The Wishing Game(67)

“I’ll eat cheesecake to that.” They clinked their forks and dove in.



* * *



—

After another forty minutes and a few thousand calories of cheesecake, Lucy had five paintings picked out from Hugo’s archives. He flipped through her choices.

“Ah, Goblin Night on Clock Island,” Hugo said, nodding his approval. “One of my favorites too.”

“That book actually scared me when I was a kid. Most of his books are spooky, but he managed to make that one genuinely scary.”

“You want to know the dark secret behind that book?” Hugo set the Goblin Night painting on an empty easel.

Lucy stood up, brushed the dust off her clothes, and stood by Hugo. “I don’t know. Do I?”

“You remember what that book’s about?”

“A boy comes to Clock Island to…I don’t remember what exactly.” She furrowed her brow. “Oh, he thinks his dad is a werewolf, and he wants to find the cure to save him. The Lord and Lady of October send him on a quest into a castle full of monsters. Right?”

“Close enough,” Hugo said. “Jack’s father was an alcoholic. He said it was like growing up with a werewolf. When he was a normal man, he was all right, he was…human. When he was drinking, he turned into a monster, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Beat him. Beat his mother. Makes my father look like a saint. Mine just sodded off when he decided he didn’t want to be a father anymore. He broke only Mum’s heart, not her arm.”

“My God.” Lucy stared at the painting, at the boy in the corner of the canvas, working up the courage to enter the castle where he’ll either find the cure for his father’s illness or die trying. “I never knew that about him. Does he ever—”

“Talk about it? No. First rule of Clock Island—Don’t break the spell. Kids need to believe in the Mastermind. They don’t need to know who’s behind the curtain.”

She understood that and appreciated it, but it broke her heart that Jack had to keep so many secrets. What else was he hiding from the world?

Hugo went on. “Jack told me years ago how he invented Clock Island on those nights his father turned into a werewolf. He’d hide under the covers staring at the face of his glow-in-the-dark watch, waiting for the hours to pass. Clocks were magic to him—ten and eleven at night were dangerous hours, werewolf hours, but six and seven and eight in the morning were human times. If he were king of the clock, he could keep those werewolf hours from coming. Somehow the clock became an island, a place where scared kids could go to find their courage.”

“That’s what I always loved about the books,” Lucy said, “even before I knew that’s what I loved about them. I just knew that if I could get to Clock Island, I would be welcome there.” No wonder Jack understood children so well, knew how to write them so well. Just like a part of Lucy was always going to be in that hospital waiting room, hoping her parents would come back and check on her but knowing they wouldn’t, Jack was always going to be in that black castle fighting off monsters to save someone he loved.

She groaned and rubbed her forehead.

“I feel like absolute crap for telling Jack off earlier,” she said.

“Don’t. He needs to be reminded every now and then that people are not characters in his stories and he can’t do whatever he wants with them. And trust me, love, he’s taken much worse abuse from me.” Hugo lightly elbowed her. She hated how much she liked standing close to him. And she really hated how nice it sounded when he called her “love.” In his white T-shirt, the colorful tattoos on his arms were on full display. Every time one of his arm muscles moved, the colors fluttered and shifted. It was like standing next to a living, breathing painting.

“What other paintings did you decide on?”

Lucy showed him her stack. He flipped through them, nodding at her choices. “You picked The Keeper of Clock Island.”

“Is that bad? I love it.” Lucy picked up the canvas and set it on the easel. “The lighthouse and the guy standing on it looking at the night sky…” She gestured to the male figure on the walkway, illuminated by the full moon. “It’s so striking, you know. So mysterious.”

“Jack said it’s his favorite. No idea why.”

“I can guess.”

Hugo looked at her, eyebrow raised.

Lucy gently elbowed him. “Look around,” she said, waving her hand at the stacks of memorabilia in his studio. “All the Clock Island paintings, the sketches, the notes, the messages, the whole archives you have here…”

“And?”

“You are the keeper of Clock Island, Hugo,” she said. “If he loves that cover, it’s because he loves you.”

Hugo looked away. “He’ll need another keeper when I’m gone.”

“Can I apply?”

He glared at her but with a twinkle in his eyes. “Vulture. The body’s not even cold yet.”

“Well, hurry up and get cold,” she said. “I need a house.”

He pointed a finger in her face, then flicked the tip of her nose.

Lucy gasped in feigned shock.

“You deserved that,” he said.

“No regrets.”