The Cure for Sleeping

Chapter Seven

The church is small, cozy, and most importantly, built of bricks. No wolf is going to huff and puff and blow this house down, so I'm hoping this means that Insomniacs won't be able to force their way in, either. Josh replaces me as Noah's crutch, and I follow the pair inside. I close the heavy door behind me and click the deadbolt with my thumb. The metal is cool against my skin.

The room is only little, maybe five metres times eight, but the ceiling arched above us, stealing away any sense of claustrophobia. Tall stain glass windows are boarded up, nails sticking erratically out of the mortar like hands reaching out to snare loose clothing. A few candles are scattered about the room, casting just enough flickering light to see by. Oddly enough, they must be scented –the whole room smells like vanilla. Rows of pew stand to attention, all facing the raised platform like school boys in line. Thea is seated in the front row, staring off into space. On the dais, in the place of the altar, is a pile of blankets.

This is where Josh dumps Noah. He lands with a huff and the mountain of pillows and blankets squeaks. Noah laughs and shifts to his side, taking his weight off of the pile with a wince. Out from under him emerges a girl, fair hair falling out of her ponytail in a bird's nest. The girl glares at him, grey eyes wary. She can't be more than twelve.

She scoots over to make room and Noah lies back. His movements are carefully controlled, taut muscles and testing his injuries before he closes his eyes. Josh ducks under a curtain further back into the church. I don't see how I didn't notice it earlier –it's a shower curtain so bright a pink that it seems to give off more light than the candles. Smiling yellow ducks glare at me from the plastic like creepy little sentinels.

I tear my gaze away from the guard-birds as the girl shifts hers to me. "I thought that we weren't going to keep her."

"We're not. She's just here for the night." Thea says. I can only see the back of her dark head, but she's bent, looking at her hands. "Just get in here already, Avery."

Reluctantly, I slink up the aisle. Floorboards creak under my feel, groaning as if the church itself wants me gone. I fold myself down on Noah's other side, using him as a barrier between me and the girl. I'm not quite willing to trust these people yet and this seems like as close to high grounds as I can get.

Noah already has a black eye, the skin swelling his lids closed. His lip is torn, swelling into fullness and the left side of his face is a mess of blue and purple.

The girl doesn't speak. She just stares at me, grey eyes calculating. She reminds me of an owl, watching a mouse with the knowledge that it can kill. Coupled with white-blond hair, dark lashes and circles of pink on her cheeks that would make and angel look corrupt, it's more than a little disconcerting.

"Hazel, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" Noah asks without opening his eyes. The girl puckers her rosebud lips, considering. She sticks her hand out to me. A scar circles her thin wrist like a bracelet, still new and puckered. It must have been recent.

"Hazel Major. And you are?" Hazel speaks like an adult –mature and vaguely condescending.

"Avery Dorm." We shake over Noah's prone form.

"We're all acquainted, then." Josh pushes the army of ducks out of his way, first-aid kit in hand as he walks over. "Shove over, munchkin."

For a second, I think he's speaking to me, and look appropriately outraged. Then Hazel moves to sit at the edge of the dais, back straight against the wall. She's an owl on her perch, keeping an eye on the mice.

Josh looks over Noah, frowning at the torn skin and drying blood. After a moment of careful consideration, he unwraps exactly one Band-Aid and covers a scratch on Noah's cheek. "There. You'll live."