The Unseen (2 page)

The howls and shouts were long gone before Xandra dared to slow her pace, leave the streambed and scramble up the shallow bank. In her arms, the bird lay absolutely still. Putting it gently down on a patch of grass, she was looking for a solemn and secret place to leave its poor dead body when it raised its head, and once again she heard the soft, sobbing call.

It was much later when a damp and bedraggled Xandra Hobson, still carrying the wounded but now definitely living bird, pushed open the heavy back gate of 75 Heritage Avenue, closed it firmly behind her and realized that, for once, she was glad to be there.

Extremely glad, in spite of the fact that there had been times when she'd imagined, even pretended, that she lived somewhere else. Times in fact when she'd actually denied living at the expensive end of Heritage Avenue in the house that one of her smart-mouthed siblings had nicknamed the Hobson Habitat. She wasn't sure why she avoided being identified as a Hobson, except that she knew from past experience that once people knew who she was, she would have to listen to them rave about all her gorgeous and talented brothers and sisters. (Or
siblings
, as Xandra preferred to call them. There was something warm and cozy sounding about “brothers and sisters” that had very little to do with the way Xandra felt about her fellow Hobsons.)

But on that particular afternoon, with the hunters and their ferocious dog somewhere close behind her, the solid
stone walls of the Hobson Habitat were a welcome sight. After a quick glance around to make sure she was not going to be seen, either by a sibling or by Otto, the Hobsons' gardener, Xandra made her way across the lawn and around several carefully landscaped flower beds on her way to the basement door.

The huge basement of the Hobson Habitat was as hopelessly dusty and cluttered as the rest of the house was sleek and shiny. Over the years it had become the dumping place for all sorts of furniture and equipment that no one used anymore but might want again at some future time. Starting just inside the door and spreading out in every direction were dozens of boxes and trunks and barrels and filing cabinets. And in between everything else there were objects too big for containers. All sorts of Hobson artifacts, such as teetering stacks of skateboards, skis, scooters, golf carts, hockey sticks, tennis rackets and the scattered remains of an elaborate model railroad. And here and there among the toys and sports equipment, many different kinds of housecleaning equipment, such as rug shampooers, floor waxers and vacuum cleaners. None of which—none of the sports stuff and certainly none of the cleaning gadgets—interested Xandra in the slightest.

But farther on, way back behind the furnace, if you knew how to find it, there was an entirely different scene. Getting there wasn't easy. The furnace itself was an enormous black box, out of which great fat heat vents snaked off toward every part of the house. It was necessary to wind your way between boxes and barrels and stacks of stuff and then duck under a couple of sagging heat vents before you came to a place that no one in the family ever visited—no
one except Xandra. A place that had been, for a long time, a very private and secret hideout for her special friends who happened to be animals. And where now, as always, she immediately felt better. Safer, calmer and more at home.

It was in that small space behind the furnace that Xandra had fed and cared for a variety of infant or ailing creatures, but only until they were strong enough to make it on their own or could be adopted by families who, unlike the Hobson parents, weren't allergic to or afraid of pets of any kind.

Against one wall were the cages and boxes where various animals had lived and where, by the light of two narrow windows high up on the wall, Xandra had fed and cared for them. Creatures that had lived behind the furnace at least temporarily included any number of baby birds, two litters of abandoned kittens, an orphaned baby skunk, a slightly chewed-up garden snake she'd rescued from a neighbor's bulldog and a half-grown barn owl whose larger siblings had pushed it out of the nest. Ratchet, the noisy barn owl baby, had been one of Xandra's favorites. Having had so much personal experience with pushy siblings, she couldn't help feeling a special sympathy for the evicted owl.

So now, safe at last in the dark, smelly privacy of her secret hideout, she settled the white bird into a large carton padded with straw and equipped with a bowl of water. Although it shrank away from the touch of her hand, it seemed quite calm when she reached in to put the water bowl in place, only turning its head from side to side to watch what she was doing.

It seemed much stronger now, its head held high on its long slender neck. The blood she had seen on its right wing seemed to have disappeared. By the time she was ready to leave, the bird was sitting up with its snowy wings tucked in and its long legs folded neatly beneath its body. On her way out, preparing to duck under the first furnace vent, Xandra looked back and caught her breath in surprise. Even in the dimly lit basement, the bird's feathers glistened so brightly that it seemed to be surrounded by a mysterious halo of light. “Goodbye, you beautiful thing,” she whispered. “I'll be back as soon as I find out what you are and what you like to eat.”

Inside the house she stopped long enough to take off her soggy shoes before she made her way quietly up the back stairs and down the hall to her own room. A room where two whole walls were covered by bookshelves, and where, among dozens of books about birds and animals, she quickly located an illustrated volume on local birds. It didn't take long to find out what she needed to know. The bird was probably an egret or something very similar, and it would need to eat things like frogs and insects and small fish. She knew where she could find such things, of course, at a place where Cascade Creek flowed out into a series of quiet, shallow ponds, but that would have to wait until tomorrow. There wasn't time to get to the ponds and back before dinner. But in the meantime …

In the meantime, it suddenly occurred to her, there was the aquarium. The enormous aquarium, practically an indoor lake, full of all kinds of exotic and expensive tropical fish, which belonged to Quincy, the oldest, biggest and possibly most hateful of the siblings. Only a moment later,
standing in the doorway of the fish collector's room, Xandra was peering across what closely resembled a full-fledged scientific laboratory and plotting her raid on the aquarium. She worked her way around science fair displays decorated with blue ribbons, and desks and tables covered with microscopes and racks of test tubes—plus, and this was particularly annoying, Quincy's very own television.

