Fool, I want to remind you, Maggie wrote, by the dim glow of the desk lamp, all this is happening in ONE DAY. We usually get out of the hotel by ten-thirty, and I think you and John ran into Milo a little before noon. I found the cab maybe thirty minutes after that, I guess, and you checked back into your hotel at 1:25, according to the register we stole.
By the time we were hiding in that alley and staring at that piece of paper that said A) You were visiting Room 1409 and B) You were already gone, you’d already had an hour and a half to escape, and I had maybe two hours of useful bird vision left.
I was freaking the frig out, but Hyacinth and your uncle weren’t on the same page as me yet…
◆◇◆
“You say you know this signature because David Valentine himself taught you how to forge it?”
“Yes. Precious little hearts and all.”
“And that memory exists in your mind where a curious psychic person with brain tentacles could pick it up and examine it however he wanted?”
Hyacinth knocked a hand on the side of her head. The metal patch in her skull rang with more resonance than it should have, but magic was funny like that. “I’ve got a lock on the door.” She had speculated that it was because she and Erik both had metal patches, but all they knew was that it was harder for him to read Hyacinth.
Everyone else, it’s like I can feel the next song coming up on the album, he’d told Maggie. Then he cocked a thumb at Hyacinth. She’s on random!
“But he can get past it if he tries.”
Hyacinth bobbed her head, grudgingly.
“That’s how it’s possible,” said Mordecai.
“Are you reading the part where it says he left almost two hours ago?” Maggie snarled, snatching the book. “I understand we’re eventually going to need to figure out what the fuck is going on, but did that dumb son of a bitch actually lose me? Am I that stupid?”
Mordecai looked stricken. “But… all that magic. All that trouble…”
“If it’s anchored to a portable object, and I’m pretty sure it is, then that doesn’t matter!”
“Just a moment,” said the General. She put her hand on the building and said, “Show ONLY me.” Her eyes glazed over in the familiar too-much-information-too-fast way that made Maggie feel a little self-conscious about using that spell. She always closed her eyes. But her mother didn’t give a damn.
Maggie aspired to such levels of detachment herself, one day. Especially now that a rebuke of her deductive process was taking place in full view. She tore at her braids and banged a hand on the side of her head, thinking, Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!
The General removed her hand from the bricks and blinked a few times, shaking her head. “Four small silver objects,” she said. “But they are still in the building and the structure is still intact. Even if Erik is not still here, something that whoever imprisoned him wishes to keep from us is.”
“Then I’ve gotta check the fourteenth floor!” Maggie said.
“Take a moment, Magnificent.”
“I don’t have a moment!”
“You are becoming distracted,” said the General. “Take a moment now, while you have some control over it, or you will begin knocking over dominoes you can’t even see.”
“I’m not going to lose him again!”
“No, we are not. So you have room to slow down and calm yourself.”
Maggie sighed, shut her eyes, and tipped her forehead against the cold bricks.
She could hear them talking and scurrying behind her. After a halfhearted attempt at a breathing exercise and a serenity prayer, she turned back around to blame them for her continuing anxiety.
Hyacinth was grinning like she’d just proven magic was a waveform, and everyone else was looking at Hyacinth like they had serious doubts about her citations. “He is definitely still in there,” she declared, “and I’d bet you he’s on this side of the building.” And she reached out and patted the metal rung of the most terrifying fire escape Maggie had ever seen.
◆◇◆
Your uncle doesn’t buy that your David has anything to do with Hyacinth’s David, but she cut him off and said it doesn’t matter. If it exists in her memory, like the signature, you could know it, and so could a god pretending to be David.
According to Hyacinth, hotels don’t like to rent rooms to apparent gay couples. Apparent gay couples dragging a teenage girl around are even more suspicious. If David and Barnaby wanted to save money and share a suite, Barnaby and Hyacinth would get the room, and David would sneak up via the fire escape.
