Flock Page 14

A part of me was concerned by his two-day absence. Another part had enjoyed the reprieve. With the news that he was on the mend, I decided to savor another Marik-free school day.

  I noticed Abby and Shauna giving each other congratulatory hugs as well, their matching Marge Simpson beehives colliding like foamy heads of beer; I was so happy I allowed them their celebration.

  Jinky walked up. I had no idea if her spiked hairstyle had anything to do with Homecoming, but it certainly made a point, or came to one, rather.

  “Congratulations,” she said to Penny.

  “Thanks.”

  “Do you have anything like this in Iceland?” Penny asked.

  “No,” Jinky said. “No American football. No silly popularity contests. And no mock royalty.”

  No mistaking what she thought of the whole thing.

  “How’re your dresses coming along?” Penny asked us.

  I groaned my not-so-good response.

  Jinky, to my surprise, said, “All done.”

  “So not fair,” I said. “I’ve got a shift at my grandfather’s store tonight, and my baby sister’s back in the hospital with pneumonia. There aren’t enough hours between now and Saturday.”

  “Maybe I could help out. Is your grandfather hiring?” Jinky asked. “I’m looking for a job.”

  “Oh. Well. As a matter of fact,” I said, “he just may be.” Wheels were grinding in my head; I heard the gear shifts and even smelled something burning. “Why don’t you head over there with me after school? I’m pretty sure my afi will be there; you could meet him.”

  “Sounds OK,” Jinky said. “I’ll meet you at your locker.”

  As Jinky strolled off, I reflected on my evolving opinion of her. She took her own mystical side seriously. You gotta respect that. And though Marik and I were both cagey about what was going on, she continued to act as a medium for us to the spirit world. And after an aloof start, she was making a serious effort to blend: the paper, a mystery date to Homecoming, and now maybe a job. Change was good. I liked change. It gave me hope that it was possible in all things.

  After school, Jinky was waiting for me at my locker. I texted my mom asking for an update on Leira. “Stable” was her brief but satisfying response. I therefore relaxed a little and enjoyed the glorious crisp fall day and walk to downtown. These trees were just beginning their fall reveal, and bursts of canary yellow and sumac red flapped overhead. Jinky was kind of chatty, talking about a motorcycle she wanted to buy. So Jinky hadn’t done a complete personality flop; some character traits of hers — like her hell-on-wheels need for speed, for instance — were intact.

  “What’s the deal with Marik?” I asked.

  “Well, you know he only shares what he wants to.” Jinky said this in a way that implied I did the same. I did, of course.

  “But is he really sick?”

  Jinky shrugged her shoulders. “If I knew, I’d tell you.”

  I believed her. It didn’t provide me any more information on Marik, but it was a nice moment between us.

  At the store, both Afi and Ofelia were behind the counter. If I remembered correctly, it had been Ofelia’s day off. Her presence had me worried; it meant Afi had needed backup.

  “What’s new?” I asked.

  “York, Guinea, and Zealand,” Afi said.

  For the record, I had intentionally walked into one of his snappy comebacks. It was a gauge as to his state of mind. Too-beat-to-banter would have been a bad omen.

  I introduced Jinky to Ofelia and Afi, reminding him that he’d met her at the fair in Iceland.

  “If you’re looking for someone to pick up a few hours here at the store, Jinky’s interested in an after-school job.”

  Afi grunted, probably sensing it was a reflection of his age and health.

  “Can she work legally as an exchange student?” Afi asked.

  Even I hadn’t thought about that. For a guy who still operated with an old-fashioned cash register and a rotary phone, he was surprisingly up-to-date on laws and regulations.

  “As long as the job is registered through the school’s BVP, Business and Vocational Program, it will be considered an on-campus job and permitted under my F-1 student visa.”

  Now it was Jinky’s turn to surprise me. The girl could read runes, drive a Harley, stoke a sacred fire, and speak legalese. And BVP? I’d never even heard of it, never mind be able to employ it as a loophole.

