I forced a grin onto my lips as we walked through the front doors, though my mind was abuzz with fury. Music blasted from the dining hall, a harmony of violins and cellos and pianos, the sort of music Nuala called fancy-schmancy. The chandeliers were lit, and a distant chitter-chatter could be heard from the dining hall.
“Go to Posy-Kate’s room, Finbird. She will watch over you while I have your dress fixed. Go on, now,” and Aoife shuffled me up the stairwell.
I did as I was told, but my mind raced with thoughts of how I could save the swans and Darcy. How was I supposed to get a berry from the hawthorn tree in Ireland? That was over three thousand miles away. I would need a miracle. I would need serendipity. And I knew exactly what we had to do.
I barely had to knock on Posy-Kate’s door before she pulled it open and yanked me inside. A white bandage was strapped around her ankle, and a pair of crutches stood against her bedpost.
“So what’re we gonna do?” she asked immediately, hurrying me over to her bed.
“We’ve got to go to the hawthorn tree,” I whispered.
“What?” said Posy-Kate.
I looked up at her blazing blue eyes. “The hawthorn,” I repeated. It was far-fetched, but it was all I had to go on. “That’s where I’ve got to go. Sorry, would take you with me, but you can’t walk.”
Posy-Kate put her hands on her hips in protest, but I gave her a quick hug and said, “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
Her collarbones tensed, but she nodded and let me go.
The paranoia of Aoife finding me prickled the hairs on my arms as I crept out into the hall. She would be in the attic with Darcy, that was for sure. I could simply go out the front door as guests arrived, no problem, I thought, though really, I wasn’t sure if it would be a problem or not. Surely a maid or cook would see me. It was then that I realized the difference between being brave and being rash. Being brave helps people. Being rash doesn’t help a soul. Now was the time to be brave. I needed a disguise. So, I rushed for the laundry room.
“Oh—Miss Finnuala,” exclaimed three maids in surprise when I rushed into the laundry room. One dropped her laundry basket and knelt down to gather the contents, her face blushing scarlet. “What—what can we get for you, miss?” she asked.
“Oh, noth—actually … I need some undergarments for my dress. It doesn’t have as much pouf as I need it to.”
The maids clasped their hands together, and yes indeed, I walked out of the laundry room with three baskets full of maids’ skirts.
Once dressed in the maid’s uniform, down the stairwell I went. I zoomed for the front door. The gold doorknob was in my reach—just when whose slinkety voice did I hear, but Aoife’s. My heartbeat raced as my eyes darted to find a cover-up. Maids, butlers, and chefs zigzagged in front of me. I jumped up and grabbed a hat off one of the chefs to cover my white-blond hair and rushed over to the sweets table. I ducked underneath and waited for Aoife to pass by, not to mention the confused chef whose hat I’d just stolen. When all was clear and Aoife’s voice faded into the distance, I crept out from under the table, then out the front door, then into a swirl of dusty, billowing snow.
THE HAWTHORN BERRIES were droplets of blood in the cotton-soft snow. I followed their trail, wind whipping my face, up the red-and-white hill to the crooked tree hanging off the edge of the cliff. One lanky and one baglike figure each stood silhouetted in the mist at the top, and as I stumbled closer, I realized I knew them.
“Sojourn—what’re you doing here? Peg?” I was panting, hard.
“Waitin’ for you of course,” said Sojourn. “This is kind of our place, is it not? Can you believe it’s snowing in October?”
I hadn’t time for talk about the weather. “This hawthorn,” I said, running my hand along its trunk, “it’s grown from a seed of the one on Inis Eala. Nuala told me she planted it when she immigrated to America. The story goes, before she left Donegal, she took a seed from that tree, and kept it safe until she got to Starlight Valley. She planted it to make her feel more at home here, to have a little piece of Ireland with her. So this hawthorn, he is the child of the hawthorn on Inis Eala. These berries hold the magic capable of breaking the curse!” And that, I thought, is my story.
“Clever girl,” muttered Peg.
“Do you think it matters how ripe it is?” I said.
Sojourn shrugged. “I dunno. How would I know?”
“Never mind, we’ll gather a few, just in case,” and I frantically plucked some berries from the tree, then pocketed them into my jeans. “Now all we’ve got to do is get Aoife to eat one. I think I just might have an idea of how. C’mon. Let’s go back to the manor.”
