The Pegwitch trod closer, hand outstretched, and shouted in a voice that sounded like crinkling a paper lunch bag, “Children. Come. I can help you.”
“Block your ears, Darcy,” said Sojourn. “You’re the youngest; you’ll be most vulnerable to her spells.”
“This is pointless. Just leave me here and save yourselves,” cried Posy-Kate, dramatically tossing back her head, perfect waves of strawberry-blond hair swishing into my mouth.
I spat out the hair. “We’re not leaving you, Posy-Kate.” But as the Pegwitch hurried ever forward, surprisingly fast despite her stooped back, my stomach turned with unease. Posy-Kate surely could not run, no less walk. We’d need a miracle, an angel, an … Angelica.
“Sojourn?” I said, peering around Posy-Kate to look him in the eye. “Do you know how to drive?”
Sojourn snorted. “No.”
“Oh,” I said. “Well, now’s our chance to learn.”
“You don’t mean … you are brilliant.”
Angelica, the Beautiful, the beaten-down pickup truck, gleamed; rust turned to gold patches before our eyes. The door to the driver’s side was permanently bent open, cracks in the windows were taped over with plastic wrap, and the front was splattered with pigeon poo. But the tires were plump and so long as the engine worked, it would do. I peeked in the window—keys were on the front seat.
“I’ll drive,” I said, dragging Posy-Kate over to the truck.
“But Finn!” squealed Darcy. “The wheel is on the wrong side o’ the truck!”
That normally would have made me laugh, but I wasn’t quite in the mood at the moment. “Sojourn, you’ll sit next to me and pull the brake if things get bad,” I said. With a squeal of rusty metal, I yanked open the crooked door as Sojourn heaved Posy-Kate into the passenger seat, his skinny arms quivering and face flushing red.
“I’m not made of bricks, you oaf!” spat Posy-Kate, but for once, Sojourn ignored her.
“Darcy,” I said, lifting her by the armpits into the truck, “you’ll have to sit on Posy-Kate’s lap; this truck’s really only meant for two.”
Darcy nodded, and I placed a fidgety Ena beside Darcy, then followed Sojourn into the driver’s seat. The inside of the truck smelled of spoiled milk and rotting pumpkin. The door barely locked shut as we crammed together, holding our breaths and hunching our shoulders.
“How do we start this thing?” I said, dangling the key in front of me. A myriad of levers and switches, buttons and pedals swirled before my eyes.
“Dunno, but better figure out soon,” said Sojourn.
I whipped around to the back window to see that the Pegwitch was but five pumpkins away. Crumbs. My heart pounded faster as I frantically began to jab the key in various places, flick switches and pull levers, push buttons, and shuffle my feet. I must have done something right—or, perhaps, terribly, terribly wrong—because then, a great whirring rumbled from below, and the tires kicked up a splatter of mud, and we zoomed into the aspen wood.
Four screams filled the truck as we zigzagged through the trees.
“How do I control this thing?!” I bellowed, flailing my arms around my head as the truck tumbled and swerved on its own accord.
“We’re gonna die!” cried Darcy.
“Keep your hands on the wheel, idiot!” Sojourn grabbed the wheel from me, veering us into a thicket of rosebushes, then, decapitating the rosebuds, he added, “I’m pretty sure that’s the number one thing they teach you in driving school.”
“Well, that’s awfully good to know, but I’m pretty sure the first thing they teach you is don’t run into trees!”
“It wasn’t a tree. It was a shrub!”
“Sojourn, LOOK OUT!” I kicked Sojourn in the shin, took the wheel, and swerved away from a thick-bodied sycamore tree in the nick of time. Not a moment later, however, a sparkle of low-lying water came into view among the trees.
Posy-Kate’s shriek rattled my eardrum: “Are you stupid? Just stop the car!”
“I don’t know how to brake!” Panic rose in my throat, and I slammed my foot against the first pedal I could find.
A great squawk let out from Ena.
Darcy pointed toward the gully and shouted, “WE’RE GONNA CRASH!”
The truck screeched, and with a splatter of mud to the windshield, it skidded off a short drop and into the gully below. Water rushed over the hood and leaked into the doors. I covered my eyes, hearing only the crunch of rusty metal and the squelch of tires into mud.
As the water settled and only a gurgle of bubbles remained, I peeked open one eye, then the other.