  Ofelia said something in Icelandic to Jinky. She replied; it was long and, with the guttural Germanic roots of the language, sounded strong and confident. Afi joined in, adding his own string of gargled spluttering. I watched their back-and-forth conversation with a mounting annoyance and a growing stiffness in my neck. Without the benefit of comprehending the words, I was left to translate their body language. Ofelia, I could tell, was highly curious of Jinky, and I sensed — from the fold in Ofelia’s brow — that she was actively running one of her scanner operations.

  Immediately thereafter, Ofelia urged Afi into his jacket and proclaimed that he’d been on his feet for long enough. After they left, Jinky said, “I start training tomorrow.”

  “That’s it?” I asked, feeling like I’d just relived a scene straight out of Lost in Translation. “You guys talked for a long time. Something had to have been edited.”

  “Ofelia told your afi that you had enough on your plate without thinking you had to keep the store going on his behalf. And your afi wants your mom to focus on Leira and stop worrying about him and leave him alone about selling the store. And then Ofelia added that you had to get your dress done by Saturday and study for your English test on Friday.”

  That last part had my heart hammering. Had I mentioned my complete and thorough hatred of Faulkner to Ofelia? To anyone?

  “I think I’m sorry I asked,” I said.

  “I liked them both,” Jinky said. “I think I’ll fit in just fine around here. Ofelia, in particular, is going to be fun.”

  With this, Jinky tapped her head. I had no idea what to think of this, but worried about the kind of fun a shaman — even one in training — and a mind reader could have.

  It was kind of nice after school on Thursday when I didn’t have a shift at the store. I was able to visit Leira at the hospital, where she had been taken off the ventilator but still wasn’t “out of the woods.” I also had time to finish up my dress. Running the sewing machine over the last stretch of hem, I allowed myself to get excited about the dance. I’d be with Jack, dressed up, and at a special event. Win, win, win. And with any luck, I’d be watching Penny enjoy her evening as Homecoming Queen and as Marik’s date.

  The thought of Marik did give me some pause. He had been back at school today — having been absent yet again yesterday — but uncharacteristically quiet. He’d arrived late to Design and had sat with Mean Dean in the corner. The two of them had passed Mean Dean’s Manga Club between them. At the end of class, I had noticed Mean Dean press the magazine into Marik’s hands, a keep-it gesture. Marik had taken it almost reverentially, and Mean Dean’s reaction had been one of pure satisfaction. Whatever Marik’s ailment or absence had been — or was — he still had that way with others.

  I pulled the dress from under the sewing machine’s arm and cut the threads. In addition to Marik, I was bothered by the lack of another Stork dream; nearly a month had now passed since that last one. I was keenly aware of the narrow window of opportunity between a woman’s physical state and an undecided soul’s bestowment. The lapse seemed like a deal breaker. Jaelle would be on an entirely new menstrual cycle, after all.

  This bummed me out, and I set the dress down and dropped my head into my hands. As soon as my fingers touched my scalp, it started to tingle: the summons to a Stork meeting. The timing seemed bizarre. Too bizarre. And I wasn’t such a big believer in coincidence anymore.

  An hour or so later, I took my Robin’s chair at the Stork-council table. After the usual start-up protocol, Hulda announced that, with a soul to place, she herself had called the meeting. She
described an entirely typical situation, a single essence — a sweet and gentle girl — for which three average-sounding women were presented as potential vessels. It was all very SOP, so textbook, in fact, that there was almost no necessity to think. Hulda recommended on behalf of the first-time mother, and we all voted in favor of this selection.

  Though I had no doubt our gathering was a bona fide placement and that an undecided soul had turned to Hulda for guidance, I was also buzzing with a sensation of interconnectedness. If my wondrous experience as a Stork had taught me anything, it was that “random” simply wasn’t.

  The patience lesson that Hulda was so keen for me to learn, I was still working on. The moment the others filed out following Hulda’s “peace be,” I was tugging at her scratchy gray cardigan.

  “Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course, child. What is it?”

  “Recently I had what I can only describe as . . . a partial Stork dream. . . . No vessels presented themselves.”

