Button Hill (5 page)

“Okay, fine,” said Dekker. They both grasped a side of the skeletal face. It felt like touching a frozen piece of metal in winter with his bare hand. Dekker tried to pull away, but his hand was stuck to the skull, as if magnetized. Cold snaked up the veins in his arm. He glanced at Cobb and saw, to his surprise, that the other boy was struggling to free himself from the skull too.

Cobb gasped. “It hurts! What have you done?”

“Me? I didn't do anything!” Dekker put one foot on the clock's base and pushed, but it was no use. His whole arm was throbbing, and he could smell something burning. Then the clock tolled rapidly, one
bong
after another, and both boys fell to the floor as the cellar throbbed with the vibration.

As the sound died away, Dekker staggered to his feet and looked at his hand. A dark, misshapen blotch was starting to form where his hand had been frozen to the skull.

Cobb stared at his own hand, his black eyes wide. His eyes narrowed. “What did you make it do?”

Dekker backed away, palms forward in protest. “I don't even know what the Nightclock is.”

Cobb sneered. “Stupid Daysider. Nightclocks mark the passage between Dayside and Nightside, for the living and the dead. This is the dead side, for the night things. There are clocks in different parts of the world to govern the traffic in those places. This one's been silent for years, and there's been little passage between the sides here for all that time. That is, until you woke it up again.” Cobb grabbed Dekker's hand and put it beside his own. Pushed together, their burns formed a blotchy circle. “We've been marked.”

“What does that even mean?” asked Dekker.

Cobb paced for a moment, thinking. “It means it noticed us, which can't be good. But so what? It's time to start our game. I get to go first.”

“What do you want me to find?”

Cobb sneered. “How dumb are you? I want you to find your sister.” He picked up his knife, flipping it so the handle snapped against his palm every few seconds.

Dekker moved toward the stairs. Before he could leave, though, Cobb said, “One more thing. In my game, you need to be quick. I'll give you a head start, since you won't possibly survive. I'll count to a hundred first. Then we come. If I catch you, or you don't find Riley before the Witching Hour—midnight in your Dayside—I win.”

Dekker breathed a sigh of relief. “It's still afternoon. That's loads of time.”

“Funny. Maybe in Dayside it is. Here, afternoon doesn't even exist. It's almost Eventide now—three hours to midnight.”

“But that's not fair!” shouted Dekker.

“One.” The knife snicked as Cobb sharpened another soldier and set it on the earthen floor beside the first. “Two.”

Dekker turned to the stairs and ran.

Five

Dekker raced through the basement and up to the kitchen. The floor was littered with glass from smashed-out windows. The part of him that felt guilty about what he had done to Riley was fighting with the part of him that wanted to hide.

He ran through the living room—someone had pulled all the furniture into the middle of the floor and made it into a crude fort—and out onto the front porch. He pushed down the sick feeling as he scanned the front yard. It was completely dark outside. The elm trees that lined the driveway were naked as in January, but Dekker knew it was the last day of June. The bare branches arched like a rib cage over the gravel road.
Maybe I can get some help in town—if Nightside has a town.
Dekker walked quickly between the trees. After a while the air seemed to get thinner and his chest felt tight, so he stopped to rest.
The driveway didn't seem this long before.
He turned to look back at the house, but it was lost in the gloom.

Dekker felt dizzy. He tried to lean against a tree trunk, but it ripped like paper and his hand broke through the bark. A piece tore loose between his fingers; up close, it looked like a child's drawing. Behind the rip was utter blackness. His hand ached with cold.

Fog curled out from the rip in the tree, and his vision wavered. He slumped to the ground, stretching out on the gravel. He thought maybe he would have a quick nap before going on. He reached out and felt something soft and warm, and he tried to lay his head on it, but it wriggled out from under him and began to lick his eyelids.

“Get up,” said a gruff voice. “If you fall asleep here, you may never wake.” Dekker tried to roll over, but the tongue kept licking his face. A wet nose pushed against his neck.

“Okay, I'm up.” He opened his eyes. The grizzled muzzle of a black-and-white dog hung over him.

