When several hours later he was in his bed half-asleep, he imagined that there was something sharp living inside him, something that became sharper still with each visit to Ancient, who was slowly honing it on a magical whetstone.
Grasshopper and Humpback were observing the dogs. Humpback was also shaking snow and dirt out of his coat. Dogs sniffed at the earth under their feet. The most impatient of them had already bolted, run away to other places that also might somehow provide something edible.
“It’s not enough,” Humpback said. “Not even close to enough for them.”
“But it does give them a bit of strength,” Grasshopper noted, “so they can go and search for more food.”
They walked away from the fence. Hoods hanging low, shoes squelching in the mud, they shuffled across the slush of the yard. The white markings on the asphalt peeked through where the snow had already melted. In summer those indicated the volleyball court. Humpback came up to one of the cars that some teacher had neglected to put inside the garage and prodded the iced-over fender with his finger.
“Cheap trash,” he said. “This car, I mean.”
Grasshopper liked old cars, so he didn’t say anything. He squatted to look for the icicles on the underside of it, but there weren’t any. They shuffled on, toward the porch.
“You know what? I feel much better now that we fed them,” Humpback said. “All the time that I think about them I feel . . . uneasy. But then when I feed them it goes away.”
“I see these black cats sometimes,” Grasshopper offered distractedly. “Sneaking under the bed. Or under the door. They’re really tiny. Strange, huh?”
“That’s from your fuzzy looking. Everyone keeps telling you to stop the fuzzy looking. But you keep doing it. I’m surprised it’s only cats and not, I don’t know, elephants running around. Like Beauty’s shadow, you know.”
“That way I can see much more,” Grasshopper said, trying to defend the lookies, more out of habit than to really convince Humpback.
Some tasks he couldn’t really keep secret. Poxy Sissies caught on to lookies almost immediately. And they hated it. It was very hard to hold a coherent conversation while playing lookies. Grasshopper still couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried.
“Yeah, right,” Humpback snorted. “More indeed. More of the black cats that don’t exist.”
“What’s the shadow that Beauty sees running around?” Grasshopper asked in a clumsy attempt to change the subject.
“His own. But it’s kind of alive. Don’t go asking him, though. He’s scared of it.”
They came to the porch and tapped their shoes on the steps to shake off the dirt. A senior girl was sitting on the railing, smoking and looking out into the yard. Witch. She didn’t have a coat on, only a suede vest over a turtleneck. Grasshopper said hello. Humpback did as well, but secretly crossed his fingers inside his coat pocket, just in case.
Witch nodded. Water was dripping off the roof and ricocheting right onto her pants, but she paid it no attention. Or maybe she just liked sitting in this particular place.
“Hey, Grasshopper,” she called. “Come here.”
Humpback, who was holding the door for him, turned around. Grasshopper dutifully approached Witch. She threw away the cigarette.
“You can go,” she told Humpback. “He won’t be long.”
Humpback shuffled his feet by the door, looking at Grasshopper sullenly from under his hood. Grasshopper nodded to him.
“Go. Look, you’re soaked.”
Humpback sighed. He pulled the door wider and entered it backward, not taking his eyes off Grasshopper, as if pleading with him to reconsider before it was too late. Grasshopper waited until he was gone and then turned to Witch. He wasn’t scared. Witch was the most beautiful girl in the whole House, and his godmother to boot. Not scared, but definitely uneasy under her fixed stare.
“Have a seat. We’ll talk,” Witch said.
He sat next to her on the wet railing, and her fingers pulled the hood off his head. Witch’s hair reached to her waist, like a shiny black tent. She never did anything to it, allowing it to flow freely. She had a very white face, and her eyes were so dark that the pupils flowed imperceptibly into the irises. Genuine witch eyes.
“Remember me?” she said.
“You were the one who named me Grasshopper. You’re my godmother.”
“Yes. It’s time we got acquainted more closely.”
She sure chose a strange place and time for it. Grasshopper was getting wet sitting on the railing. And it was slippery. And Witch wasn’t dressed properly. As if she’d rushed to get closer acquainted with him so fast she didn’t have time to grab a coat. He dangled one leg and touched the floor with his toe to steady himself.
“Are you brave?” Witch asked.
“No.”
“That’s too bad,” she said. “I wish you were.”
“Me too,” Grasshopper admitted. “Why do you ask?”
Witch’s black eyes flashed mysteriously.
“Getting to know you. You like dogs?”
“I like Humpback. And he likes dogs. Likes to feed them. And I like to see him do it. But I do like them too.”
Witch pulled one leg up, put the foot on the railing, and lowered her chin to her knee.