  I hesitated, not sure if I should mention the anomaly of two physically distinct souls or my intention to steer one of them to Jaelle.

  “Ah,” Hulda said, breaking my pause. “I’m impressed.”

  “Impressed?”

  “Yes. This is a clear sign of your practicing patience.”

  “It is?”

  “Of course. Something about the presenting soul is hesitant. You know by now it’s only the undecided who turn to us for counsel.”

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  “This one possibly more so than the rest.”

  These two, I almost corrected, but I didn’t want to interrupt.

  “By not pressuring the soul, by not urging it to complete the dream cycle, you show an acceptance of the fullness of time,” Hulda continued.

  “Except,” I just had to interject here, “I can’t shake the feeling that the delay signaled a . . . termination of sorts.”

  “Do not worry yourself about such things. If meant to be, the bestowment will continue.”

  “But a full month has passed, you know, a menstrual cycle.”

  “Again, an attunement of life’s natural rhythms. The fullness of time. And menses is from the Latin me¯nsis, meaning ‘month.’ Many Native Americans refer to a woman as ‘on her moon.’ I prefer this imagery. It evokes the communion of life’s cycles: the waning and waxing, the ebb and flow. When respected, such rhythms are a gift.”

  Ho, boy. School was in session. And, as usual, it was a lot to process. I had no idea if we were still talking about a placement. It all could apply to the unfolding of events between me, Safira, and Leira. And with Hulda’s mention of “Native American,” my heart had somersaulted. Sure, she often paid tribute to their culture and beliefs — respecting the ancestry of her adopted home — but having so recently snuck onto consecrated land and spirit-walked, I was a little wigged out. Because random simply wasn’t.

  “There’s another thing that has seemed a little coincidental to me lately: our house was once owned by someone called the Bleika Norn, the Pink Witch. Did you know her?”

  “Yes.”

  “It sounds to me — given her association with my amma, Fru Grimilla, and now you — like she might have been a Stork. Plus, she was known as a healer.”

  Hulda stared at me. Possibly because I hadn’t really asked a question. It also occurred to me that she had to be careful about just how much she divulged. The Storks were skittish with their secrets. I tried another approach. “There’s a cameo that was once hers. Was it, as my amma believed, rightfully mine?”

  “That is to be seen.”

  An interesting response that went with the patience she preached. It was all well and good for her, but I had a bit of a situation on my hands. And the patience I’d been practicing wasn’t cutting it. “Does the Bleika Norn have any connection to Bleik, the Norn of Childbirth, one of Frigg’s ten maidens?”

  “The goddess Frigg? Of what relevance is the goddess Frigg? And ten maidens? Do you not mean nine?”

  “Oh, you’re right. Nine. I don’t know why I said ten.” It seemed such a silly error. I mean, I’d been there myself and counted them so carefully.

  Hulda cocked her head and studied me closely. Uh-oh.

  “It is curious that you should mention ten. There was another, Idunn, the Goddess of Eternal Youth and keeper of the golden apples of fertility. In her naïveté and playfulness, she erred, though, thinking Loki — the wicked trickster — joined in her games. Instead, he made off with the precious apples. To recover them for the gods, Odin had to battle the giant Thiazi. As punishment, the goddess Frigg confiscated Idunn’s apples and expelled her from Asgard.”

  I wasn’t sure where Hulda was going with this one. I myself had found mention of Idunn in my own research. It seemed important, but I always got a little nervous around the topic of “expelled” members. I continued to test the limits of my gift.

  “Mostly I was interested in the word norn. It seems to keep popping up is all.” Even Jinky’s rune reading had referenced the word.

  “Norn is Old Norse for ‘protective goddess or spirit’ and was even once used to describe mortal women with magical knowledge. And, yes, white witches such as ourselves have been described as norns.”

  I took this as confirmation that the Bleika Norn had been a Stork. Leave it to Hulda to make me go around the block an extra time or two. And, as usual, she’d given me plenty to think about. “I’ve probably overstayed my welcome by now.” I stood and pushed my chair back. “And now I know to be patient regarding the completion of that Stork dream.”