Well, that fire escape is just a rusty ladder bolted to a brick wall. There’s a cage around it with a door on every floor, and a ledge going around the whole building. Cin says David didn’t mind going around the whole building — evidently the man was insane — but the farther you have to go, the more likely someone will see you and call the cops. She was positive your window wouldn’t be at the front, facing the street, and she was right, but it took me a while to figure that out.
I thought — ha-ha, silly me! — that room 1409 would be fourteen floors up. It wasn’t, but your dumb bird girlfriend needed to take a stroll around the ledge two times and count fourteen floors three times before she gave up and got a clue…
◆◇◆
Mordecai said, “Nothing?” right away. He had seen her flying back and forth up there.
She sat down on the frozen pavement and started to cry. “I don’t… I don’t… I don’t know…” It was as bad as trying to get the license plate number out of Milo.
There were a few dark windows with curtains, but she didn’t know what to do about them or whether they were just empty. After a preliminary search, she’d made a second pass tapping at every lighted window to scare up a response. She found a few tourists, one family with kids, and some elderly folks who seemed thrilled to have a visitor, but nothing suspicious and no John or Erik.
Ann put an arm around her and comforted without context until she could finally get the words out: “I don’t know what else to do! If he’s up there, he has the light out and he won’t come to the window. What else can I do?”
“There is enough daylight remaining for another attempt in an hour or so,” said the General. “And if that is unfruitful, we fall back, rest, and make further observations in the morning.”
“What if they leave?” Maggie said miserably.
“Then they will take the anchors and the cage with them, and we will be able to search the building in their absence.”
Hyacinth took a few steps away and tipped back her head, trying to see. “Did you try the thirteenth floor?” she said.
Maggie scowled. “I counted three times, I did not screw up and search the thirteenth floor.”
“No, on purpose,” said Hyacinth. “We say ‘twelve bis’ in Marsellia, and in Elbany it’s 12A, but…”
Mordecai clapped his hands, making them all jump. “In the ILV they go right to fourteen! People don’t like to stay on the thirteenth floor, Maggie…”
“It’s bad luck!” Maggie cried. She shot back to her feet. “Shit fire and save matches!”
She didn’t even give anyone a chance to cover their eyes. She turned back into a bird, flash-blinding the lot of them, and took off.
◆◇◆
So I started over from the fire escape side on the stupid, unlucky “twelve bis” floor. Figured I’d have to make the whole lap and tap on some more windows to be sure — but I didn’t have to do that at all, did I, fool? No! Because the idiot facilitating your hostage situation has anchored your spell of protection to a set of silverware, and the spoon is TAPED to that big windowsill IN PLAIN SIGHT. I am almost positive he is TRYING to get caught — although I guess he doesn’t expect a person to take a casual stroll around the ledge on the 13th floor.
I’m not gonna lie to you, I screamed. Then I took off right away so no one would see me. I gotta figure if John sees an extra-large magpie outside his window right after he saw Milo, he’ll know who it is. But I didn’t want to go back down right away because I wasn’t sure. Maybe I got excited and IMAGINED the tape, you know? So I sneaked up and had another look.
You were asleep in that pull-down bed RIGHT THERE, but you had the blanket over your head and I couldn’t SEE you. What I did make out, eventually, was that silver knife on the floor under the front door. THEN I knew.
So I went back downstairs and let ‘em know we had a new problem…
◆◇◆
“Magnificent, slow down and…”
“…There is obvious silverware by the big window and the door, a knife and a spoon, and I’m pretty sure the fork must be on the bathroom window, but that’s frosted and I can’t see in. It is not just sitting there, it’s taped down. If that’s not Erik’s room, it’s sure as hell related to him, but I can’t get in there and if John sees me, he’ll know we followed him. What are we gonna do?”
“That person in the bed,” Ann began.
Maggie was already shaking her head. “I can’t tell who it is. If I wake them up they’ll see me. John booked it when he saw Milo. If he sees me snooping around here, we’re toast. They’ll pick up the silverware and leave.”
