Read The Books of Elsewhere, Vol. 1: The Shadows for Free Online Page B

glanced back over her shoulder. In the dim gray light, she could see Morton still standing in front of his big empty house, his baggy white nightshirt a pale blotch on the deserted street.
    Silently, Olive followed Horatio back across the field to the picture frame.
    “So, you’ve figured out a few more things, have you?” said the cat at last, in the kind of tone that said that this wasn’t really a question.
    “I guess so.”
    “I would be more careful if I were you. Don’t let anyone know how much you know.”
    “What do you mean?”
    Horatio paused and gave Olive a hard look. “I worded that poorly. Don’t let anyone know how little you know. Now, what you need to do is to stay out of trouble. Perhaps you should find a nice quiet hobby—one that won’t get anyone killed. Like stamp collecting. That’s seldom fatal.” Horatio turned away and flounced toward the frame. “Now hurry up. We can’t stay here for long.”
    “Wait—stop!” begged Olive. “What do you mean, get anyone killed ?”
    With a put-upon huff, Horatio plopped on the grass and began to groom his paws. “First, the spectacles. You found them. You used them. You know what they do.”
    “Well, not exactly . . .”
    “Can you normally climb into paintings?” Horatio snapped, mid-lick. “You must be wearing them to get in or to get out. In other words, don’t lose them while you’re inside, or you’ll be trapped. Then your only hope is to be released by a guide. Namely, me. And don’t stay in any of the paintings for too long, or you’ll never get out at all. Not really.”
    “But why don’t you need the spectacles?”
    Horatio hesitated. He gave his back leg some careful attention. “Haven’t you ever heard that cats can see things that others cannot?” he answered at last through a mouthful of his own brilliant orange fur.
    “No,” said Olive, but Horatio was too absorbed in tail maintenance at this point to notice.
    “My coat is simply filthy,” he muttered.
    “I think you look beautiful,” Olive said.
    “Do you?” For a moment, Horatio stopped licking. A tiny, bashful look of pleasure flitted over his face. Horatio shook the look away. “In any case, you’re not making yourself very popular with a certain someone who is watching you. And what you just did . . . it was dangerous.”
    “Well, I didn’t know what would happen when I went into the painting!” cried Olive. “But when I did, I knew I couldn’t just leave Morton there.”
    “I didn’t say you shouldn’t have done it. I just said it was dangerous.” Horatio got to his feet, looking up at Olive. “You are showing that you won’t be a pushover. You might even put up a fight. You won’t just let him have his way.”
    “Him who?”
    Horatio turned away, trotting the last steps to the picture frame. “You’ll see,” he said. Then he hopped through the frame. Olive clambered after him.
    Back in the comforting gold light of the hallway, Olive looked at the painting of Linden Street. As she watched, one tiny light flickered to life in a distant window, and she knew that Morton was there, waiting.

8
     
    W HY DON’T YOU bring this to the table, Olive?” said Mrs. Dunwoody over the last of the dinner preparations as she passed Olive a lighted candle for the centerpiece.
    “I’ve always thought Olive could light up a room,” joked Mr. Dunwoody, making Olive’s face turn the color of her pink kitten cereal.
    Mrs. Dunwoody bustled to the table, kissed Olive and Mr. Dunwoody on the tops of their heads, and settled down in her chair. They all spread their napkins across their laps. Olive dropped hers on the floor.
    “When did Olive start wearing glasses?” asked Mr. Dunwoody over a forkful of meatloaf.
    “Olive doesn’t wear glasses. Do you, Olive?” Mrs. Dunwoody squinted at Olive doubtfully, and then looked even more doubtfully at the spectacles hanging from a chain around Olive’s neck.
    “I just found these upstairs,” said Olive.