Not that having a television in your own room was unusual on Heritage Avenue, where most kids did. Most kids, but not the ones at the Hobson Habitat, where there was a strict rule against it until you were eighteen years old. Giving the shiny new TV a resentful glance, Xandra moved carefully and quickly across the room, knowing that the eighteen-year-old owner of the TV—not to mention his own car—might arrive home at any time. But then, peering into the watery depths of the aquarium, with the fishnet already in her hand, she changed her mind.

Why did she change her mind about kidnapping a fat and juicy zebra fish or perhaps the beautiful, brightly colored angelfish? At first she wasn't too sure. It was definitely not that she was terrified about what the aquarium-owning sibling would do to her if he learned who had taken his precious fish. That was a risk she was willing to take. After all, she didn't plan to confess and he would have no proof. But there were other reasons. The main one seemed to be that the fish were beautiful creatures too, and after all, they really couldn't help being owned by someone as mean as a Hobson teenager. And also, there was the probability that a spicy tropical fish might not be good for the digestive system of a purely white, nontropical bird—
particularly one that was already in a weakened condition. And besides, Xandra suddenly realized, there might be an easier solution. A brine shrimp solution.

Cluttering up a family refrigerator with jars of smelly brine shrimp to feed his fancy fish had been one of the aquarium owner's more annoying habits. But at that particular moment, a habit that suddenly met with Xandra's approval. Checking her watch, Xandra decided there was just about time to change into dry clothing, make a quick and stealthy stop at a particular refrigerator, visit the basement and arrive at the dinner table only a little bit later than usual.

Again, the beautiful bird considered her calmly as she put the cup into its box. It was almost as if it knew she was trying to help. It really did know, she decided as it turned its head on its long graceful neck to look down at the brine shrimp with apparent interest and then up again at Xandra. She was even more certain that the bird knew far too much to be an ordinary marsh-dwelling member of the heron family. As she prepared to leave the basement, Xandra stopped long enough to tell it so.

“I know you're not just an ordinary egret,” she told the bird. “I know that you're an enchanted creature. And I'm pretty sure that you were there in my forest for some important reason.”

The bird listened, turning its tear-shaped head and nodding as if agreeing with what she had to say. She felt sure it was agreeing. And later that night, sitting on the window seat in her room, she stared down into the dark garden and told herself she would soon find out what that
reason could be. Why the enchanted bird had been in her forest and just how she was to be rewarded for rescuing it.

But the next morning when she made a quick stop in the basement on her way to catch the bus, the carton held only the grassy nest, the water bowl and an empty cup. The bird was gone. All that remained was one long, softly quivering white feather. But from that moment, from that breath-catching, heart-racing moment when she first saw the beautiful feather, Xandra guessed the truth. The feather was a magical gift, given to her as a promise that she would be rewarded for rescuing an enchanted creature. And she must find a way to keep it with her wherever she went.

X
ANDRA HAD NO
intention of telling anyone about the mysterious bird and its magical feather. Especially not Belinda. In fact she had never before had the slightest inclination to tell the girl named Belinda anything at all. And afterward she found it difficult to remember just how it had happened.

One reason that telling Belinda was incredibly unlikely was that she and Xandra had never before talked to each other about anything. Not even once. And another reason was that Belinda was probably the weirdest person in Mr. Fernandez's seventh-grade language arts class.

There was, for instance, her general appearance. Belinda's long dark hair hung down her back in ugly, unwashed strands, and in cold weather she often wore the jacket of a man's business suit over her dingy and obviously
secondhand school uniform. The ratty old suit jacket that seemed to be her cold-weather coat had a dangling fringe of ragged lining and was so much too big for her that the long sleeves had to be rolled up into fat doughnuts to allow the tips of her fingers to be seen. The gossip was that she was a Scholie, a scholarship student, one of the few kids who were allowed to attend Carter Academy even though their parents couldn't afford to pay the fees.

She acted weird too. Most of the time she was completely silent, not trying to talk to anyone, but sometimes she suddenly had a lot to say in class about things no one else knew or cared about. Things like ancient civilizations and extinct animals.

There had been times, when Belinda had first joined the class, that Xandra had been tempted to stand up for the new girl, to yell at her tormentors and let them know what she thought of people who picked on helpless things. She'd even started to yell once when a mean little fifth grader was jumping around Belinda on the playground calling her stupid names. But she'd changed her mind when she'd noticed that some of the girls who called themselves Marcie's Mob were watching. When she'd noticed that the Mob girls seemed to think the fifth grader was pretty amusing, Xandra had shut her mouth and kept it shut.

Marcie's Mob was a bunch of girls who were the best friends of an especially popular girl named Marcie. They could be a lot of fun, sitting together at lunch and hanging out between classes, laughing and talking about who was cool and who wasn't. Sometimes Marcie and her special friends let Xandra hang out with them, and sometimes
they didn't. And when they didn't want you, they let you know it by the things they said and did. Things like glancing at Xandra and giggling, and mentioning crooked teeth or klutzy haircuts.

Not long after Belinda turned up in Mr. Fernandez's class, he sent her out of the room on a supposed errand so he could give a lecture about how a person shouldn't be judged on his or her appearance. And how he didn't want to see anyone teasing the new girl. After that Xandra lost interest in being on Belinda's side and began to join in the teasing when Mr. Fernandez wasn't looking. Not starting anything, but just going along with what other people were doing.

So it was really weird when Xandra found herself not only talking to Belinda, but telling her a little about the mysterious bird. It happened just before school started on the day the bird disappeared. Xandra, who had gotten to school early, was sitting on a bench in the outdoor lunch area, an unpopular spot on such a chilly morning. She was all alone and that was just the way she wanted it. She retrieved the white feather from its hiding place, hanging around her neck on a necklace of strong twine. She was running it back and forth across the palm of her hand when a voice said, “Oh, let me touch it. May I?” It was Belinda.