“We must not discount the possibility that Mr. Green-Tara is also operating under duress and may be a potential ally,” said the General. “Eat this.” She offered a bag of potato chips, purchased at the nearest bodega.
“I don’t like salt and vinegar and if he is an ally, I still don’t want him to know we’re here. That man disintegrates under pressure like a single-ply toilet paper in the rain. He will let something slip whether he means to or not, and he’ll just make everything worse. So come on! I need solutions!”
“You need to eat.” The General opened the chips for her and offered the bag again.
Maggie sighed and took the bag, and a handful of crumpled, sub-par chips. “Come on!” she reiterated, mouth full.
Mordecai had been standing back from the group, staring up at the hotel. She’d thought he was distracted, and not listening.
“A largish magpie is raven-shaped,” he said softly.
“Uh, pardon?” Maggie said. It sounded like a misquote from Alice in Wonderland, but that was only because she was distracted and not listening.
He cleared his throat and regarded her with a vague smile. “I don’t think ‘Sheer Perfection with Red Detect’ is going to do you any good, but do any of you ladies have something that will take the white out of a magpie?”
“Waterproof,” Maggie said, diving into her own pockets. “It has to be waterproof!”
All she had was her dark brown eyeliner pencil and lipstick. Hyacinth had iodine and merbromin, both the wrong colour. The General had nothing.
Ann, at last, produced a waterproof liquid mascara. “Will this do, dear?”
“Shit, let’s try it!” Maggie said.
“Finish your potato chips,” said the General.
Maggie groaned, and shook the rest of the bag into her mouth.
◆◇◆
Mom put together a spell to get the mascara out of the tube. Thank gods, because I would’ve gone crazy waiting for someone to paint me with that little brushy stick. It kinda worked like spray paint. Felt really weird flying, but it looked good! I guess you know it looked good. You had no idea it was me!
She drew back from the paper with a wince. That was not necessarily down to the waterproof mascara. There was something wrong with Erik. She didn’t have enough time to figure out what it was, but he was not okay. If he were okay, he would’ve kicked that knife out of the way and come downstairs to say hi. Hell, if he were okay, he would’ve said “hi” from right where he was, with his goddamn freaky mind-powers. If he didn’t want rescuing, he could’ve hit her with a brain-tentacle and explained why, with words and pictures.
He wouldn’t have done what he did.
She remembered Hyacinth dragging her out of the basement and assuring her, “He doesn’t mean it,” when Erik was hurt, and sick, and he said, “go away, I hate you.” It wasn’t like that. He didn’t seem hurt.
But if he wasn’t hurt, then what the fuck was he doing?
She sighed and touched the pencil to the page again.
I can’t pretend I’m not worried about you. I am not going to lose you again. I just wish I knew for sure I was saving you and not… I don’t even know. I want you to be okay when we read these together. Please be okay.
She flipped to the eraser, but shook her head. She flipped back to the pencil part to add a set of parentheses for her aside, then she went on:
I picked up that piece of trash because it looked more plausible. A big, dumb raven examining a sandwich wrapper would make a tapping noise, no ulterior motive required — not that ravens are dumb, but you know that glassy-eyed stare I do so it looks like I’m bird-brained. I pecked on the glass and you pulled a pillow over your head, but that was enough. I SAW YOUR HAND!
I also saw you had a furry little friend in there with you!
◆◇◆
The long-haired tabby cat had a white bib and paws. Erik might not’ve been too interested in random window noises, but the cat looked up and went into predator mode, ducking its head behind Erik’s leg and swishing its tail back and forth.
Maggie gave a nervous little squeak. She peered around the room, looking for signs of another occupant. It wasn’t a suite, the next window was another room entirely. There was no connecting door, only the big door into the hallway and the smaller one into the bathroom, both closed, and she couldn’t see through the bathroom window. The light was on in there. If there was another person, they were in the bathroom.
