Flock (20 page)

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 consolation 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.”