Lies

dreamily. “What did you do with my power?”
    She told herself that the monster, the gaiaphage…the Darkness…could only use the Healer to heal, and that no evil could come from that.
    But she knew better. The Darkness did not reach out through the back doors of time and space and siphon off her power for no reason.
    For days it had been inside her mind, using her to heal.
    To heal who ?
    She dropped her hand to the vodka bottle, raised it to her lips, and swallowed the liquid fire.
    To heal what ?

FOURTEEN
30 HOURS, 25 MINUTES
    ON THE FIRST day of the disappearance—or, as Sanjit secretly thought of it, the deliverance—he and his brothers and sisters had searched the entire estate.
    Not one single adult had been found. No nanny, no cook, no groundskeepers—which was a relief because one of the assistant groundskeepers seemed like kind of a perv—and no maids.
    They stayed together as a group, Sanjit cracking jokes to keep everyone’s spirits up.
    “Are we sure we want to find anyone?” he’d asked.
    “We need grown-ups,” Virtue had argued in his pedantic way.
    “For what, Choo?”
    “For…” This had stumped Virtue.
    “What if someone gets sick?” Peace had asked.
    “You feel okay?” Sanjit asked her.
    “I guess so.”
    “See? We’re fine.”
    Despite the undeniable creepiness of the situation, Sanjit had been more relieved than worried. He didn’t like having to respond to the name “Wisdom.” He didn’t like being told what to do just about every minute of the day. He didn’t like rules. And then, suddenly, no rules.
    He’d had no answer to the repeated questions from the others as to what had happened. All that seemed clear was that all the adults were gone. And the radio and phones and satellite TV were dead.
    Sanjit figured he could live with that.
    But the little kids, Peace, Bowie and Pixie, had been scared from the beginning. Even Choo, whom Sanjit had never seen upset, had been creeped out.
    The simple silence of the empty island was oppressive. The huge house, with some rooms the kids had never even seen, rooms no one had ever used, seemed as big and as dead as a museum. And searching through the butler’s home, through Nanny’s upstairs suite, through the bungalows and dorms, left them feeling like burglars.
    But everyone’s mood had improved when they returned to the main house and opened the walk-in freezer in search of a long-overdue dinner that first evening.
    “They do have ice cream!” Bowie accused. “They’ve had ice cream all along. They lied to us. They have tons of ice cream.”
    There were twelve big five-gallon tubs of ice cream. Sixty gallons of ice cream.
    Sanjit had patted Bowie on the shoulder. “Are you really surprised, little guy? Cook weighs three hundred pounds, and Annette isn’t far behind.” Annette was the maid who cleaned the children’s rooms.
    “Can we have some?”
    Sanjit was surprised to be asked for permission that first time. He was the oldest, but it had not really occurred to him that he was in charge.
    “You’re asking me?”
    Bowie shrugged. “I guess you’re the grown-up for now.”
    Sanjit smiled. “Then, as temporary adult, I decree that we have ice cream for dinner. Grab one of those tubs and five spoons and we don’t stop till we hit the bottom.”
    That had kept everyone happy for a while. But at last Peace raised her hand, like she was in school.
    “You don’t have to raise your hand,” Sanjit said. “What’s up?”
    “What’s going to happen?”
    Sanjit had considered this for a few seconds. He was not normally a thoughtful person, he knew that. He was normally a joker. Not a clown, but not someone who took life too seriously. Taking life seriously was Virtue’s job.
    Back in the days when he’d lived on the Bangkok streets and alleyways there were endless dangers: sweatshop bosses who would try to kidnap you and put you to work fourteen hours a day, cops who would beat you, shopkeepers who would chase you away from their fruit displays with bamboo sticks, and always the pimps who would turn you over tostrange foreign men for their own purposes.
    But Sanjit had always tried to laugh and not cry. No matter how hungry, how scared, how sick, he’d never given up like some of the kids he saw. He hadn’t become brutal, though he surely had survived by stealing. And as he aged on those wondrously exciting, terrifying, never-dull streets he’d nurtured a certain swagger, a certain attitude that made him