by Katrina Leno
My mother lifted something from underneath her shirt: a tiny bottle she wore on a chain around her neck. I watched as she uncorked the bottle, smelled it, held it over the water and carefully poured it in.
The liquid inside was the color of sunshine. It smelled like leaves.
“What is that?” I asked.
“Your sister is hiding something,” my mother said.
“You know?”
She nodded. “I found that loose floorboard when you were both eight. She hid a slice of cake inside it. I followed a trail of ants.”
“The eggs are already cool,” I said. “They must be dead.”
My mother stood up and found her balance in the rocking boat. “Nearly dead,” she said, and dove into the water in an elegant little arc. Her body made just the tiniest ripple as it disappeared beneath the surface.
She was gone for long enough that I got nervous. I was just preparing myself for a rescue mission when she broke the surface again. She held something out to me, treading water with her free arm.
I took the thing from her.
It was a nest.
Impossibly dry, impossibly beautiful. I put it in my lap. It was made of intricately woven twigs and pieces of cloth and hay and white feathers. My mother held the boat tightly and then lifted herself up and over the side.
“I made that,” she said proudly.
“Mom—do you know what happened to Mary? Do you know why she’s turning into . . .”
It was hard to say it out loud: a bird.
My mother’s face darkened. She shook her head.
“Is there any way to stop it?” I asked. “I sort of like her human.”
“It’s something she will have to learn how to control. Right now, she’s not in control at all. Right now, we’re lucky she doesn’t just float away.”
“But why?” I asked. “What could have happened to her?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her face darkening. “Something bad.” She pulled the oar out of the ground and laid it across the boat. “You don’t know who she was with that night?”
“We were together at the Fowl Fair,” I said, thinking back. “And then she just kind of disappeared. Vira said—”
But I stopped, because I remembered what Vira had said that night, when I asked if she’d seen my sister: I think she was talking to Peter earlier. There wasn’t anything unusual about that; Peter had a tendency of always being underfoot, especially when Mary was involved. But why hadn’t I thought to ask him earlier, if he knew anything about where she had gone that night?
“What is it?” Mom asked.
“Maybe nothing,” I said.
She began paddling toward the house. Harrison and Prue were waiting on the porch, watching us. Harrison helped Mom out of the boat. I stepped onto the porch; Prue took my hand and touched the nest.
“Is that for the eggs?”
I nodded. “Will you take it to them?”
She took the nest from me and ran into the house.
“Excellent diving, Penelope,” Harrison told my mother.
“Thank you, Harrison. And thank you for helping my daughter.”
“Mom—can we borrow the rowboat?”
“Be my guest.” She put her hands on either side of my head and kissed my forehead. “It comes from here,” she said, and pointed to my belly. I felt a strange flutter where her fingers had touched but I had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. I smiled and nodded, which was always the safest response.
She swayed a little. Harrison reached a hand out and steadied her.
The effects of the magic she’d done. Strong magic; she was completely sapped.
“I’ll just go lie down for a while,” she said with a weak smile. She went into the house, and Harrison climbed into the boat.
“She found a nest in the water?” he asked.
“It’s a long story.”
“Magicky?”
“Very magicky.”
We waited for Prue.
“All tucked in,” she said when she finally came back.
“Do you guys want to go on a little trip?” I asked, gesturing toward the rowboat.
“Where to?” Harrison asked.
“Well, first, I want to make sure Vira’s okay. Who knows how high the waters are down there. And after that . . . I think I need to go talk to Peter Elmhurst.”
“I’m in,” Prue said. She stepped gingerly into the boat. Harrison and I followed suit.
We started paddling for the town green.
The island was an unrecognizable, treacherous beast.
We passed a few people in boats (both actual boats and those of the makeshift variety: plastic storage containers, garbage cans, bathtubs, wooden wine barrels), but once they got close enough to see who we were (or who I was, more specifically) they paddled hurriedly in the other direction.
The entire first floor of the Montgomerys’ building, including the Ice Cream Parlor facade, was underwater.
We steered the rowboat around to the back of the building, and I pulled myself onto the metal staircase. I promised Harrison and Prue I wouldn’t take long, and then I knocked on Vira’s front door.
She appeared a moment later, threw the door open, and squeezed me into a hug.
“I’ve been worried sick,” she said. “It’s getting bad out there.”
“We found the eggs. And my sister is turning into a bird. We’re going to talk to Peter. I think he might have been the last person to see her before whatever happened to her in the barn.”
Vira took this news in stride.
She looked past me to where Prue and Harrison waited in the rowboat. “Is that your ride?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s a little slow, but it’s all we have.”
Vira put her hand over her eyes to shield them from the pouring water. She scanned the island, left to right, and then smiled.
“She’s almost back. Just give me a second.”
She went into the house and emerged a moment later in a bright-yellow raincoat covered in cheery cartoon ducks. She fit a matching hat on her head.
“Wow. I’ve never loved you this much,” I said.
“And you’re about to love me even more.” She pointed over my shoulder. “Behold, our new ride.”
I turned around to see Julia Montgomery pulling up to the second-floor railing of the building behind the wheel of a squat little red tugboat. Julia threw the lines to her daughter, and Vira tied the boat up. Julia stepped onto the landing.