Or they had left the light and the fan on to make her think they were in the bathroom, and they were hiding behind that counter where she couldn’t see… Or sneaking up that fire escape ladder.
She looked down, into the alley, and around. No one she could see, but it was nearly sundown. She couldn’t even make out the family down there.
She played with the sandwich wrapper, turning it with her beak. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the cat, still stalking her from the bed.
She had a lot of stock phrases and sound effects she could make, but they came out like bird calls, the same every time. If she said something, John might recognize it.
…If he was in there, hiding, having set a trap in case they were followed, like a competent person who wouldn’t get his picture in the paper, lead a tail right back to his safehouse, and leave a magic anchor lying right there with nothing but a piece of tape to protect it.
Her patience snapped like a twig. I’m overthinking it, she decided.
“Here, kitty-kitty,” she said. It came out fast, pressured, and a little bit garbled, like a stock telephone voice. “Me-ow!”
The cat pulled up short and dodged sideways, blinking. Erik sat bolt upright, looking towards the door. This, in combination with the shock, dislodged the cat from the bed.
“Me-ow!” Maggie reiterated, with identical inflection. It was impossible to express mixed desperation, frustration, longing, and wishes for good mental and physical health with a bird voice. She certainly couldn’t say: I’m out here on the ledge, you idiot! Use your ears!
The cat leaped onto the sill and stared at her, swishing its tail. It landed midway between the spoon and the black velvet bag, with practised ease, as if both objects were permanent fixtures. Maggie supposed the bag was taped down, too, or heavy. Cats loved to knock things over, whenever possible. It was Cat Law.
She tapped on the glass. Shave and a haircut…
The cat emitted a frustrated carnivore chitter, also in accordance with Cat Law. She could hear it!
Erik turned his head halfway, then turned back towards the door. He crawled out of the bed, revealing his pyjama ensemble was just boxers and a white T-shirt. He kept facing the door on the opposite side of the room the whole time, like his head was screwed on wrong. He walked backwards towards the window.
Vampire, Maggie thought. We’re just telegraphing the reveal right now. He’s gonna turn around, and I’m gonna see fangs. Or fur. Could be a werewolf, not discounting the possibility of fur. Or, no eyes. No face. Horror movie shit. This is some horror movie shit right here, and I am not…
He felt around behind him and rather awkwardly pet the cat on the head.
Maggie whistled. She couldn’t say: I don’t care if you’re a vampire, I thought you might be dead, just look at me!
Erik pulled on the front of his T-shirt and examined it.
What? Are you looking for STAINS? thought Maggie. I DON’T CARE!
Hesitantly, he turned towards the window.
No fur. No fangs. No blood or bruises. He didn’t have his eye in, but the other one was right where it belonged. His hair was longer. He looked a bit tired, maybe thinner, maybe just dishevelled and half-asleep. Not hurt, not scared. He was wearing that T-shirt Calliope made him, with the silk-screened VACANCY sign. He’d been wearing that last time she saw him, when he left home. He smiled at her.
She swatted the sandwich wrapper aside, stood on the white card Milo had made for her, and began swiping through the prewritten messages, in search of a greeting. When she looked up, he’d put a small piece of bread with peanut butter on it on the windowsill. The cat sniffed at it. He shooed the animal aside.
Maggie squawked her surprise. She shut her beak and stifled the sound. WHAT ARE YOU DOING? she couldn’t say. Is that supposed to be for ME? I can’t eat that, I’M OUTSIDE! She almost dropped the card over the ledge!
She juggled it with her beak and claw and smacked the printed side against the window instead.
Hi, Erik! said Milo’s too-cute handwriting. It matched Ann’s exactly, save for her tendency to add little hearts everywhere. I’m not a random bird! It’s me! Maggie!
He peered at the words, then beamed at her and signed a big thumbs up. He wandered back to the kitchenette. She saw him pull more bread out from behind the counter, then he picked up a jar of peanut butter with a plastic knife sticking out of it.
