Flock (18 page)

“Custodians,” Jinky said. “Not janitors.”

I huffed. Some jokes just didn’t translate.

Jinky held the pouch by its gathered top and shook. Next, she held the sack out to Penny. “Choose one and place it on the cloth.”

Penny reached in and took a single stone and set it on the white square. Jinky had her do the same with two more, being careful that Penny placed it just as it was in her hand — upside down, in one case — until Penny had a line of three. Then, as if turning the page of a book, Jinky uprighted the third rune

“Now, concentrate on an issue,” Jinky said to Penny.

“What kind of issue?” Penny asked.

“Something that is important to you.”

Penny’s mouth twitched to the side, and she went Bazooka pink: a dead giveaway to what she had conjured. Good thing she was destined for the straight and narrow; she would suck at professional poker, as well as espionage.

Jinky pointed to the first rune. It looked like a blocked capital
C,
but with the top and bottom lines bumped inward. “In a three-rune draw, we first consult Urdh, goddess of the past. Urdh calls to the rune Perthro, a symbol of mysteries, secret matters, and hidden things; it often indicates that things are not quite what they seem. It is known as the All-Mother rune because of its association with fertility and feminine mysteries. Its symbol in fact is a ‘cup,’ which some suggest is representative of the vagina.”

I coughed. And not only because of her anatomical reference. On my vision quest, one of the women surrounding Frigg had carried a golden cup. Jinky stopped and, after slashing a look my way, studied Penny; neither spoke or moved. I finally cleared my throat.

“We next consult Verdandi, goddess of
what is,
or the present.” Jinky pointed to the center stone, marked with an
X.
“Here we see Gebo. It is a balance symbol and refers to exchanges, contracts, and partnerships. Though it can refer to a group affiliation, it is often called the Lover’s Kiss because it can mean that a relationship will move to a deeper level.”

It was my turn to shoot Jinky a look. Was she seriously trying to mess with Penny’s mind? Penny’s crush on Marik was about as subtle as Borat, so Jinky had to know she was telling her exactly what she wanted to hear. Penny leaned forward as if getting into the reading.

“For the final stone that reveals
what shall be,
the future, we look to the goddess Skuld, who displays a very interesting rune, Othala, the rune of ancestral property. This rune represents inheritance and the discarding of the past in order to move forward. Sometimes Othala can symbolize a property or possession; other times it can mean a mental or spiritual heritage. Often it can be an omen of safety.” Jinky trailed her hand across the bottom of the three stones. “So there you have it: feminine mystery, the Lover’s Kiss, and an inheritance.”

The latter had me thinking. I glanced over to the open jewelry box atop Penny’s dresser. The brooch had been a matter of dispute between our grandmothers. Steel-faced Grim had won out — no surprise there; my
amma
had been a marshmallow by comparison. But now, seeing it in the form of a pink lady, I couldn’t help but wonder: Was it rightfully mine? Were the runes intentionally prompting this question of inheritance? It was almost too much to take in. For now, the task at hand seemed a better use of my time.

“Does it say anything about the future of three dresses?” I asked, scrambling to a stand. “Because that’s why we’re here.” I sorted through the pile on Penny’s bed. “We’ll need to rip out the side seams on Jinky’s dress, and pin the hem on those silk pants. Plus our own dresses. I don’t know why we’re putzing around here.”

Jinky gathered up the pieces to her intended outfit. “I’ll do my own. Mrs. Cantwright will help me, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Cantwright — Jinky’s host mother, my new neighbor, and a gray-haired, doddering antiquity — had a hard time getting her clothes on straight. I didn’t know how much help she could be at pinning and hemming.

“If you need any supplies, needles or thread or whatever, let me know,” I said, collecting my own pile of loot.

There was a knock at Penny’s door. It opened and old Grim stuck her head into the room. “I thought I heard voices.” I was so used to seeing her in her usual grim-on-Grim attire that her current getup surprised me. She wore head-to-toe white and a volunteer badge I recognized from Pinewood General Hospital. Grim a good Samaritan? I just couldn’t picture it.

“Amma, you haven’t met my friend Jinky yet. She’s an exchange student from Iceland.”

“Komdu sæl,”
Grim said to Jinky.

“Very well, thank you,” Jinky replied with more respect than I could have mustered.

Grim gave me a squint. “Katla,” she said, by way of greeting.

For the record, it was a name, not a salutation. “Hello, Fru Grimilla,” I said dutifully.

“What’s going on?” Grim asked.

“We bought our things for the dance this weekend,” Penny replied.

Grim’s eyes raked over the piles of clothing on the bed and in the arms of both me and Jinky. Her glare then strayed to the dresser top. “What on earth? Why is that out?”

“I was showing them,” Penny said in a small voice. “It matches my dress. I was thinking of wearing it.”

“It’s much too valuable,” Grim said, striding across the room. She lifted the velvet-covered box and snapped it shut. Pocketing it, she turned and harrumphed out of the room. Just before the door closed, our eyes met,
bucked
truly the more apt description. I may have even brayed ever so slightly; I had to bring my fist to my mouth in a mock cough.

As usual, Grim left me spiraling. Not only was the pin possibly mine, but it was valuable. What I valued was its link to information I required, but with it currently in Grim’s gnarled knuckles, I doubted I’d see it again. If only as much could be said of Grim. At least I didn’t run into her on my way from Penny’s room to the front door. I was feeling mulish enough to kick.