“Georgina, it’s so nice to see you,” Julia said, and although her voice was a little strained, I thought she mostly meant it.
“Can we take the tug out? Errands,” Vira said.
“Do I want to know what kind of errands?” Julia asked.
“We’re going to clear my name,” I offered. “And Mary’s, while we’re at it.”
Julia considered for just a moment, and then she dropped the keys to the tugboat into Vira’s waiting hands.
“Why does your mother own a tugboat?” I asked Vira as the four of us ditched the rowboat for our upgraded ride.
“Tugboats are really useful,” Vira said, as if it were obvious, and then she pointed her chin at Prue and winked at me approximately eight hundred times.
“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” I said.
She took her place as the captain of the tugboat, and it was like the universe shifted just a little bit back into place, as if to say, Yes, of course this is where Elvira Montgomery belongs: behind the wheel of a tugboat wearing a matching raincoat and rainhat.
Then she called, “I recommend life jackets! It’s been a while since I’ve actually driven this thing,” and that feeling shattered just a tiny bit. Harrison, Prue, and I dutifully slid into our bright-orange life vests (I helped Vira put hers on) and with a slightly worrying lurch, we were off.
We made our way to the Elmhursts’ farm through water that was growing more and more unruly. The tugboat had been a lifesaver; there was no way we could have rowed our
selves through waves this high and choppy. Prue turned green and gripped the railing, keeping her head over the side of the boat, staring into the dark water like she might, at any given moment, hurl.
The rain had become a thing alive and dangerous, pouring down around us in buckets. It was impossible to see more than five or ten feet in front of the boat. Vira took it slow, and I stood at the bow with an actual lantern, feeling very 1800s-whale-hunting-expedition, yelling back to her if we came too close to buildings or trees sticking up out of the water. We found the Elmhursts’ barn almost by accident, after weaving back and forth with no real idea of where we were.
The barn doors were open—the yellow police tape gone—and the water poured in and out of the entrance freely. Together with Harrison I guided the boat carefully through the doors. The lights were off—I wondered if the power outage had affected the whole island—but I held the lantern up and Harrison took his flashlight out again and pointed it around. The beam landed on Peter, sitting on the loft with his legs dangling over the side. The water was so high that the bottom of his sneakers skimmed the surface every time they kicked back and forth.
He had a strange expression on his face. I felt like I had stumbled upon him in a too-intimate moment.
Vira killed the engine of the tugboat.
Prue finally vomited.
Harrison rubbed her back.
The three of them presently occupied, I turned to Peter.
“Hi,” I said.
“Hey, Georgie,” he replied.
“What are you doing in here?”
“I went for a little swim, but the water’s too choppy now. I was waiting to see if it would go down.”
“You went for a swim in your clothes?” I asked, because Peter was wearing jeans and a dark T-shirt and even a pair of sneakers, all sopping wet now.
“I figured—I was already soaked,” he said lightly. “Why not?”
It actually made sense; what little time I’d spent in the storm since I’d changed my clothes had left me as dripping wet as Peter.
“And your parents? Are they okay? The water’s getting high.”
“They’re fine,” he replied, gesturing vaguely. “They found higher ground.” Then he looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. “What brings you over here, Georgie?”
“Peter, I wanted to ask you about the night of the Fowl Fair. Did you talk to my sister? Do you know where she went?”
“Has she said something?” he asked.
“Not really. She’s . . . waiting out the storm,” I said, because there was some edge to his voice, something that told me to choose my words carefully.
“I miss her,” he admitted, and his face softened a little, and whatever strangeness I’d sensed in him just a moment ago vanished. He was Peter again. Peter the jack-of-all-trades. Peter the shy and quiet and in-love-with-my-sister boy.
“Do you know anything about that night?” I asked.
“Of course I do. But I love your sister, Georgina. I was trying to protect her.”
“Protect her? From what?” My heart felt like someone held it in their hand, like someone was squeezing it tighter and tighter.
“Georgina,” he said slowly. “Isn’t it obvious?” He paused to rub at his eyes with wet hands. Then he looked at me again. “Mary killed Annabella.”
And (oh timing, oh you silly, silly timing) the roof of the barn gave in under the weight of the rain.
Prue screamed as a piece of roofbeam, soggy and bloated with rain, came crashing down on the boat. The loft collapsed underneath Peter and he went plunging into the black water. I heard Vira shouting for a life preserver and before I could react, Harrison found one and threw it over the edge to Peter, who was struggling to stay afloat in water now riddled with debris. A massive piece of roof came plummeting down from the ceiling; I felt something crash into me, and the next thing I knew, Vira was on top of me, her face inches from mine.
“Did you just save my life?” I asked shakily.
“Thank me later,” she said, scrambling to her feet and hoisting me up.
Peter was too far away to reach the life preserver; Harrison was struggling to pull it back into the boat so he could throw it farther. I grabbed the end of the rope and we pulled together, heaving as the boat pitched back and forth and sent us stumbling, more than once, to our knees.
