Feels a little unnatural.
“Nobody checked the barn,” she said after a pause. “She’s never nested there before. She could have been there for days. She could have been there all this time, just nestled up high in the rafters, waiting for her eggs to hatch, with nobody the wiser.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Oh, I know that. It’s not anybody’s fault.” She paused, laughed—but a sad laugh. The saddest laugh I’d ever heard. “Well. It’s someone’s fault.”
I didn’t like the way she said it. But I couldn’t quite pinpoint why.
She rose from her seat without another word and walked back into the house. I swear, none of the birdheads knew basic conversational etiquette, likehelloand, God forbid,good-bye.
I took my empty coffee mug back inside. My mother was in the kitchen still, sitting by the window, finishing the pancakes I’d left behind.
“You shouldn’t drug people,” I said.
“I’ve hardly drugged anyone,” she said without looking up. “You can buy those herbs anywhere. And you seemed fine with it the other night, bringing tea to Prudence and her brother.”
“That was different.” I stole back a forkful of pancake. “Mom... Harrison said something last night, and I thought it was a little weird. But you know how Annabella onlybuilds her nest when she’s ready to lay her eggs? Well... wherewerethey? They looked all over the barn, right?”
“I’ve been wondering that myself,” she said quietly. “Yes, they looked all over the barn. They didn’t find anything.”
“So what does that mean? Why would somebody want a couple of useless eggs? They never even hatch.”
“Why would somebody kill a beautiful thing like Annabella?” she asked. “Why do these people do anything they do?”
When my mother said things like that—these people—I think she meant everyone in the world who wasn’t a Fernweh.
Flood
My mother’s coffee had made me sleepy, but not in a tired way, in a sad way, a mournful way. I wanted to lie down, to close my eyes, to try and forget about Annabella for a while, only my room seemed too empty and lonely, so I went to check on Mary. I found her floating at least a foot off her bed, which proved my theory about why her mattress was so much more comfortable than mine (less use) andalsoseemed a bit dangerous to me; surely her freshman roommate wouldn’t be as understanding about a floating girl?
But now that I was up here I realized I wasn’t tired anyway, I just didn’t want to be alone. I tugged on Mary’s arm until she woke up and fell back on the bed.
“Is it tomorrow yet?” she said, sitting up.
I unbraided her hair, still damp and now falling curly down her back. “It’s the morning,” I said.
Mary stretched her arms out and said, “I had a dream I was flying.”
“That’s not a bad dream to have,” I said, still unbraiding. “Peter came by to see you.”
She sat up straighter in bed. “Is there coffee made?”
“Yeah, but I’d make your own pot.”
“Tainted?”
“Definitely tainted.”
Mary swung her legs over the side of the bed but didn’t make any immediate move to stand. Instead, she looked at her feet and the floor beneath them, a good six inches away.
“Mary?”
She shook her head, smiled, looked at me, and gingerly put her feet on the ground. I saw an unmistakable wince on her face, the slightest giveaway of discomfort.
“I’m just a little sore,” she said. She used my shoulder to lift herself up and then swayed gently, as if caught in a breeze.
She really did look smaller, and like her features had resized themselves appropriately.
