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I was actually relieved that I’d beaten Dr. Kapoor back to Bitter Rock. My exchanges with her had all been over email, but even in text you could feel her glaring at you. I had to keep fooling her into thinking I was just a bird-obsessed teenager trying to “get some real-world experience.” I’d already slipped up with Liam. I had to be more careful.
We trudged down the gravelly, pockmarked road, the only one that wound along the length of Bitter Rock’s main landmass. There were no trees on the island, but the rocks and hills hid our destination from view until we were almost on top of it. “This is it,” Liam said as we approached. In another setting, the cottage-style house might have looked cute, but the salt had stripped its paint until what was left hung in tattered strips from gaunt gray boards, and the roof shingles were patchy. Not even the floral curtains in the windows could rescue it from looking onthe brink of ruin. “The Bitter Rock Chalet, aka Mrs. Popova’s house. Everyone from the LARC stays here. Except Dr. Kapoor, who has her own house, and Dr. Hardcastle, who claims to have a cot in his office but I’m pretty sure sleeps upside down in the closet like a vampire.”
“I think vampires sleep in coffins,” I said.
“He might have one of those in one of the storage rooms, actually,” Liam said. “The only people who ever come here are LARC researchers or really, really dedicated bird-watchers. The only place to stay is Mrs. Popova’s. So it doesn’t need a sign or anything.”
The front door opened, and a sprig of a woman, gray-haired and with glasses that took up half her face, stepped out and crossed her arms. Her tan cardigan hung to her knees, emphasizing her thin build. Her face was creased and wrinkled, her skin light brown and decorated with liver spots. “Liam Kapoor,” she declared as we approached. “What are you doing out with the mist coming in?”
“Fetching lost interns,” Liam said. “I’m thinking of starting a collection. Mrs. Popova, Sophia. Sophia, this is Mrs. Popova.”
“I knew a Sophie once,” she said. There was something odd in her voice—almost grief and almost anger. Sophie—I hadn’t gone by that since I was little, and there was something unsettling about hearing it now.
“It’s a pretty common name,” I replied. In the top fifty the year I was born, a fact I had confirmed before deciding to keep my first name for this deception. It was too hard to train myself to react properly to a fake one.
“Wait, you mean the girl in the boat?” Liam said, sounding startled.
“Who’s the girl in the boat?” I asked.
“It’s nothing,” Mrs. Popova said with a sigh.
“It’s sort of like a ghost story,” Liam said.
“And not a pleasant one,” Mrs. Popova added, in a tone that precluded any further discussion. She waved both of us toward the house, eyeing the mist with more wariness than I thought was warranted. “Best get inside quickly, before this gets any worse. I’ll make cocoa.”
I followed Mrs. Popova inside.A ghost story.The girl in the boat. So the memories haunting me had a name.
A clatter of voices greeted us in the entryway. By the time I’d stripped off my shoes, I’d sorted them into two speakers, one male and one female.
Mrs. Popova ushered me farther in. The kitchen was a mix of weathered practicality and grandma flourishes, much like the exterior. A rifle sat propped against the back door; every cup and kettle had a lace doily to rest on.
Two people sat at the kitchen table. The first was a tiny white woman, a brunette with hair that stuck up in a way that made her look perpetually surprised. Even indoors she wore a puffy blue coat that seemed on the verge of swallowing her up and digesting her. The man, who had East Asian features, was short and solidly built, the sides of his head shaved and the rest of his hair swept back in a startled swoop.
“Hey, you found the fledgling,” the man said. He had a Midwestern accent that charmed me instantly.
“Is the queen back in her castle?” the woman asked. Her chirpy voice held hidden barbs.
“She’s up at the LARC by now,” Liam said. “She said they’d stay there for the night, and I’m stuck with you lot.”
“Poor thing.” The woman tutted, and laughed.
“I’m making cocoa for anyone who wants it,” Mrs. Popova declared. “And tell the poor girl your names.”
“Kenny Lee,” the guy said. “We had a bet going on whether you’d show up, you know. Figured it was even odds you were a prank.”
“I’m Lily,” the woman said.
“Lily Clark, right?” I asked.
“That’s right.” She stuck out her hand and I had to step up to take it. Her skin was startlingly cold, her handshake firm enough you knew she’d practiced it. “How’d you know?”
“Your pictures are all up on the website.” Except for Liam’s; he’d surprised me. And I didn’t like surprises, not right now.
“We have a website?” Kenny asked. “Why didn’t I know about that?”
“Because Will had me put it together without telling Dr. Kapoor. Something about dragging her kicking and screaming into the modern era,” Lily said.
“What picture did you use?” Kenny asked suspiciously.
