chapter 24

Ghost

SURAYALAYCURLED up in her bed, and she couldn't stop shaking.

Pink was worried about her, and it just about killed him that he

had no idea how to help her. "What were they?" she asked, over and

over again. "What were those . . . those creatures?"

Pink sat quiet and unmoving on the windowsill, watching as

ribbons of sunlight slowly began to lick the corners of the

neighboring houses, thinking about those muffled whispers, the

pointed stare of hundreds of beady little eyes.

All manner of dark things,he said quietly. There was a bajang—

that's the civetyou saw, that's the shape it takes. It can cause a type

of madness, a delirium, to whoever its master sends it to torment.

"Its master?" Suraya stared at him. "You mean the pawang?"

Yes. And it was not the only one. There were more.Pink sighed.

The owl is another form taken by the langsuir. She isa type of

banshee, preying on pregnant mothers, though I suppose if you have

the right skill, she can prey on whoever you want her to. The baby,

that was a toyol, a child spirit who can be used by itsmaster to

cause all sorts of mischief.

"And the little one?"

That was a polong. A spirit bound by blood, like me. It canrender

its victims deaf and blind to their surroundings, totally unconscious of

their own actions, ranting and raving like a lunatic. And there was

more than one of those, more than I could count.

Suraya buried her head in her hands. "I don't understand. Why is

he doing this? What does he want with those . . . those creatures?"

It seems to me that the man is a Collector,Pink said calmly. I

have heard of his kind. They are not content with small, petty bad

magics as your grandmother was. They desire greater things, and

they use their spirits like slaves.

"What kind of things do they want?" Suraya asked. Her voice

trembled.

Pink's sigh was long and weary. Anything you could think of,

really,he said. Theft. Assault. Murder. Imagine being in control of

polongs and pelesits, toyols and bajangs and langsuirs. An army of

ghosts and monsters. You would be almost unstoppable.

"But what doeshe want you for? Doesn't he have enough?" she

said, her voice rising and tinged with frustration. "And you're bound

by blood too. How can he do that? I thought that was the whole

point, that you couldn't belong to anyone else."

Power is an addiction. A small taste is often enough for people to

crave another, and then another, and then another, and those who

have it will do anything to get more of it.

"And hecalled himself RELIGIOUS!" She drove her fist into the

mattress, pounding it over and over again, punctuating her words

with their soft, satisfying thumps. "How can he just USE religion like

that? What kind of monster does that?"

He is not the first, nor will he be the last.Pink turned to look at

her, his voice gentle. You will find, child, that there are many

monsters in this world who hide their darkness beneath a mask of

piety. Call yourself a religious man and nobody will question you; do

it well enough and you can stab them in the back, again and again

and again, while they nod and say it is all for their own good.

Suraya shuddered. "We can't let him collect you too."

How do you propose we stop him?

"We'll think of something."

Pink shook his head, but said nothing. He just kept staring out at

the world, now alive with fresh morning sunlight and new

possibilities.

In the distance, they heard the front door slam shut; Mama, off to

the village school for another day of teaching.

"We could run away."

No. He didn't even bother to look at her.

"Why not? If we ran away, somewhere he couldn't find us, you'd

be safe. You wouldn't be part of his nasty old collection. And I could

take care of you. We could take care of each other."

There was a long pause. Suraya, that is no life for a child. A life

spent hiding and running, a life spent scraping and scrambling just to

survive each day. You cannot be serious.

She sether little chin and looked straight at him, his brave, brave

girl, his master. "I am," she told him firmly. "I don't see howthere can

be any other way."

And what about food? Whatabout a place to live? What about

money? Whatabout school? What about Jing? What about your

mother?Hefired the questions at her rapidly, never waiting for an

answer. Please, Suraya. No more foolishness.

When she spoke again, her voice was small and sad. "And what

about you?"

Before he could answer, the tinny ding of the doorbell echoed

through the house.

Suraya frowned. "Who can that be? Nobody ever comes around

this time of day."

Or at all, mumbled Pink caustically, rubbing his aching head.

Pretending not to hear him, Suraya made her way to the front

door and opened it just the tiniest of cracks.

It was Jing.

"Hullo," Jing said, then stopped, rubbing the cast on one arm

awkwardly with her other hand. She was dressed in her school

pinafore, her backpack slung over her shoulder, a white-robed

Princess Leia keychain dangling off the zipper.

What is she doing here?Pink hissed. Surely even in their

troubles, they need not include her as well?

"What are you doing here?" Suraya echoed.

"I waited for Ma to leave after dropping me off at school, then I

took the bus here. You weren't kidding, man, it really takes damn

long." Jing peered at her anxiously. "You okay? You haven't been in

school so long already. I was getting worried."

"I'm . . ." Suraya hesitated.

Tell heryou're fine,Pink said quietly, straight into her ear. Tell her

to go home.

