“Hi, Georgina,” she said, and I couldn’t even begin to translate that into anything more than exactly what it was. A simple greeting? A declaration of love? A hello, a good-bye? The secret of the universe and our purpose here on Earth?
Vira lifted her head and blinked sleepily. “I’m Vira,” she said, sticking her hand out. Prue shook it, still smiling, ever smiling.
“Prue. Nice to meet you. That’s an interesting name.”
“It’s short for Elvira. My mom went through a pretty intense vampire phase.”
“I was named after a song,” Prue said. “Not as fun a story.”
“Well, it could have been worse for both of us,” Vira said cheerfully. She held her hand up to me, and I pulled her to her feet. She stretched and hugged me. “I better get this thing home.” She patted the ice cream cart. “Nice to meet you, Dear Prudence.” She winked and was on her way.
“I like her,” Prue decided.
“My best friend, of the non-sister variety,” I said. “I’m officially done with ride duty—should we go for a walk?”
“That sounds great,” Prue said, and we started off across the town green as the Fowl Fair slowly packed up around us. “I wish I could have gotten here earlier, but my brother had me out all day again.” She sighed and looked at me. “Still no sign of her. Do you think something bad happened?”
“I don’t know. It feels...”
Like it.
But I didn’t want to say that.
Because saying things out loud imbued them with acertain kind of power, and I did not want to give power to the idea that something might have happened to Annabella.
“The birdheads are all losing their minds,” Prue said. We reached the edge of the green and started walking south. In the moonlight Prue practically glowed. A trick of either the light or my heart, I couldn’t be sure.
“She’ll show up,” I said. I was so used to reassuring people—the birdheads, various islanders who thought I might have some pull in the matter,myself—that my words ended up sounding hollow. Even though I wanted to believe them. Ineededto believe them. What would it mean for the future Fernwehs if Annabella never arrived? What would it mean for the inn, for our livelihood? For the real human woman who had turned into a bird?
“Either way, I’m glad I came here. Bird or no bird,” Prue said.
“Oh?”
A translation of the wordoh:
WHY TELL ME WHY TELL ME WHY TELL ME WHY TELL ME—
“Because I met you,” she continued.
“Oh.”
A further analysis of the wordoh:
OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD.
“Yeah,” Prue said, and she reached over and took my hand and held it, and every star in the night sky blinked brighter and brighter until the world was as lit up andbright as a midday in summer, a blazing wonder of incorrect light levels.
“Is this okay?” she asked.
“Yes!” I said. I shouted? I was talking too loud. I made a conscious effort to lower my voice. “Yes. It’s okay.”
We kept walking.
We kept walking WHILE HOLDING HANDS.
It felt like a very specific sort of miracle, this hand holding. It felt good and necessary and gentle and real. Neither of us spoke, we just kept walking and holding hands and then we’d reached the inn and we were still holding hands and then we walked around the back of the inn and we were still holding hands, holding hands, holding hands.
We sat on the bench we’d sat on the night of the inn party; the first time we’d really spoken.