Chapter 41
SOJOURN, PEG, AND I slipped into the house among all the other guests arriving for the gala. My gala. We went one by one up the grand stairwell in a long process of leaving for the bathroom and returning from the bathroom in variations so as to not look suspicious, and slunk into Posy-Kate’s room.
“You’re here,” she said, spinning around from her bed. She spread her arms across her bed—that looked oddly disheveled—as if hiding something, then said, “I have something for you, Finn.” She scooted to the side to reveal a long and flowing dress, white and sewn of feathers and strips of cotton and lace. Scraps of comforter and curtain lay behind the dress. “Fastest I’ve ever sewn something in all my life. Just hope it fools her—and that it doesn’t fall apart.”
“It—it’s perfect. Now Darcy won’t have to skin the swans, once Aoife gets a look at this—she’ll think Darcy made the dress. Go give it to Darcy so she can give it to Aoife.”
Posy-Kate nodded and hobbled away.
Not an hour later, there was a knock on the door, and Posy-Kate’s voice rattled a little too excitedly, “Dear sister Finn, Mom has your dress for you here!”
Peg and Sojourn hid behind the door as I opened it. I was greeted by Posy-Kate and Aoife. Posy-Kate stepped inside, and Aoife smothered me in a big hug. “Beautiful, isn’t it darling?” she said.
I nodded. “Exquisite.” That was a word I learned from a storybook long ago. “I’d like it to be a surprise—you seeing me in it. May I have some privacy?”
“Of course,” and she kissed me on the forehead, lips dry and cold.
Peg and Sojourn turned as Posy-Kate helped me into the dress. It fell perfectly to my ankles, fitting me like a snow angel would my every inch.
“How do I look?” I said, tentatively turning to the mirror on Posy-Kate’s door as Peg and Sojourn turned around.
Sojourn crossed his arms and eyed me up and down. “Like a Finbird. Whatever that is.”
I rolled my eyes, then said, “Let’s find Darcy. We’ve got to move fast so Aoife thinks I’m still getting dressed. C’mon, we haven’t time to spare.”
AND SO THE FOUR OF US scurried up to the attic and told Darcy of the dress and the berries.
“I want to help,” she said. The vines overhead were thicker than usual, the thorns sharper. Fiachra and Conn, and now Ena were back in their cage.
“No,” I said. “I’ve got to do this on my own. Besides, I need you four to keep the swans safe.”
“You don’t have to do everything on your—”
“I’m not arguing about this, Darcy. Keep the swans safe. I’ll be fine,” and I kissed the top of her head, cinders collecting on my lips. I turned to Sojourn, Posy-Kate, and Peg, whose eyebrows were all furrowed, and I repeated, “I’ll be fine. Okay?”
They nodded, and I took a breath, then turned for the door.
AOIFE’S KITCHENS WERE A DANK PLACE, low ceilinged and swirling with steam. Dishes clattered and servers carrying trays of miniature foods weaved in and out of the maze of counters. A few cooks glanced my way, but none asked questions. It smelled of roast beef, cabbage, fresh whipped cream, and sweet wine. I caught a whiff of cherry pie and followed the smell to a small silver platter set on a corner counter. The platter held a dozen bite-size cherry pies, each one crisscrossed with steaming crust.
I uncurled my handful of berries and slipped one into one of the pies, then scooped the pie into my hand and hid it behind my back as I skittered out of the kitchen and into the dining hall.
The room swelled around me, lights bursting like kaleidoscopes in my vision. The chatter stilled as all eyes turned to me. Aoife bustled through the crowd to the doorway where I stood. Her eyes were bright, but I could see the irritation creeping behind them. She held up a smile on her face like a puppeteer would a marionette.
Her voice was breathy and startled when she spoke. “May—may I present my daughter, Finnuala Rose O’Dálaigh.”
The hall burst with cheers and my eardrums wobbled in my ears. Aoife calmed the crowd and she began to speak again, a thrilling speech for sure, but my ears seemed too muffled to be able to hear. Everything felt larger than normal, then smaller, then larger again, as if I were Alice in Wonderland, growing and shrinking and toppling and turning. At last, Aoife raised a glass of champagne and proclaimed, “To Finnuala!”