Slack-jawed, afraid to make more noise, the magpie watched as Erik made her an entire peanut butter sandwich. He put that on the windowsill and leaned over it expectantly.
He’d cut it into four pieces on the diagonal, like she liked.
She shook her head at him. She took down the card and tapped on the glass. There was no prewritten message that said anything like YOU REMEMBER HOW I LIKE MY SANDWICHES BUT NOT THAT WINDOWS HAVE GLASS?? so there was no point looking.
With a wobbly frown, Erik lifted one hand, then one fingertip. His hand was shaking as he reached out and also tapped on the glass. He breathed a little sigh. He glanced down at the sandwich with a wince. He picked it up, and dropped it on the floor.
This is a goddamn absurdist comedy and I am the straight man, thought Maggie. She began to swipe through the card again. She stopped and pressed it against the glass when she found the relevant part: I need you to move the spoon so I can come in!
Erik read, nodded, and wandered back towards the kitchen.
Ah! No! Damn it! Maggie tapped a rapid beat on the glass, right by the obvious silver spoon with the tape on it. Erik! I do not want another sandwich, get back here!
Erik held up another spoon, this one in cheerful blue plastic. He seemed hopeful.
Maggie was about ready to bang her whole head on the glass. She tapped once firmly and pointed with a single claw. There!
Erik glanced at the silver spoon and cringed, not even just a wince this time, but as if it were painful to look. He turned away from the window again as he drew near. When he looked back, he pointedly avoided the spoon. He huffed a warm breath on the cold glass and wrote in the mist with a fingertip: CAN’T. He’d tried to write it backwards, so she could read, but the “C” was facing the wrong way. He’d done that ever since he got hurt. He honestly couldn’t tell.
Why don’t you talk to me? Maggie thought, as loud and clear as she could. I know you can talk to me, you can get hold of me halfway down the block to ask me to bring home a goddamn candy bar. Why don’t you grab me with your freaky brain so we can just talk? She went through the prewritten messages again and found a good one: Is it safe to talk?
He glanced over his shoulder, this time at the bathroom door. He shook his head and touched a finger to his lips. Shh.
She nodded. She consulted the card, then showed it: Is John here?
He smiled, nodded, and signed a thumbs up. He wandered towards the bathroom, with a hand up to knock on or push open the door.
Maggie rattled the glass like a telegraph key. “Hey, dumbass!” she yelled. It was kind of unfortunate she’d learned most of her stock phrases out in back of the house, screwing around with Soup and Erik. She had a lot she could say, but almost all of it was silly or obscene.
Erik wandered back readily enough, but he looked confused. He pointed at the bathroom, then, firmly, at the sill. She supposed he meant: John can move the spoon and let you in.
She shook her head. Fool, that’s what I’m worried about. She went through the card. She knew it was in there. When she found it, she showed him: Is John a good guy or a bad guy?
He looked offended, for an instant, then doubtful. He turned and looked at the bathroom door again. He shook his head, and spread his hands helplessly, not quite a shrug. He knocked a hand on the side of his head, almost Milo’s sign for BAKA, but with the fingers folded into a loose fist.
It was as if he’d been looking for his eyepatch, and she asked where he saw it last. Beats me! That sucker is gone!
Maggie rocked back and forth on her claws. Bird faces were not so hot at emotions either. She could’ve been feeling anxious, or awkward — or she could’ve been sublimating a murderous distaste for Ann and Milo’s precious baby-talk and affectations. A “good guy” or a “bad guy”? DAVE expresses himself with more nuance and clarity than that and he’s FIVE!
Six, she corrected herself. Presumably, Dave was still having birthdays and doing basic child development, even if she didn’t get to see it in person. She’d just appreciate it if Ann and Milo would grow up a little too!