“Ranger?” The dog gave him a great lick, and drool went up Dekker's nose. “Oh, gross!” He jumped to his feet.

“That's the spirit,” said the dog. “Keep your eyes on the tip of my tail, lad, and follow me. Quickly now, before that fog touches you.” The dog wagged his tail and started loping back toward the house.

Dekker stumbled after him. “I never knew you could talk.” His heart lifted.
Maybe I'm dreaming, and when I wake up, none of this will have happened.

The dog answered without looking back. “I could always talk. But in the borderland, you can understand what I'm saying.” The dog spoke in a strange accent. The trees seemed to tilt from side to side, as if they were being buffeted by waves, but the dog's tail was steady in front of him, and Dekker followed in his wake.

Soon they were back at the house. Dekker collapsed on the front step. “Good boy, Ranger.” He stretched out his hand to pat Ranger's head, but the dog sat back and thrust his snout in the air.

“
Ranger
. That's what you called me in Dayside. But a ranger is a land-bound thing. My name is Captain Tom. If you scratch my belly, you get to ask three questions. You'll soon have to be on the move, but I think we've got a few minutes at least before they arrive.” Captain Tom flopped down beside Dekker and wriggled onto his back.

Dekker scratched absently at Captain Tom's belly. “That sounds like a pirate's name from a story. But dogs can't be pirates. And they don't talk. How did you get here anyway?”

Captain Tom sniffed. “Dogs have their own right of passage through the borderland, don't they, Mr. Know-It-All,” said the dog. “Just followed my nose through a crack into Nightside, quick as you like. Before I was a dog, I was a sailor. I left my home for the sea as soon as I was strong enough to climb the rigging. I eventually became captain.
Sea Tramp
was my ship, and a finer companion I never had. I can't say how I became the handsome dog you see now, but I consider it my reward for a life well lived.”

“You like being a dog?” asked Dekker.

“Aye, lad. Dog dreams, it's like havin' the best o' both worlds. You can hardly tell the difference between waking and sleeping. When I dream, I'm on the deck, bound for uncharted waters.” Captain Tom squirmed back and forth in the dirt. “It's way better than your lot. What's your final question?”

“But I haven't asked my first one yet.”

Captain Tom rolled to his feet and shook the dust from his fur. “You asked me how I got here and how I liked being a dog. Polite of you to spend two questions on me, though a bit reckless, all things considered. Since you're likely to be killed in the next few hours, and in recognition of your service over the years, I'll try to answer if you do it quick-like.”

“But that's not fair! I didn't know we had started!” said Dekker. The dog just looked up at him with big brown eyes and wagged his tail. Dekker took a big breath. “Okay, fine. What is this place and how do I find Riley and how do we get out of here?”

“Well done, lad. You invited this when you wound the clock and locked young Riley in the cellar. And Cobb was there waiting to bring her into the borderland.” The dog sniffed Dekker's hand. “That mark on your hand. You touched the clock again, did you?”

Dekker nodded glumly.

“And was the boy Cobb marked too?” When Dekker nodded again, the dog wagged his tail. “Well, there's that, at least.” Captain Tom sat down at Dekker's feet. “The clock you wound is a Nightclock. I've seen one before, on an island in the Mediterranean. Nightclocks govern the passage between Nightside and Dayside. An old power. Folk who believe in that kind of thing say they keep the living and the dead running on time. Thing is, that particular clock hasn't run in years.”

Dekker nodded. “Aunt Primrose must have known. She told me it was cursed, and she freaked when I touched it.”

The dog wagged his tail. “Aye, the clock's scent was all over her. She must have been its caretaker when it worked. When you made the accord with Cobb, I think you restored it, at least partway. And you gained some of its power too. I don't think he expected that.”

“I don't get it,” said Dekker.

The dog started scratching behind his ear. “Well, lad, it's simple. Part of you belongs to Nightside now. The Nightclock's marked you for death.”

“
What?
”

“Relax, you've only got half the mark. Cobb must have the other half. That means only one of you must die.”

Dekker covered his face. “It's hopeless.”