The crowd chanted in reply, “To Finnuala!” and then the music played and everyone went back about their business of dancing and munching and chattering.
I turned to Aoife, joints shifting like rusted wheels. She fake-smiled down at me. “Why, isn’t this splendid, Finbird?”
I nodded vaguely and then slowly revealed the cherry pie. “I—I made this for you. To thank you for—er—all the wonderful memories we’ve shared. And all.”
“Oh?” Aoife gazed down to the pie for what felt like an hour, then, with dainty fingers, she took it and bit into it. “Mmm,” she said, crumbs scuttling down her shiny white suit. “Very nice, Finbird. Delicious.” And she finished off the pie, licking her fingers.
I stared at her, waiting for something to happen. Nothing changed. Not even a twitch. Eventually, Aoife raised her arms. “Well,” she said. “Go on now, enjoy the party. It’s all for you.”
“Right—er—thanks. Thank you.”
Chapter 42
“IT SHOULD HAVE WORKED.” After talking to a few curious guests, I had slipped out of the party momentarily to “freshen up,” and climbed back to the attic to find Peg, Posy-Kate, Sojourn, and Darcy around the swans, who had been let out of their cage. “She just stood there. Nothing happened,” I said. “And they’re clearly still swans too.”
“Peculiar,” said Peg.
“She who caused the curse must eat the berry. Maybe we really need it from the real tree back in Ireland.”
“If that’s so, we’re doomed,” muttered Sojourn.
“Well, we’ve got to do something soon,” said Darcy. “It’s half past eleven. Aoife’s gonna kill the swans at midnight, like a fireworks show or something. She thinks I kept ’em half alive just so she could kill them later.”
“I know,” I said.
“Finn?” piped up Darcy.
“Mmm?”
She took my palm and let the leftover berries fall into her hands. “I forget. Why did Aoife want to kill the Children of Lir in the first place anyway? I mean, they were just children. What did they ever do to her?”
“Because the older children took away Aoife’s baby. She was just a mother, just a mother who had been overshadowed by her sister all her years growing up, and at one time just an innocent child. She was born … innocent. Darcy—you’re a genius.”
“What? What’d I do?”
“Everyone acts for a reason. Aoife, she may have cursed the berries in the first place, but she didn’t cause the curse—I did. When I was a baby. I was what Aoife and the Children were fighting over. The Children ate the berries to save me. You know what this means?”
Peg’s jaw grew tense. “A-are you sure?”
Darcy looked from Peg to me, then back to Peg. “What’s she sure ’bout?”
“Finn—you don’t have to—” started Posy-Kate.
“Yes, I do. It’s the only way. I have to eat the berry. It’s the only way to free the swans and to free you, Darcy. And to free myself.”
Peg spluttered, “But you haven’t a clue what will happen if you—”
“I’ll just have to test my wings.”
Just then, footsteps echoed from outside the door.
“No,” whispered Sojourn.
“Hide,” I said, and everyone shot to their feet and began to search for a hiding space. “Up the chimney—all of us can fit if we squish. You go first, Darcy, then Posy-Kate, then Sojourn, then Peg, then me. C’mon,” and I hurried over to the fireplace. I lifted Darcy up the chimney and she caught hold of one of the vines and climbed her way up. Next, Posy-Kate limped into the fireplace and heaved herself up into the chimney. Then Sojourn, long-limbed, spider-slunk his way up. Peg was a bit large for the chimney, but she sucked in a breath and squeezed up too. I stepped into the fireplace—
A brush of clothing against the half-open door. The door swished open. And there stood Aoife. Her face was ceramic as a statue as she stared at me. And then she broke her stony gaze and yanked a handful of feathers off my dress. “Fake.” She shook her head and nodded to the chimney. “So this is how you’ve been sneaking out,” she breathed, and then she puffed out her chest and spat, “Ungrateful brat. I give you everything you could possibly want, and this is how you repay me? You should be ashamed.”
I bit my lip, but said nothing.
“For the rest of the night, you shall stay here. That chimney will be nothing but thorns.”
A cry of pain let out from the chimney, and Peg, Sojourn, and Posy-Kate fell out, arms and legs covered in fresh cuts. Darcy must have gotten out. New vines tumbled out of the chimney at Aoife’s will, thorns thicker, sharper, than any I had seen before.