  “I trust you will,” Hulda said with a bow of her head.

  I left with my head spun tight. It was, as ever, vintage Hulda. I did, at any rate, have renewed hope on Jaelle’s behalf. Hulda had said: “If meant to be, the bestowment would continue.” And I meant it to be, all right.

  School that Friday was one of those occasions when academics — and sanity, for that matter — were no match for the firebomb that was Homecoming mania. Even with another Hulda powwow raiding my thoughts like marauders, I, too, was swept along by school spirit.

  The big event was the third-period pep rally at which the queen and king were named. I took my seat in the bleachers, finding a third-row spot next to Jinky.

  We all suffered through the mandatory speeches and announcements. I noticed that any mention of a merge with Pinewood was clearly off topic; chaperones had witnessed the scene at the Asking Fire. Point of fact, sportsmanship, comportment, and character were the theme of both the principal’s and the coach’s talks. The latter managed to convey the importance of both appropriate conduct and a win. I personally couldn’t have cared less about who won that night’s football game. Queen, on the other hand . . .

  When the rally did get around to its true purpose, I was so nervous my legs were stamping at the floorboards of the stands like tap shoes on a tin roof. Jinky gave me a look, but she didn’t have me fooled. She’d been chewing at her thumbnail since I plopped down next to her.

  The ten chosen blue bloods were lined up on the track ringing the football field. The king was announced first. The miked principal announced John Gilbert’s name, placed a crown on his head, and thrust a scepter into his hand. Marik, as far as I could tell, had little or no reaction. Instead, he stood stiffly in place in the horseshoe formation.

  Next, the principal, bearing two more royal instruments, approached the line of girls. The crowd was so loud that I couldn’t hear the name as it was announced. I held my breath but almost hyperventilated in disbelief when the tiara was planted atop Abby’s head. She had to hold on to it to keep it from tumbling as she was team-hugged by the other female members of her court. From the bleachers, I could see tears glistening her face.

  “What a rip,” I said, triggering a turn and a once-over from a known consort of Abby’s.

  “That sucks,” Jinky said, earning her own disapproving glare.

  Back inside, I found Penny at her locker and gave her a big conso
lation embrace.

  “Dang it all,” I said. “I so wanted you to be queen.”

  Penny rolled her eyes. “I never expected to win. Quite frankly, it’s a small miracle I made court. A year ago I didn’t stand a chance. And without a certain someone championing me and running a little PR operation, I wouldn’t have.”

  “Sure you would have,” I said. “Tons of people told me they had already voted for you. And if not you, who else? There’s not another girl in this school who deserves to make court in your place.”

  Penny closed her locker and gave a furtive look to her left and right. “I happen to know, via a very good source, the identity of the next in line, and she would have been an excellent choice.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “You.” Penny nudged me so hard with her shoulder that I crashed into the bank of lockers with a loud clang.

  “Not funny,” I said, rubbing my shoulder.

  “I’m not joking.”

  “Well, then, I’m doubly glad I swayed a few votes in your favor, because I’m firmly New World and pro-democracy. Remember?” And not too keen on queens these days, either.

  Penny laughed. “You arrived last year talking an overthrow. How could I forget?”

  I was mulling over the word overthrow as Marik walked up — hobbled over, more like, actually.

  “Are you OK?” I asked. He was pale and his forehead was tight and shiny.

  “Still recuperating,” Penny said, biting her lips back. “I’ve tried to get him to see a doctor, or at least the school nurse.”

  “I’m fine,” Marik said quickly. “It’s just a small pain in my side.”

  I watched him clutch at his waist, a gesture I’d noticed before. He definitely didn’t look well, and who knows what a side pain could indicate? A burst appendix came to mind, but then I thought — blinking with the enormity of it — did Marik even have an appendix? Could he go to a doctor? What would they find? Just what did a merman have for organs and innards?

  “But the dance is tomorrow,” Penny said. “And the big game tonight. You should at least go home and rest.”