She swiped through the card and found very little that she actually wanted to say. It was all too optimistic. That was Ann’s influence, damn her. Weakly, without much hope, she lifted the card and showed him: We’re here to rescue you!
He smiled and nodded, but he did not do anything useful, like move the damn spoon, or even try to open the window. He pointed at the card, not touching the glass, and mouthed a word: Milo?
She nodded.
He mimed applause, utterly silent, but his eager smile faded as he did so. He leaned closer and mouthed another word… Two words. He had to do it twice — My “old cow”? — then she got it: My uncle?
She nodded.
He scowled at her, shook his head, and scolded with a finger.
She gave a tiny, stifled squeak. You vanished without a trace, you asshole, she thought. What do you want me to do, leave him locked in the basement in a coma for his own safety? Of course he’s here!
She had another look through the card and offered him: If we can’t come get you now, we’ll do it soon. We won’t lose you again, don’t be scared, but we might have to steal you, and it might be when you’re not you. She swiped forward a bit to add: Please don’t tell John, he’ll just screw it up.
Erik had been nodding, he brightened and signed a thumbs up at that last bit. He turned and wandered towards the little desk against the wall near the kitchenette. He picked something up. It was hard to see, but it looked like a sheaf of greyish papers.
She squeaked again, with her whole head mashed against the glass. Yes! Pencil and paper! You’re a goddamn genius! Now we can talk for…
He smiled at her, pointed to the papers (I can’t read that from over here, you moron, she thought. It’s too dark. I’m a bird!), and threw them on the floor. There was a chair blocking her view, perhaps he threw them in a wastebasket. Nevertheless, he did throw them in the general direction of the floor. He leaned down, vanishing briefly. Maybe he missed the wastebasket? When he stood back up, he signed another thumbs up.
She opened her beak, closed it silently, and just stared at him.
He headed into the kitchenette and she banged on the glass as hard as she could. She didn’t want another goddamn sandwich!
He pulled out a drawer, pulled it out entirely, and showed it to her. He set it on the counter, then put his hand through the gaping dark hole and into the cabinet beneath. He took out a jar full of brightly coloured little balls — probably modified gumballs like the one John used to glue Milo to the pavement — and a blank wooden head with a black wig and a butterfly mask on it. These objects were set on the counter beside the drawer.
Then he held up a bottle of dark liquid, unscrewed the cap and bowed like a waiter. He poured most of the bottle down the sink, leaving maybe two inches of brown in the bottom, which he indicated with a pointed finger and a grin. He put the bottle, the head, and the drawer back.
He spread both arms and bowed again, even more theatrically.
Why are you screwing with me on purpose? Maggie thought. What did I do to deserve this? Are you mad at me? Are you here because you don’t WANT to come home?
He came back to the window without bothering to walk backwards this time. He dusted his hands on his shirt and signed her two big thumbs up.
She was stuck in this bird body with no room to change back. She’d have to go down and climb back up the fire escape, but that seemed like a really bad idea when John was right there in the bathroom and she had no idea what was going on.
She couldn’t look confused, or angry, or sad. She couldn’t cry.
She went through the card again, desperately. She showed him another message, without much hope: Can you tell me what’s going on?
He sighed, slumped, and shook his head. He shrugged.
You don’t know? thought Maggie. How could you not know? She shook her head at him.
He brought his hand up, hesitated, and put his whole palm on the glass.
She lifted a claw and did likewise.
It only looked like touching. She couldn’t even feel any warmth. She dropped her claw and turned away.
He tapped on the glass. He huffed another breath on it, and drew a little heart shape in the mist. He smiled at her.
She bent her toes carefully and approximated the sign. She only had four digits for it, so it looked more like: IUI.
Erik leaned forward and puzzled over it for a moment. He brightened and nodded. He put his hand up and signed back, IUL «i love you.»
She nodded weakly. Yeah, you big jerk. Don’t know why, but I do.
Suddenly, as if he’d just remembered the concept of sign language, he coughed up a whole sentence: IUL [M]BIRD I/ME SORRY. «i love you, maggie, i’m sorry.»
