“Well?” Iris said, waiting.
“Monsters are real,” Vi told her firmly. “Of course they are. There are just too many people who have seen them for them not to be, you know? Did Eric see a ghoul? I don’t know. I believe he saw something. Or thinks he did. And we need to investigate, find out what it is.”
“Do you think it could be… dangerous?”
“Maybe,” Vi said. “If it’s a monster, then yes, definitely. Monsters are always dangerous.”
“If there are bad monsters out there, do you think there could be good monsters too?” Iris asked.
“I think,” said Vi, “that it’s more complicated than that.” She closed her eyes.
Iris was quiet a minute. Then she asked, voice low, “Do you think there’s a God?”
Vi smiled. “I think there are lots of gods. If you listen, you can hear them talking, telling you things, guiding you.”
“What do you mean?”
So Vi told Iris all about the gods who guided her, even though she’d never told anyone, not even Eric, not even Gran. And when she was done telling, she said, “Close your eyes and listen. What do you hear?”
“The clock ticking,” Iris said.
“That’s the God of Time, he’s saying something to you. Listen carefully. What is it?”
Iris scrunched up her face. “Hurry,” she said. “He’s telling me to hurry. That time is running out.”
“Time for what?” Vi asked.
Iris listened. “He doesn’t say.”
Vi nodded. “If you keep listening, maybe he’ll tell you more. And the other gods too. Now that you know about them, I bet you’ll start hearing them all the time.”
Iris lay back on her bed, pulled up the covers nearly to her grungy orange hat.
“You can take off the hat, you know,” Vi said. “I’ve already seen what’s under it.”
Iris said nothing, just tugged it down tight over her ears.
“I’ve seen your other scars too. The ones on your chest.”
Iris turned away so that she was facing the wall.
Maybe Vi had gone too far this time. She’d wanted to say something for weeks now, but hadn’t worked up the nerve. But now, in the almost-dark, she felt like the time was right.
“It’s okay,” Vi told her. “I’ve got my own scars too.”
Iris turned back toward Vi. “You do?”
Vi sat up. “Do you want to see?”
Iris nodded, and Vi moved to the edge of the bed, started to unbutton her pajama shirt. The bluish moonlight was streaming in through the curtained window. The nightlight on Vi’s dresser was on: the ceramic owl with eyes that glowed orange and seemed to watch her every move. She could almost feel the owl turn his head, hear it say, Who, who, who are you and what do you think you’re doing? The owl’s voice was just like Gran’s, and Vi imagined Gran the Owl with orange, all-seeing eyes. She knew Gran would not approve of what she was about to do, but the urge to share her secret was more than she could resist.
Sisters, she thought, not by blood, but by something else. Something deeper.
Doppelg?ngers.
Her fingers fumbled over the last button. She undid it, slipped out of her blue cotton pajama top. The cool air hit her skin, giving her goose bumps. She stepped closer to Iris, got down on her knees so the girl could see, get an up-close look.
“How did you get them?” Iris asked, studying the raised red scars on Vi’s stomach and chest.