Read The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope for Free Online Page A

I drew back, slung my hair out of my eyes, and tried to blink away the gray-white curtain of rain.
    “Are you okay?” I yelled, my voice drowned by Hobo’s barks and the deafening rain. I tried to focus, squinting at the form slumped against me. The pelting rain exposed the lower half of his mud-caked head. I touched his jaw. His warm skin felt gritty, not the stubble of beard. His face cracked, and a small, lipless mouth opened. His chest expanded, a long, ragged breath. Then expanded again. He was breathing!
    A strange sensation rose again from my belly to my chest. Hobo went silent. Under the white noise of rain pounding my head, I heard a tone like a large bell. It rushed up, sweet and soothing, through the bones of my chest. Rising and rising until it came out the top of me, clearing my head—through me or from me, I could not tell. Hobo leapt into the puddle, wagging his tail, licking at me and the man in the mud. The man’s hand flexed again. His arm jerked.
    Suddenly, I felt the frigid water soaking my clothes. I had to get him inside. I grabbed him under the arms, dragged him out of the puddle to firmer ground. I could barely see for the blowing rain and my drenched hair, but he seemed caked with mud. Every inch of him covered. I tried hoisting him up, but we were too slippery. “Stay, Hobo, stay. I’ll be back.”
    I ran inside to get the quilt I’d left warming at the stove. I grabbed the oiled tablecloth, too. Outside again, I struggled against the wind-driven downpour. Blinded by pounding gusts, I threw the quilt over him, then jerked the coat out from under it. I felt my way around him. Tucking the quilt under, I worked quickly down from his head to his feet. Then I spread the oilcloth over him. I shoved my arms into the coat and pressed the hat down onto my head.
    Wrestling his bundled weight up into my arms, I managed to stand. Inside the quilt, he moved in small, spasmodic jerks, like someone doped or on the edge of sleep. Wind gusted at my back. Staggering, I once went down on my knees with him. His weight and size were at the edge of my strength. Hobo nudged me, whimpering inquisitively.
    “It’ll be all right. You’ll be all right. I can get you there. It’s warm inside. You’ll be warm and dry soon,” I shouted. Easing him on the porch floor, I wrapped the quilt and tablecloth tighter around him, keeping him completely covered, and half-carried, half-dragged him across the porch into the kitchen. I shoved the chairs aside and pulled him up close to the warm stove.
    The relative warmth and quiet of the house stunned me. My arms ached from carrying him. I peeled the oilcloth away. Mud streaked the sides of the wet quilt beneath, but it was surprisingly warm from his body heat. “Are you warm enough? Are you okay?” I asked softly near his covered head. He didn’t respond. I went for more quilts. I debated unwrapping him completely. But I was reluctant to expose him, even for a few seconds, to the cold bare floor. Instead, I left the wet quilt on him and pressed another quilt around him firmly for a moment to wick some moisture away, set it aside, and then swaddled him in a couple more dry quilts, head to toe like a mummy. He didn’t move as I tucked the quilts around him.
    I knelt beside him, my hair and clothes dripping. In the dim kitchen light, I could barely discern the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. My teeth chattered. But I continued staring at the wad of blankets not knowing what to do next when I felt that sensation again. A strange, uncoiling calm hummed through me. This time I was sure I heard something below the drumming of the rain, a chime, sweet and soft, then it vanished. I wiped my chest, smearing more dirt on myself. I was freezing, suddenly aware of my heavy, drenched clothes.
    “I’ll be back,” I said and grabbed the fresh clothes I’d left warming by the stove.
    In the bedroom, I stripped and changed as quickly as my shaking hands would allow.
    He lay still