“Did we die?” croaked Posy-Kate. “We died, didn’t we? We’re dead.”
“We’re alive,” breathed Darcy. “We’re alive!”
A ridiculous smile curled my lips, and I repeated, “We’re alive.”
“For now,” muttered Sojourn. “We’ve got to get you all back to Aoife before she realizes you’re gone.”
“Right,” I said, though my head was still zinging with We’re alive, we’re alive, we’re alive!
I creaked open the door, swampy water streaming down the sides, and with a splash, hopped into the gully. Mosquitoes nipped at my wrists and mud squelched between my toes. “Here, Darcy,” I said, reaching into the truck for her. “Sojourn, you carry Posy-Kate.”
Sojourn groaned as I pulled Darcy out by the armpits. She clung close to Ena. My knees quivered with their weight, but I managed to carry them, one slimy step at a time, to shore, with Sojourn and Posy-Kate following in my wake.
“There you are,” I said, setting her down on the grass and flopping down next to her. I wrung my skirt of the gully water, but the stench—rather like that of a wet dog—could not be masked. Sojourn hobbled onto the grass, dumping Posy-Kate beside Darcy. Posy-Kate puffed with disdain and smoothed out her now completely un-white skirt.
“Does it still hurt?” I said to Posy-Kate. “Your ankle?”
Posy-Kate nodded. “Numbed a bit, but it’s simply agony every time I try and move it. See?” She flinched her swollen ankle, then grimaced in pain.
“How’re we gonna explain to Aoife? We’ve got to get you to your mom to heal you. Get up, all o’ you,” I said, hopping to my feet. “Sojourn, you know these woods. You’re in charge of gettin’ us out.”
“Okay,” he said, then nodded to Posy-Kate. “But you’re dragging that one.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Sojourn, I can’t carry her myself.”
Posy-Kate crossed her arms. “If I’m such a bother, I’ll walk on my own, thank you very much.” She stood, wobbled on her good leg, and immediately grasped a sycamore tree for balance. The bark chipped under her pink-painted nails.
“Perhaps I can be of assistance?” The voice came from behind, a bouncy voice that played hopscotch between my ears.
I spun around to face a small-boned man, perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties. Though his face was smooth of wrinkles, his hair was flecked gray and his eyes sunk deep into their sockets.
“Aren’t y’all a bit young to be ridin’ trucks like that?” said the man.
“Clearly,” grunted Sojourn as we all turned to see the truck slowly sinking deeper into the gully, muddy bubbles rising around it.
“Who’re you?” I said, inching closer to Darcy to protect her if need be.
The man smiled and held out a calloused hand. “Name’s Rodney Bilfer Jr. And that there’s my Angelica.”
My cheeks burned red. “Oh—I—we didn’t mean—er—sorry?”
But Rodney flapped his hand. “Don’t worry ’bout nothin’. Been meanin’ to take her to the dump for ages.” He furrowed his brow at Posy-Kate, who held tight to her sycamore tree, and then nodded to her. “What’s wrong wi’ her?”
“Nothin’,” snapped Posy-Kate, shooting me a confusingly dangerous look. “We’ll be on our way now.” She let go of the sycamore and hopped twice before catching her ankle on a root and wobbling precariously as Sojourn and I sprang to catch her. However, it w
as Rodney who caught her by the shoulder just before her nose splatted into a pile of soggy leaves—a swirl of reds and oranges.
“All right there, miss?” he said.
Posy-Kate scowled at Rodney, then scowled at Sojourn, then scowled at me.
“What?” I whispered. “He’s only tryin’ to help.”
Posy-Kate rolled her eyes, then shooed Rodney off her and leaned in close to me. “He probably works for Aoife,” she whispered. “Don’t let him fool you—he’ll turn us in to Mom, and then we’ll really be done for.”
“Ah, you got me there,” said Rodney, tugging on his large ear. “I do work for Miss Aoife. But let’s be honest, who in this town doesn’t work for her? Don’t worry … your secret’s safe with me.” He winked and offered his arm to Posy-Kate to use as a crutch.
Posy-Kate eyed him suspiciously, but reluctantly slung her arm over Rodney’s shoulder. “C’mon now,” he said. “Young man, come ’round this way an’ support Miss Posy-Kate’s left side.”
