There was something different about Twyla.
She was wearing tights.
They were simple ribbed black wool, classic and a little old-fashioned, like the rest of her outfits (with one electrified exception), but they were new. Frankie only noticed because she had gotten so used to seeing those swirls, like living tattoos, writhing around Twyla's ankles.
Hosiery wasn't the only difference however. Twyla was acting… normal. Abnormally normal. She wasn't hiding in the shadows. She was standing in what Frankie had come to learn was one of her usual shadows, but she hadn't actually shifted to the shadow realm.
Frankie made sure not to sneak up on her this time, but Twyla jumped anyway.
"Are you okay? You're usually not this… solid."
"I'm just a little tired." Twyla hid a yawn behind her Biteology textbook. "It gets harder to use my powers."
"Late night?" Frankie asked, in what she hoped was a nonchalant manner, "or more nightmares?"
It was not, judging by Twyla's tired smile. "Neither; I just couldn't sleep."
"Well, you're sleeping now." Frankie took her by the shoulders and steered her into the science lab, which didn't have a class till after lunch. Mr. Dracula had learned the hard way not to trust tired students with dimethyl sulfoxide.
Lab tables weren't the comfiest beds, but if you piled up enough lab coats, they could do in a pinch.
"I can't believe you're encouraging truancy."
"It's not truancy if you're technically at school," said Frankie, fluffing a lab coat.
"I don't think Principal Dracula would agree with you on that one," said Twyla. "Aren't you supposed to be the Student Disembodied President?"
"Oh, you're right!" said Frankie. "Then you should definitely listen to me. Catch some Zs. I'll keep watch."
Twyla looked like she was going to argue, but then she hopped up onto the makeshift bed. "Our first creepover was better."
Frankie's laugh cut off abruptly. Twyla's classic, old-fashioned, shirt had ridden up, just for a moment. Frankie didn't understand exactly what she had seen, but it didn't seem like a laughing matter.
"What is that?"
"Nothing," said Twyla, a little too quickly.
"Are those your… Those markings are usually on your ankles. Why are they up so high?" It wasn't until the last word that Frankie realized her voice had gotten a little high too. She cleared her throat. "What are they?"
Twyla sighed. It wasn't like when Cleo did it because she wanted someone to ask what was wrong so she could complain. Twyla sounded tired. Worse than missing a few nights of sleep, and they hadn't even stayed up that late at the creepover. She sounded dead tired.
"They're called Shadow Shackles," she said. "The markings."
"Shadow… Shackles?"
"At least that's what he called them." Twyla's head was ducked so low, she was essentially talking to her knees. " A little misleading. They start with your toes, where the Boogeyman gets you when he comes out from underneath your bed. All I know is, the more negative energy I consume, the higher they get."
"But then-"
"The Shadow Shackles seemed to stop growing a few years ago," Twyla told her knees, as if Frankie hadn't spoken. Her words were convulsive, almost like she couldn't stop now that she'd started. "I thought my theory was wrong, and they weren't related to the negative energy, but it turned out he'd just been hiding the Shadow Shackles from me with Boogey Sand." At Frankie's look, she added. "Long story. He also stopped hiding his own shackles. They're… all over him. I think this is how Boogey Monsters are made. I always wondered why he never tried harder to stop me."
"That might explain why there are so few of you," said Frankie before her mouth parts could catch up with her brain parts.
"That might explain why my mother left."
"We have to get you out of there, Twyla," said Frankie.
"I hate to be cliche," said Twyla, "but think of the children."
"If your hypothesis is correct and your father is trying to turn you into a Boogey Monster, then interfering with his plans would technically protect the greatest number of children."
"From me," Twyla finished.
"From what he would turn you into," Frankie corrected, but Twyla didn't look convinced. Her arms were wrapped loosely around her waist, where Frankie knew the Shadow Shackles were squirming, even if she couldn't see them anymore.
"Why did he stop hiding the Shadow Shackles from you?" she asked.
Twyla spent a few moments tapping her fingertips against the metal lab table before answering. "My dad and I got into a bit of a fight this weekend. It was about… a lot of different things. Mostly his work. Apparently he had cut down on hours because he already had enough power over me. He can't control me completely with the Shadow Shackles, but he can keep me from using my powers. Without my powers, I can't phase."
Frankie could feel her brain parts trying to make the final computation. All of the information was there, but she just couldn't find the answer. Then she noticed Twyla's sleeves.
They were usually three-quarter. Today they were full-length. The Shadow Shackles had only reached up her stomach. There was no reason for Twyla to hide her arms.
She didn't react when Frankie slowly rolled up one sleeve. There were four parallel lines on Twyla's arm, like grill marks, but contusion-blue.
Frankie found the answer: Without her powers, Twyla couldn't dodge.
Twyla grabbed Frankie's hand, which was when she realized it was shaking.
"Stop that," said Frankie. "You shouldn't have to comfort me."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not!" She cleared her throat again. "Especially not if you think this is fine."
"It's just a couple of bruises. He gets bored easily. The only reason I didn't get any sleep last night is because he sicced the Shadow Nightmares on me, and they refused to go back in the box. Even when I said please. I had to read them a story."
"Can I hug you?" asked Frankie.
Twyla laughed for some reason. "You've never asked before."
"I'm sorry."
"That's not what I meant."
Frankie didn't know what to say to that, so she just said, "Please?"
"Yes," Twyla whispered. "Please."
Frankie stepped in between Twyla's stockinged knees and hugged her gently, in case it was more than just a couple of bruises. This time, Twyla hugged back.
Eventually, Frankie pulled away just far enough to meet Twyla's eyes, which…. appeared to be phosphorescent in some way. Fascinating. Later.
"Don't worry, Twyla. I've got at least twelve different geniuses in me, somewhere or another. I'll think of a way to save you."