“Cheer up, things could be worse. Think on Riley—she's like buried treasure. All you have to do is search. She's bound to be somewhere nearby. This is your world too now. As for how to get back to Dayside, safest thing'll be the train, if you can get the conductor to take on a living passenger. Train's the main way the dead and those from the realms below travel in these parts.”

Captain Tom bristled and turned toward the house. “Something's coming. Find your sister, and whistle if you need me.” He growled and stepped forward as the front door banged open. An army of small sharpened soldiers surged out of the house, but just before they reached him, Captain Tom let out the loudest bark Dekker had ever heard.

It rippled the air like water and scattered most of the soldiers. The three closest to the dog crouched low and advanced, trying to punch their sharpened arms into his paws. He bit their heads off, but more soldiers funneled out of the house. In moments the dog was surrounded. “Run!” he yelped. Dekker took off as the soldiers began to swarm up Captain Tom's legs.

Six

Dekker raced through the backyard, along the path that led to the garden. In Dayside, the garden had been fenced by prickly raspberry canes. Here, a black wall of vines towered above the ground. Cruel-looking thorns curled between the leaves. It reminded Dekker of the way sharks' teeth angle inward, so their prey can move in but not out. He sidestepped carefully through the gap in the hedge. White hoarfrost clung to the plants inside the garden. Icicles hung from the sunflower heads, and the flowers along the path seemed frozen in place. In Dayside, the garden had seemed quaint and normal-sized to Dekker. Here, it was huge like a city park, a couple of blocks long in every direction.

Dekker walked quickly along the path until he reached the pool. It was covered in a thick sheet of ice. And in front of Dekker stood a girl with her back to him, sobbing quietly. Her black jeans had a weird oily sheen, and her white tank top had ridden up, revealing the tattoo of a raven perched at the base of her spine.

“Harper? Are you okay?”

“Oh!” Harper whirled around. Her bright eyes gleamed in the hint of moonlight. She turned away and muttered, “I can do this, I can do this.”

Dekker waved. “Are you all right?”

“Shhh!” she said without looking. “You're not real. You're a dream. It's bad luck for a dream to talk to things in the borderland. This one book I read said you could get trapped here forever if you do.”

He walked over to her. “Well, it's a bit late for that, wouldn't you say?”

“Stay back, monster!” She spun around to face him, her face twisted with rage. He blinked at her, not moving. Harper swung a fist at his head. The punch connected with his cheekbone, and he stumbled back, more surprised than hurt.

“Ow! What did you do that for? Hey!” He dodged to the side as another fist came flying toward his face. “I'm not a monster. It's me, Dekker.”

Harper leaned in and looked at him, her fists still raised. “Huh. It
is
you. Sorry about that. I thought you were the thing that's chasing me. Your hair's the wrong color though.”

He rubbed his face where she had hit him. “Well, I'm not.”

“What are you doing here then?” She tucked her dark hair behind her ears.

“My dog said this is the borderland between Nightside and Dayside, a sort of place between places.” Dekker thought of Cobb's army swarming up Captain Tom's legs on the front porch, and he glanced nervously over his shoulder at the entrance to the garden. He would be trapped here if Cobb arrived now.

She arched her left eyebrow. “Your dog told you. He talks to you?”

Dekker shrugged. “Here he does. I'm looking for my sister. This freaky kid named Cobb took her. Long story. We should get out of here.”

Harper bit her lip. “I've met him too. I don't think Cobb is a kid. More of a Nightside creature.” They started walking. Grass crunched underfoot as they stepped through the frozen landscape.

Dekker showed Harper the burn on his palm. Its edges seemed more defined than before. She cringed. “Harsh.”

“Captain Tom said I restarted the clock somehow when I touched it.”

“The Nightclock? You should be worried about that mark then. Nightclocks are unpredictable. Don't look at me like that—it was in a bedtime story.”

Dekker frowned. “What kind of bedtime story has a Nightclock in it?”

“You should pay more attention to fairy tales. Lots of them are gruesome. When I was little and living with my mom, she told me stories. One was about how Nightclocks govern the passage between the lands of the living and dead, and the places in between.
Cross the borders at Eventide, dream of death by your side.
That's from the story. It must be Eventide now. That's why I thought you were a monster come to get me.”