She couldn’t talk that way with her four-toed feet. She sighed, a visible curl of white mist from her beak. She went back through the card. The best she could offer him was: We’ll see you soon!
He nodded and signed… something. But the cat picked that instant to take a flying leap at the window. It smacked into the glass and bounced off, pulling the black velvet bag with it.
Maggie heard the thud and clatter from the outside. It was too loud. She took off, too afraid of what John might do to wait around and try to suss out if he was a good guy or a bad guy.
Everyone was still waiting for her in the alley. She changed back without giving them a chance to cover their eyes, or their ears. Nevertheless, her mom and Ann were right there to help hold her up and offer tissues when she started to bawl.
“Take a moment, Magnificent…”
“Oh, there, that’s all right…”
“Did you see him?” Mordecai said.
Maggie managed a nod.
“Is he all right?” he said.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Honest to gods, I don’t know!”
◆◇◆
Erik, I don’t want to guilt-trip you, but I don’t want to be insulting. We love you and we’re all pretty freaked out right now. There is probably a way to connect all these dots and get a picture that makes sense, but we got nothing so far. Your uncle keeps saying someone must’ve erased your brain (he’s adjusting, he’ll be fine) but you remembered me, so I KNOW that’s not it.
Half of these jerks think I must’ve been trying to have a conversation with some dumb god, like you summoned the spirit of Harpo Marx for some reason. I’m not that stupid, fool. I know it was you and I know you were trying to talk to me, but there’s something in the way. (Something more than the stupid window.)
Well, my mom thinks you’ve been “compromised.” Your uncle’s not having it, but she laid it out for me after we put him to bed. Basically, whatever it is that you’re doing, it looks like you’re on board with it — but John isn’t. You look tired but happy and he looks scared out of his mind, so I get where she’s coming from. She’s not 100% sure whatever’s left of your brain is intact, but whoever you’re working with seems to have convinced whatever grey matter you’re still using that you’re doing a good thing. Whatever it is.
What’s really throwing me is the cat. I could see you losing stuff, I’ve been through you losing stuff, but why add a cat? You do not seem to be in any shape to take care of a cat. And, if you don’t mind my saying, it’s really hard for me to do casual surveillance around an animal that will smack into a closed window, LOUDLY, trying to eat me. You have a stupid cat, Erik. It’s very cute, but I wish you’d picked out a smarter cat.
A hand reached out of the darkness, pulled the short chain by the brass ball at the end of it, and shut off the desk lamp.
“Hey,” said Maggie, blinking.
“Are you willing to accept my conclusion that you are not nocturnal, Magnificent, or would you like to give your eyes a bit longer to evolve?”
Maggie groaned and smushed both hands over her face. “I just wanted to get all of it down before I forget,” she said, muffled. She took down her hands. “Is it late?”
“It was. I believe we may now call it ‘early’ with equal accuracy.”
Maggie tugged the lamp back on. “Then I’ll be operating with no sleep tomorrow anyway, so let me finish.”
The General leafed through the pile of papers on the desk and tweezed the thickness of them between thumb and forefinger. “Can there be much more of any importance to say?”
“I got into the weeds a little,” Maggie said. “But at least let me tell him why I probably won’t be back to talk to him.”
The General nodded. She wandered back towards the bed. Maggie heard her sit down.
She picked up the pencil and began a new paragraph: It’s not really about the cat, I just feel bad about this. We can’t figure out what’s wrong, or even if there’s something wrong at all. With what we know right now, it’s not safe for me to go back and talk to you anymore, because we don’t know what you’ll do with the information. We want to rescue you, but we’re not sure if YOU want that — or if they’ve done something to you so you CAN’T want rescuing.