Sojourn muttered something nasty, but complied.
“We’ll get you back before you’re seen, all righty?” said Rodney. With a grunt, he and Sojourn began to carry Posy-Kate through the woods, and me, Darcy, and Ena hurried along behind.
Chapter 35
FOR A SKINNY MAN, Rodney Bilfer Jr. was exceptionally strong. Sojourn, after three minutes of half supporting Posy-Kate on his shoulder, decided he was too completely tired to carry her any longer. So, Rodney lifted Posy-Kate across his arms and carried her himself.
“We’re havin’ a daughter,” Rodney told us, smiling at Posy-Kate. “My wife and me. This is how I’ll hold her.”
“A daughter?” I said. I looked up to him, and though his mouth was tilted in a smile, his eyes looked tired. Tired, sad, and scared.
“Yes ma’am,” said Rodney. “If … if she lasts long ’nough.”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” snorted Sojourn.
I kicked him in the shin and hissed, “Could you be more insensitive?”
“S’all right,” said Rodney. “My wife—my Georgie-Mae—she’s sick.” His voice choked up, and he stopped mid-step before swallowing and continuing on. “Not sure if she’ll make it to … to when our Lucy’s born. That’s what we’re namin’ her. Georgie likes that name. Lucy.” He shook his head as if he could rustle away the fears like the aspen trees surrounding us could leaves. “But we gotta keep on hopin’, right? All we can do is hope. An’ I’m lucky I even have her. Most people, they lost their loved ones after Miss Aoife—all due respect, now—grew the thorn wall. I’m a lucky one, y’know? Yeah.”
“You think she’ll make it?” Posy-Kate’s voice came by surprise—something pretty and small, but, for once, not petulant.
“Well, that’s up to Miss Aoife, ain’t it?”
Of course. My stomach twisted. “What’s she making you do?”
“She hired me to cut down these trees, these aspens with all them scribbles. She wants ’em dead. Don’t like the vandalism, she says. But they just grow back. Don’t know how, don’t know when, but they always grow back.”
“So, since they just grow back … Aoife won’t help your wife or deliver her baby?”
Rodney said nothing, but his face fell ashen, and I remembered serendipity. That was what Rodney needed—a happy mistake. Something like a miracle, but not as improbable. Something like a miracle, something like a miracle.
We walked wordlessly out of the aspens, and when we came to Aoife’s manor, Rodney left to go tend to the trees again, and Sojourn skittered off with Ena. I had half a mind to send Darcy with him, but at least at Aoife’s she was fed regularly and had a stable roof over her head. This was still the best place for her until we could escape the town. Wasn’t it? Posy-Kate, Darcy, and I climbed the great oak tree and slipped down the chimney one by one, and when our eyes adjusted to the dim of the attic, we stared in horror.
A pile of ash lay where Darcy’s bed had been before.
Tears welled in Darcy’s eyes, and Posy-Kate picked up a scrap of paper that lay before the ashes. “She knows,” whispered Posy-Kate. “She knows we’ve been gone.” She handed me the paper and I read:
You dare steal my daughter with your devilish tricks?
Food will be the next to burn.
Chapter 36
POSY-KATE LOCKED ME BACK in my room just in time for Aoife to come looking for me. She decided to tell Aoife that she fell down the stairs on her way to delivering Darcy her lunch. The locks on my door jingled and jangled until, at last, Aoife’s swanskin glove appeared in the doorway, followed by the rest of her, swan-bill heels and white-feathered cloak.
She was dragging the arm of a little boy about Darcy’s age when she arrived, and when she saw me, she grasped her heart and said with a sigh, “Oh, thank goodness, you’re safe and sound. I thought I heard noises up here.” She then bent down to the boy, took a piece of gauze, and wrapped it ’round his forearm, which appeared to have been cut by glass. “There you are, Timothy,” she said. “Off you go now,” and the little boy ran off.
“Sorry about that, darling,” said Aoife, turning to me. “Too many catastrophes all at once today.” When she reached the bed, she sat down beside me and began to stroke my hair. Bits of leaves and twigs fell out from my hair and onto the bed. “My love, my peach, you will be presented.”
I was flabbergasted. Clearly, Aoife had known that I had snuck out with Darcy, and all I could blubber out was, “What?” Why was Aoife not angry?
“At your own ball.”