"Why don't you come in?" she said instead, opening the door

wider and gesturing inside.

Pink sighed.

Inside, Jing spent an inordinate amount of time walking around

Suraya's small room, runningher hands and eyes over everything,

from the little bookshelf beneath the window, to the bed with its faded

floral sheets, to the wooden desk covered in pots of pens and

pencils, though the notebook was now firmly locked away in a

drawer.

Suraya stood by the door, her arms crossed tight across her

chest. Nobody ever came into her room, and Pink knew how

vulnerable it made her feel tolet Jing in, taking in everything with her

sharp little eyes.

"Let's go get a snack," she said finally, holding the door open.

"You must be hungry." It was a safe bet, Pink thought. As far as he

could tell, Jing was always hungry.

"Okay," Jing said.

"Come on."

"Okay! I'm coming." Jing made her way hurriedly to the door.

"Hurry up," Suraya tossed behind her shoulder to Pink.

"What are you talking about? I'm already out here." Jing's face

wore a frown of confusion, and she was so busy staring at Suraya

that she never noticed the little grasshopper leaping past her toward

the kitchen, where the snacks were waiting.

Outside, the storm clouds began to gather.

They sat together on the coldconcrete of the porch, passing a jar of

iced gem biscuits back and forth between them, listening to the

crash of thunder and watching the rain pelt and pound the earth. The

biscuits had been Suraya's favorite ever since she was a little girl, and they always had them at home; Pink could still remember the old

days when she'd called them biskut aiskrim, thick vanilla discs the

size of a button covered in a pure sugar swirl of green or white or

pink that looked exactly like a dollop of ice cream.

"So what's going on?" Jing had to yell over the drummingof the

rain on the porch's tin roof. "I know something's wrong."

"How do you know?" Suraya yelled back.

"It's written all over your face."

There was a rumble of thunder, farther away now than it had

been just a few minutes ago. The storm was moving on.

"It's . . . complicated."

"So what." Jing shrugged, taking a handful of biscuits and

passing the jar back. "Look, if I can make it through reading all three

Lord of the Rings books and still keep the characters straight without

my head exploding, then I can handle your life." She bit off a swirl of

pink icing and chewed it thoughtfully. "Especially if your story has

any Aragorn types."

Pink thought itfelt good to hear Suraya laugh. It felt good to see

her smile. What didn't feel good was the realization that she hadn't

been like this with him, not for a good long while.

He sidled up to her ear. Tell her, he said.

"Are you sure?"

"Sure about what?" She'd barely been here half an hour, and

already the look of confusion on Jing's face was becoming a

permanent feature.

Tell her. Maybe she can help.

"But what if she doesn't believe me?"

Jing wasn't chewing anymore, and her confusion was tinged with

worry.

"What's going on, Sooz? Who're you talking to?"

The storm was almost goneby now; all that was left was a

stubborn drizzle and a chill in the air that made Suraya shiver.

"You're going to think I'm crazy," she said, half laughing.

In an instant, Jing was next to her, her arm around Suraya's

shoulder. "You can tell me anything," she said seriously, her eyes

earnest behindher glasses. "I am your friend lah, silly. The Chewie

to your Han. Let me help you."

Pink didn't know what Chewies and Hans were. He just knew he

wanted to be Suraya's friend too. And that meant letting Jing in, no

matter how much it hurt.

Suraya took a deep breath. "Okay," she said. "Here goes."

She talked for what felt like a long time, until the chill inthe air

had long disappeared.

A shadow fell across Jing's face, making it hard to read.

"Well?" The nervousness in Suraya's voice was palpable.

"Where is he now?" Jing asked. Her tone gave nothing away.

"Here." Pink hopped from her shoulder onto Suraya's open palm.

"That's him?" Jing's hand went to her cast almost protectively.

"That's your . . . your friend?"

"You don't believe me?" Suraya bit down hard on her bottom lip

to keep it fromtrembling, and Pink watched as a drop of blood

welled up from beneath her teeth.

This is ridiculous.The air shimmered around him, and for an

instant there he was, in all his monstrous glory, scaled and horned.

The glow of the late afternoon sun made it look as if his skin flickered

with fire.

Then the moment was over, and there was nothing but the tiny

green grasshopper on Suraya's palm.

Jing blinked. "Okay," she said quietly. "Okay. I'm convinced."

Suraya sucked in a deep, noisy breath, as if someone had let go

of their iron grip on her lungs and she could finally take in some

desperately needed air. "Oh thank goodness, because I don't think

we can do this on our own."

"That's me." Jing smiled a nervous smile, still cradling her injured

arm. "The third musketeer." Her eyes never left Pink, who stayed

perfectly still in Suraya's hand.

"Well then." Suraya looked from one best friend to the other and

took a deep breath. "Let's get to work."