I won’t lose you again. I meant that. We’ve got magic all over the sidewalk in front of that building AND the alley, and we’ll know if you or John do so much as put a toe outside. She shook her head with a snort. Unless you fly out, but I know you’re hopeless at turning into a bird on your own and John’s clueless. Wherever you go, I’ll be there, but I can’t let you see me. (Also the stupid cat, but mainly you.)
Your uncle says this isn’t a “fight from the inside”-type situation we’re dealing with. If you’ve got a god on board, or if someone erased part of your brain, that’s not you anymore, and there’s nothing you can do to help. It’s possible we can put you back together, even if they hurt you, but we can’t know that until we know what’s going on.
But I think it was you, and you’re trying to help us — maybe you’re being stupid about it, but you’re TRYING. (You made me a SANDWICH!) I’ll keep an eye on you, and I’ll figure out whether you told John I was there or kept it to yourself, and I’ll figure out WHY. Then, as soon as I know it’s safe to try, I’m coming to get you.
She paused, tapping the eraser on the desk, grudging her mother the vestigial ability to send her to bed.
I’m sorry I didn’t ask if that was really David, she added. Hyacinth’s David, I mean. If he’s a god now, somehow. It was on the card, but I didn’t get to it. But maybe, for right now, it’s better you don’t know everything we know…
◆◇◆
John smacked open the bathroom door and stood on the tile. He was barefoot, but otherwise fully clothed, and dripping wet. “What’s going on?”
That was almost enough to knock all the context out of Erik, right then and there. He extended a hand towards the window, as it seemed something like that was required. After a moment of groping, he managed, “Sandwich.”
John sighed and tramped onto the carpeted floor, shaking his head. “Nevermind. That’s my fault. I know you’re…” He had discovered the peanut butter sandwich, cut neatly on the diagonal, and lying in four pieces on the floor. He picked it up with a pained expression. “Do you… have any idea why this is like this?”
Erik offered a shrug.
“Are you hungry?”
Another shrug.
John sighed again and squished into the kitchen.
Erik flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling. There was a smiling sun sticker up there that said, IT’S OK! YOU GOT THIS!
It seemed a bit smug to him, but the only word he could apply to it — apart from “sun” — was “no.”
He didn’t know what happened, if what he thought happened really happened. It was already blurring, and it would be so easy to dismiss it as a weird dream he’d had.
He couldn’t even remember what they had for breakfast. Eggs? Did they go to the movies?
His mouth didn’t taste like popcorn…
Maggie was here and if I don’t tell John right now I’ll forget.
Good.
The words drifted away like paper trash blown down the street. They didn’t make any sense.
I should…
He couldn’t, even if he wanted to. The words were too hard. But… somehow he didn’t think he should.
He looked down at his shirt. VACANCY. Not David, and not a dream. Maggie came to say hi at the real-life window, and his family had come to rescue him. Not right now, but soon. That was a real thing that was going to happen.
If I remember, I’ll talk about it… and maybe it won’t happen.
Do I want it to happen?
He shook his head, unseen. He didn’t know. He didn’t know much of anything right now, he was sick. He wanted to go home. But, somehow, he was afraid of what might happen if he did.
Maggie’s way smarter than me, he decided. If I need saving, she’ll save me. If I don’t, she’ll figure that out too. We can just visit for my birthday and have cake. Yeah.
That other stuff doesn’t matter, he told himself. I forget things all the time. It’s no big…
John set a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the bed. It was on a red plastic plate. It had been cut neatly on the diagonal. Erik nodded, signed, THANK YOU, and had a bite.
John blinked, but he signed, YOU’RE WELCOME in return. “Do you…” He sat on the bed, looking down and away. “Do you know what that noise was? I know it’s hard to talk. You can sign it if you want, it’s…”
Erik pointed at the cat.
“Uh-huh,” John said. He got up again. He examined the windowsill. He noticed something else on the floor and collected it with a wince, but Erik didn’t think that was so very important.
“Was it another bird?” John asked, gazing out the window.
Erik only shrugged again. He had no idea.