Walking into school on Monday morning was like tightroping across power lines. Every step buzzed with a palpable current, one that was, to my great relief, harmless.

“Let me guess,” I said, joining Penny at the back of the shifting crowd. “The Homecoming ballots are being handed out.”

“Yep,” she replied.

She looked down at my attire, a belted blouse over jeans tucked into boots, and asked, “Why are you dressed?”

I laughed; it was a pretty strange question. “I forgot,” I said, swiveling my head to take in the various interpretations of Jammies Day, the first in a full week of Homecoming dress-up assignments. Penny in her fleecy two-piece PJs was at least decent. There was a girl standing not far from us in a frilly baby-doll number who, I guessed, would be sent home to change.

“What’s the word on the court?” I asked. “Who are the front-runners?”

“Abby for queen and John Gilbert for king, though I’ve heard talk of Marik, too.”

“Marik?” My voice broke like some puberty-struck thirteen-year-old boy. “But he’s only been here a couple of weeks.”

“People like him. He’s different.”

If only she knew just how different. I could see, though, as his date, this was a source of great satisfaction to her. I could also appreciate it as a shake-up to tradition. Most everyone around here had lived in Norse Falls their whole lives. The pecking order probably dated back to kindergarten and was probably decided over Red Rover and cuts in line rather than merit or character.

“So where is he?” I was curious about his Jammies Day garb and half expected giant bunny slippers to charge us at any moment.

“He’s still not feeling all that great, according to Jinky.”

“Weird,” I said. It was. What ailed a merman?

At the front of the throng, I spotted Abby and Shauna, dressed in matching knee-length white nighties, grasping their ballots like winning lottery tickets. Abby seemed to have rebounded from the Asking Fire scene. Rumor had it she was back together with Gabe, the basketball player she had thrown over in her brazen pursuit of Marik. Nor did there seem to be any lasting effects of the frenzy and ugliness that had affected the crowd on Saturday night. Still, I wasn’t about to belt out a “Beat Pinewood” cheer or ask anyone for a light.

Janie, a girl Penny and I knew from Design, retreated from the press of bodies with a fistful of ballots. “Here,” she said, handing us one each. “I grabbed a few extras.” She paused for a moment and then prodded Penny with her elbow. “You and Marik, huh?”

“Yeah.” Penny tucked a band of hair behind an ear. As they had been for some time now, her curls were sleek and serpentine, falling in cascades over her shoulders.

“Congrats and good luck,” Janie said, thumbing the corner of her ballot.

Penny dipped her head and shoulders, revealing a peek of cleavage.

Good luck?
As in Penny was a contender? A puff of pure, clean air filled my lungs. Penny was a contender?

Despite everything going on in my life, this kernel of possibility bumped itself to the top of my do-now list. And with the overwhelming sense of futility and frustration I was feeling in my quest to thwart Marik’s mission and even my attempt to manipulate a placement for Jaelle,
this
felt like something actionable.

And why not Penny for Homecoming Queen? A year ago, I’d have conceded it as some kind of cruel Mean Girls’ prank. But now, the Penny before me had serious potential. While the best of her qualities — intelligence, kindness, enthusiasm — were intact, other character traits had developed: confidence and poise. Not to mention that she was morphing into a stone-cold fox. With cleavage.

“When are these things due?” I asked Penny.

“By the end of the day.”

“And when do they announce the court?”

“Tomorrow.” Penny gave me a you’re-losing-it look. I probably should have remembered the announcement of the court from last year; Jack had, after all, been one of the royals. In my defense, I had been a little busy, what with him going AWOL days before our first date and the whole see-a-raven-and-nearly-get-flattened-by-a-logging-truck incident. I did, at any rate, remember the Friday pep rally, the one at which — should I prove successful — Penny would be crowned this year’s queen.

“Gotta go,” I said, kicking up do-good dust and leaving our potential monarch looking puzzled.

In every class that day, I campaigned for Penny. “Wouldn’t she and Marik make the cutest king and queen ever?” “Wouldn’t it be nice to reward someone based on merit: like an editor of the paper or the chair of every committee, not to mention a whip-smart honor student?” “And isn’t it refreshing that Penny is nice and pretty and totally not expecting it?”

I know I planted a seed in some people’s minds and outright changed a few on the spot. But the best part of the whole thing, by far, was that people told me they had already voted for her. Guys and girls both. Were it only that this regime overthrow and underdog crusade represented the utmost of my challenges. Regardless, it was a distraction that carried me through to the final bell.

Leaving school that day, I was preoccupied by thoughts of how great it would be for something to finally go my way, when I almost plowed into my dad as he bounded up the front steps.

“What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Reporting to the lovely Sage Bryant for a chaperone meeting.” My dad fingered the collar of his crisply laundered black-and-white checked shirt with rolled, contrasting paisley French cuffs. It was an awesome shirt that looked both new and expensive. I begrudged him neither and had always liked his sense of style, but he had clearly made an effort.

“Oh. Is this something I’m supposed to attend as well?” I asked.

“No, no. Chaperones only.” My dad brushed a bit of lint from his black dress pants.

“Have fun, then,” I said, watching him enter the building.

It was nice to casually throw around the word “fun,” but something about the way he said “lovely” had me a little worried. Ms. Bryant was my teacher, and I depended on her for a good grade, especially if a design college was in my future. Though, with Marik and Safira and Brigid posing bigger-picture threats, it was yet another relief to worry about something else, something as trivial as transcripts, something with future significance, something with a future
period.