It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear. —?Romeo + Juliet
Philomel in Sonnet 102
tempest
Then should I spur, though mounted on the
wind; In winged speed no motion shall I
know —?Sonnet 51
Swift as a shadow, short as any dream,
brief as the lightning in the collied night
—?A Midsummer Night’s Dream
veil
To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face
?—?Sonnet 34
“Holy mackerel, Aila,” Beas breathes at last, spreading the sheets out beneath her fingers. She covers her gaping mouth. “You did it.”
“It was my mother,” I say softly. “I just picked up the breadcrumbs she left and kept going.”
“So what does this mean?” she asks, her low voice rising higher. “Aila, what does this mean?”
“It means,” I say, swallowing, “that the Sisters are living in a curse taken entirely from Shakespeare’s own pages.”
“Do you know that this is the closest anyone has come to a lead like this in decades?” Beas leaps to her feet. “Come on, let’s tell the Clifftons! Let’s tell everybody!”
“Wait!” I say, grabbing her arm. I fight my own urge to fly down the stairs and triumphantly pound on Dr. Cliffton’s library door. “We still don’t know why the seven years are significant, or why it’s happening here, at this time period specifically. I don’t think we should tell anyone until we can answer those questions.”
I don’t mention the other question that continues to haunt the back of my mind:
Why was my mother the only exception?
She pouts a little, but then she grabs my arm and we both squeal and jump. Because today is the mark of something that has changed, a corner we’ve turned. We can both feel it. Something big. Something new.
“All right,” Beas agrees. “We won’t tell anyone yet. We’re going to fan this little theory of yours until it’s strong enough to catch fire all on its own.”
“Exactly,” I say, folding my list away.
And then we’re going to watch it blaze.
Chapter Forty-Two
Date: 2/20/1943
Bird: Albatross
The albatross mates for life, yet in that lifetime it flies millions of miles alone.
Larkin’s done his job well. The buzz about the Virtues builds along the clandestine pipes of the underground. It’s mostly just rumors. Victor wants the clamoring to reach a fevered pitch before we auction off hits of Virtue for more money than either of us have ever imagined.