“I knew you were smuggling in street scum,” said Aoife to Darcy when she saw Peg and Sojourn. She huffed and tilted up her chin. “And you,” she said to Posy-Kate. “I can hardly call you my daughter anymore. I raised you, Priscilla-Kathryn; I made you everything that you are. I suppose it is true what they say about adopted children.”
Posy-Kate clenched her jaw, and I saw a tear creep out the edge of her eye.
Turning to me, Aoife said, “I only do this because I love you.” And then her gaze turned to the swans. She collected them, returned them to their cage, and heaved up the cage. “We’ll be on our way,” said Aoife, and she swished out of the attic.
Peg turned to me, face dripping with blood. I tore off the sleeve of my dress and dabbed at the wound. “Eat the berry,” she said. “Eat it now.”
My palms fumbled for a moment before something hard dropped into the pit of my stomach. “Darcy—she has the berries.”
Chapter 43
“THERE’S GOT TO BE A WAY OUT of here,” I said.
“Face it, Finn,” said Sojourn, “we’re done for.”
“No,” I said, grinning. “We’re not. And you know why?”
Sojourn and Peg both looked skeptically to me. “Because,” I said, “I’m her daughter. I’m Aoife’s daughter. Which means she’s not the only one who’s part faery. She’s not the only beautiful, wicked, wondrous creature here. Nuala always said that for all I know, I could be a faery, and you know what? All I’ve got to do is find the faery in myself too.”
I approached the chimney, swan feathers trailing in my wake, and stood before the mass of thorns. Snow filtered in from the top, and as I enclosed a vine in my hands, the chill of it sent a shiver down my arms. I closed my eyes and wasn’t sure what to think of, so I let the cold in and let the warmth out of my fingers. I imagined the sun on my back the first time I escaped the manor, and I imagined the warmth of Nuala’s hands around my own. I thought of Darcy’s smile. I thought of all the stories I had no reason to believe in, but I believed in them. I believed in the swans, and I believed in the faery, and I believed in Darcy, and most of all, I believed in myself. And then I gave my belief a pair of wings. I believed in the serendipity of flightless things taking flight, wings spread wide, flying away.
Peg’s voice drifted in from the back of my mind. “Well, I
’ll be.”
Sojourn ran his fingers through his hair and whispered to himself, “Holy flutherin’ faeries.”
I peeked open my eyes. Before me, the tangle of thorns had been replaced with periwinkle flowers, petals velvety soft. I smiled, then laughed in spite of myself. “That’s it,” I breathed. “That’s it, we’re free! Come on!” and up the chimney we crawled.
We found Darcy on the roof, eyes wide. “Did you see that?” she bubbled when we tumbled out to her feet. “Did you see those flowers just appear?”
“Yes, Darcy,” I said. “Now, you have the berries?”
Darcy nodded and handed over the pile of berries.
“I may’ve dropped a few.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “If all goes as planned, I’ll only need one.”
My heart thrummed against my chest, steady but heavy, like it had grown swan wings. Snow caught on my eyelashes, and fog blurred my vision. The greyman’s mouth opened wide, and I let it envelop me as, fingers trembling, I lifted the hawthorn berry to my lips and swallowed. It tasted bitter, but the taste left over in my throat was sweet, like brambleberry pie or Mr. McCann’s warm apple cider. I opened my eyes, realizing only then that I had closed them. I looked down. My shoes were still there. I was still me. My heart was still beating.
“The dining hall,” I said. “Let’s see if this berry worked any magic.”
We climbed down the oak tree, scraped knees and bruised elbows, then flung open the front doors. Shrieks met our ears as we hurried inside. When we reached the dining hall, we were met with a scene of disarray. Tables were toppled over, silverware was splattered across the floor, and chandeliers hung at odd angles. A man in the corner stomped out a flame from a curtain and a woman pulled a child from out behind a flipped chair. And above it all circled a single swan, wings spread wide, but toppling through the air as if it had never flown before, with people gazing awestruck at it. Fiachra, Conn, and Ena, however, were nowhere to be seen. Nothing but an empty cage lay in their place at the head of the dining hall.
The Serendipity of Flightless Things Page 17
