger caked with sugar into his mouth.

  “The mints?” At this point, I was looking for hidden cameras, and I was ready for any answer he gave me.

  “You have to give them two. One to freshen them, the other to ‘re-fresh’ them. That should put their old personality back for a few days and give the virus a chance to work itself out.”

  “No.” I’d been ready for any answer but that, apparently.

  “Yes.” He sucked on his fingers and pulled them out with a loud pop. “I know it sounds stupid, but it’s really a thing. Ask that hag friend of yours, Aggie. She’ll back me up.”

  A thunk and an ear-bursting screech from the bathroom down the hall told me I didn’t have time to consult with Aggie the Hag. I either had to suck it up and trust Silas or call an ambulance for Sandra.

  I zipped up the stairs and rummaged in the closets of Sandra’s primary bathroom. At the back of the cupboard under the sink, I found an off brand of pump-type hairspray, then tore back downstairs with it.

  “So, do I just spray it all over her or…”

  Silas was gone. The kitchen was a wreck of sugar, buttery smears, and dirty dishes. I glanced from the mess to the bottle in my hand, then at the hallway where Sandra certainly sounded like a screeching harpy. If the spray worked, she’d be herself again for awhile. She’d see the mess in her kitchen—a mess she never made—and possibly call the police. Also, I wouldn’t be able to get the lotion on her or get her to suck on a couple of mints, since I couldn’t let her see me.

  Sandra slammed herself against the bathroom door again, and I worried it wouldn’t hold.

  Get ahold of yourself, dude. Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast.

  I trotted toward the front door and threw open the coat closet. I needed mints and calamine lotion before I could do anything else. The more times I had to come back here, the more chances I had of getting caught and exposing the Hidden community to a human—even if that human did currently think she was part of the community.

  I stepped into the closet. A bright light shone from above me and my eyes flicked into closet-monster mode. The elaborate network of the Closet Superhighway lay before me in a grid of the world’s closets. I narrowed my focus first to the United States, then California, then Bolinas, and finally our little neighborhood.

  The Lohman’s up the street had two boys, and both had come home from camp last year with poison oak. They’d be the most likely to have what I needed. I touched the square that held their house, chose a door as the location loomed closer, and stuck my head through the closet door of five-year-old Max’s room. The coast was clear. I could hear Mrs. Lohman vacuuming downstairs, and the kids would be at school.

  Fast as a shooting star, I dashed into the boys’ shared bathroom, found what I needed, and made it back to Sandra’s before a floorboard had a chance to finish squeaking.

  Using that same super-speed, I cleaned up the kitchen, then rummaged in Sandra’s purse for a couple of slightly fuzzy mints. I checked the clock above the stove. Less than two minutes had elapsed. I gave myself a mental high five, since my hands were full.

  The screeching from the bathroom had turned to squawking. If I didn’t do this quickly, Sandra was going to do damage to herself and her bathroom.

  I checked the list one last time, but nothing new turned up. No magic words. No special order in which to apply the items. No instructions of any kind.

  Thanks for you help, Silas. You’re a real prince.

  After stuffing the mints and the hairspray in my pockets, I uncapped the lotion and pulled the chair away from
the door. Sandra stopped making angry bird noises, but I heard her pacing back and forth.

  In one smooth motion, I threw open the door and flicked the open bottle so it splattered lotion on her bare chest. I did this while trying to avert my eyes, because, seriously, I am not equipped to deal with human boobs.

  Sandra flailed around for a few seconds, then stopped, rubbing her hands over the lotion in fascination. While she was distracted, I fished the mints from my pocket, defuzzed them as much as I could, popped them both in her mouth, then spun her to face the window so she couldn’t see me when the delusion passed.

  I gave one last glance around for hidden cameras, then pumped the nozzle of the hairspray, giving her a liberal coating from behind.

  “Hey!” She looked down at her naked chest covered in stinky pink lotion and held her arms out in disgust. “What the hell?”

  By the time she turned around, I was home, having escaped through her coat closet. I kept the lotion and hairspray, just in case.

  I gave the top of my head a vigorous rub and dropped into a chair in my own kitchen. I was two hours behind schedule, the sun was now far too bright to risk making my garden rounds, and I’d left my shopping bags behind at Sandra’s house.

  The homeless shelter would have to do without the fresh fruits and vegetables I usually smuggled into their pantry in the mornings. They never knew where it came from, but they really needed it. I couldn’t risk the trip though. The windows of opportunity both for collecting the produce