Vira got behind the wheel again and the boat stuttered forward, dangerously close now to Peter, who flailed in the water and kept disappearing for longer and longer periods of time, getting weaker and weaker.
Harrison and I finally managed to haul the life preserver onto the boat, and he yelled back at Vira—“Hold her steady!”—before he grabbed it and dove headfirst into the water.
“Harrison!” Prue screamed from the back of the boat. She picked her way across bits of roof and beam that had landed on the boat, finally reaching me and half flinging herself over the railing. “Harrison!”
I grabbed on to the back of her lifejacket so she wouldn’t pitch over the side, and we both searched the water for Harrison, who was paddling toward where Peter was struggling to stay afloat. When he reached him, Harrison slipped the life preserver over Peter’s body and then used the rope to start pulling them back to the ship.
“In the stern!” Vira shouted over the rain. “There’s a ladder in the stern!”
“Go around, Harrison!” Prue said, pointing frantically. She ran toward the back of the boat and made sure the ladder was extended. Harrison and Peter reached it after a moment and then they were on the deck, breathing heavily, Peter leaning over the side and retching water.
After a few more harrowing moments of navigating backward out of the barn, we were safe.
Well. Safe was relative.
I gave Peter a life jacket—he seemed shaken, but mostly unharmed—and Harrison found a compass in (of course) the pocket of his trench coat. We made our way slowly south, through squall-like winds and rain that came in sideways, soaking every part of my body, soaking even the inside of my body.
I wanted to grab Peter, shake him, ask him what he meant when he said that Mary killed Annabella, but I made myself take a deep breath and give him a minute to recover. Besides—my sister told me she hadn’t done it. The Ouija board itself had said it was an evil man. I had to trust my sister.
But I couldn’t deny, either, the newly formed smudge of doubt that had been born within me. A worm of evil that questioned my sister’s story and her motives and her innocence. A worm that slithered its way through my body, slowly eating me from the inside out. That was what happened when you stopped trusting your sister, your twin: you were eaten alive in a gale, shivering and soaking and miserable.
And Mary had been acting so weird.
I had to get back to her.
Whatever she was doing in that tree, I had to make her tell me the truth.
And since it didn’t seem likely that I’d be able to get to her alone, I’d take the compromise of me plus four others.
As it turned out, Prue wasn’t quite done being sick.
She sat on the floor of the boat, her back pressed up against the aft side, her knees bent and a bucket between them. She was a pale green, the color of new grass. I left Harrison to navigate at the bow of the boat, and I went to sit next to her.
“I’m so sorry,” I said.
“It’s the back and forth,” she said, illustrating with her hand. “It’s the rocky-rocky. It’s the—”
She paused to vomit.
When she was done, I helpfully tossed the contents overboard and handed the bucket back to her.
“Thanks,” she said. She gripped it like a security blanket. “You must be really attracted to me right now.”
“Surprisingly enough, I am.”
“You don’t believe him, do you?”
I paused just a moment too long, just a half a second, but it was enough time for Prue to see the worm inside me.
“The eggs,” I whispered. “The feathers.”
; “Georgina, she’s your sister,” Prue said.
“But the whole island . . . Everybody’s so sure . . .”
“Well, I’m not so sure. I’m not so sure at all,” Prue replied, and to punctuate this point, she vomited again.
The fierce loyalty of Prue made the worm shut up for a few seconds. I emptied the bucket again and then hugged her, kissing her wet hair and the side of her face.
“Georgina!” Vira called then, and I gave Prue back her bucket and joined the captain at her post. “Tree ho!” she said, and pointed. Then she turned back and saw how confused I looked. “It’s like ‘land ho,’ but it’s a tree. Tree ho. Get it? Because there’s no more land; it’s all water. Anyway, we’re here.”
My sister’s tree. The water now reached halfway up its trunk; the tire swing was floating useless on the waves. Peter looked nervous; he stood up and did his best to pace with what limited deck space he had.
I climbed the tree again.
My sister was still a girl, sitting right where I’d left her. She was making a tiny nest in her lap with strips she’d torn from her dress and feathers she’d pulled from her hair and twigs she’d pilfered from the tree.
“Did you find them?” she asked.
The eggs.
“Yes, Mary.”
“Are they safe?”
“They’re safe. Mom made them a nest.”
“Why did you bring him here?”
“Peter?”
“I told you I was hiding, and you brought him right to me. I can’t say I understand your approach,” Mary said, and she sounded so much like herself that I wanted to cry.
But then I heard what she said, as if on a delay.
“Peter?” I asked. “You were hiding from Peter?”
“Why do you look like that?” She shook her head and laughed. “Wait—let me guess. Did he tell you I killed Annabella? That I used my magic powers to cut off his dick?” She rolled her eyes and in that moment I swear she grew taller. “I should have. I wish I had dick-chopping magic powers.”
“Mary?”
She shrank again.
She closed her eyes, squeezed her eyelids together.
When she opened them again, I saw real fear there.
“Why did you bring him here?” she whispered.
And on the bough of this tree, in the middle of a gale, with my sister so small and fragile in front of me, I could suddenly see—with such sharp clarity it made me squint—how dense I’d been.