So the villagers were right.
“We shall hold it on the first of November. Oh, won’t it be lovely, my darling? Oh, won’t you look pretty? I’m having my seamstress hand-make your dress. You’ll simply love it,” and Aoife kissed the top of my head.
“Er—okay. Thanks,” I said, but through gritted teeth. I knew who that seamstress actually was. I knew what that seamstress would be forced to do to make the dress.
Aoife’s eyes sparkled, dark and misty; to my horror, they looked like my own. Aoife clasped her hands together and said, “Excellent. Supper in an hour, all right?”
My mouth felt as if it were coated in sand. “Sure,” I muttered, but then something within me remembered, and I tried to keep the panic from my eyes. I must have left the locket at the hawthorn tree before the Pegwitch chased us! “Aoife!”
Aoife’s eyebrows rose in surprise at the shrillness of my voice.
“Er—um—lemon drops,” I decided. “Would you go get me some lemon drops? That would make me ever so happy.”
Aoife’s mouth did jumping jacks. Then she finally spluttered out, “Sure. I told you that anything you desire is yours. I will have Bruce go to the village—”
“No—er—I want you to get them personally. That would make me the happiest daughter in the world … Ma,” and for extra effect, I added, “Like mother, like daughter, we know each other’s tastes.”
“Oh. Of course, my Finbird.” There was an excitement—a thrill—in her voice that made me almost pity her. “Of course,” she repeated. “But do be ready for your gown fitting when I return,” and she let me be, leaving the door unlocked this time.
I waited for the click-clack of Aoife’s heels to fade completely before slipping out of the room and up to Darcy’s attic.
“SHE WANTS ME TO MAKE A DRESS out o’ them,” said Darcy. “Not sure why. Said she only didn’t kill ’em because she didn’t want the blood on the feathers.”
A cage containing two swans, feathers like white flames, stood in the middle of the attic. The swans huddled together, shivering, with cold or with fear, I did not know.
Anger surged through my veins at Aoife. The idea of making an innocent child murder innocent swans was simply incomprehensible to me. Should I have left Darcy with Sojourn and Ena? “It’s gonna be okay,” I said. “You’re not gonna have to pluck ’em and you’re not gonna have to kill ’em—that’s a promise,” though not one I was so certain I could keep. “Look, I’
ve got to go to the hawthorn tree for a few minutes; I forgot my locket there. But I’ll be back in twenty minutes, max. Okay?”
Darcy nodded, and though tears brimmed in her eyes, I had to tear myself away from her.
I climbed out of the chimney just as before, and once I was out, I hurried off in the direction of the hawthorn tree. My bare feet blistered with the twigs and the thorns, but at last, the rushing of the ravine came into earshot, and the familiar squishy berries appeared underfoot. When I caught sight of the silver shining in the sunlight, every muscle in my body relaxed.
I bent down to the twisted root to pick it up—and then my heart leapt into my throat. The locket was fixed. Where Aoife had snapped it in half, it was perfectly melded back together. I picked it up, warm in my fingers, and flicked open the latch. Out fell a tiny piece of a hawthorn leaf with red scribbling on it. I squinted closer and read:
Trust Peg.
—F & C
F and C, I thought, Fiachra and Conn. And Peg? The only one I could imagine would be, oh yes, the Pegwitch. I gazed out over the rolling hills to the rickety house at the end of Pegwitch Way, a narrow and winding dirt path lined with overgrown forsythia bushes. I thought about what Sojourn had said about the Pegwitch, but then I considered who I trusted more—Sojourn or the swans, and to be perfectly honest, it was the swans. So I snapped off the necklace Aoife gave me the day I entered Starlight Valley, replaced it with Nuala’s locket, and off to the witch I went.
Chapter 37
THE WINDOWS WERE BOARDED, but in the dusk, I could see light seeping out from the cracks in the wood. Smoke billowed from a chimney, and the moon rose, a dusty coin behind the smoke. What was strange, though, were the sounds creeping out the windows and doors, moans and groans, sounds like toppled-over dreams.
I trundled up to the house and was about to knock on the oak wood door when it opened—seemingly of its own accord—and a brown eye peeked out from the crack in the door. Chills scuttled down my spine as the door creaked open. And then a wide, toothy smile came into view.
The Serendipity of Flightless Things Page 15
