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“Oh,” she said. “With everything else going on, you have a bestowment, too?”

I nodded my head. Before that moment I hadn’t decided yet just what to do about last night’s dream. With Jaelle as the only vessel and with multiple souls, the entire equation was backward. But if I’d learned anything at all in the past twenty-four hours, it was that life was unpredictable. And with everything else hanging by a frayed thread, what difference would a slightly unorthodox bestowment make? In for a penny, in for a pounding.

My mom returned from her consultation. “His lungs have filled with fluid; it’s called a pulmonary edema and is likely due to an infection,” she said. “They’re going to admit him and administer an intravenous diuretic and antibiotics if they find an infection. He’s on oxygen, too.” My mom pulled her hair back nervously. “Can you believe we’ve got two of them on breathing machines? What are the odds of that?”

Personally, I could believe it. Because the odds of a family with mercreature genes having lung problems had to be pretty high. Not that I’d be opening my fish mouth with any such news.

“Thank you again, Ofelia,” my mom continued. “You’ve been such a help with my father. What did we take you away from? Did you have to close the store?”

“Don’t worry. The new girl, Kat’s friend Jinky, was able to help out. She’s been such a godsend already.”

Even I had to admit that Jinky was a huge help. But godsend? That had to have been a first for her.

I spent the rest of the day migrating between Leira and Afi. Both were too sick to appreciate the bedside vigil, so later in the afternoon I took Ofelia up on her offer of a ride home. I waved her away from the curb, promising to give my sister Storks plenty of notice for our council meeting that night. I would. As if I needed Grim to show up all grinchy.

The house felt empty. I picked up my phone about a dozen times to call Jack; he deserved to know about Leira and Afi, but I couldn’t risk him coming here to console me. Marik had been clear about Jack’s effect on him. Without knowing how close was too close, I couldn’t have them on the same street. Besides, it was best, for now, to perpetuate our “break.”

I did phone Penny. At first she was chilly with me, asking why I took off. She didn’t ask about Marik directly, but her tone implied confusion. The conversation was quick; she was obviously going to make me work to make amends. She did, at least, update me on the bird situation. All kinds of theories were floating around, everything from a prank by Pinewood to insecticide poisoning to a high-altitude lightning strike, the day’s continued showers probably lending credence to the latter. Stanley’s cold-air-mass explanation had obviously not been released yet or had been dismissed.

I also finally got a hold of my dad, who was surprisingly tight-lipped about where he’d been all day and why he had never returned my messages. I could hear him jangling keys and huffing about, and it was nice to know that he was on his way to visit Afi, allowing my mom and Stanley to focus on Leira. Say what you will about the guy — he’d made his mistakes — but he came through when you needed him. That said a lot about a person. I just wished as much could be said about me.

Later that evening, I unlocked the back door and sat waiting in my second chair, the Robin’s chair. From the waist up, I made a concerted effort to appear calm and cool, while under the table my knees were jingling like loose change.

Ofelia was the first to show up. The rest tumbled in behind her while I sat at my place with my hands grasping the table so as not to fall into the growing pit in my stomach.

Grim and Hulda were the last two to arrive; both wore an air of solemnity.

Hulda got right down to business, calling for roll, at which we were all accounted for.

“Before we proceed,” Hulda said, rising from her chair, “let me assure my sister Storks that an account of last night’s incident has been dispatched to the World Council.”

This was a group that took its bird-watching seriously, and, much like lifting the cover on a manhole, a rush of steam in the form of remarks and exclamations shot forth. I overheard more than one mention of Dorit, our expelled member, as well as a hushed “enemy
still
in our midst” response. That one, I feared, was eerily on the mark.

“Order, please.” Hulda calmed the room with fanning hands. “Let us not panic. We have no proof of a sinister connection to the occurrence.” Her eyes raked over me as she said this, and I’m sure I went blotchy; I didn’t even color well under pressure. “Now, who has initiated tonight’s meeting?”

“I’ve been contacted”— I began in the way we always did, but I knew that what followed would be a major divergence. I squeezed my eyes shut briefly, bracing myself —“by two separate and distinct essences. . . . I know it’s highly unusual.”

“Unusual?” Hulda’s head angled to the side.

“Twins, and other multiples, are not unknown to us,” Grim interjected. “You yourself were present when Fru Svana placed twin girls.”

“Except,” I said, “there is only one vessel, someone who is known to me, someone whose desire for a child is known to me, someone whom I want very much to help.”

“What are you saying, child?” Hulda asked. “It almost sounds as if you’re describing a situation in which you have two souls vying for a mother you’ve selected. A situation you’ve orchestrated on behalf of the mother —”

“That’s impossible,” Grim cut in. “It’s quite the reverse of our purpose. The focus is always on the hovering soul. More importantly, such powers are beyond . . .” Here Grim stopped herself as if unwilling to suggest I was capable of anything special.

“Sisters, please,” Hulda said, “hold your comments.”

And, yes, it did gratify me that it had been one “sister” in particular who was being shushed. If I was going rogue, I wasn’t opposed to having Grim’s bitter pucker as my parting glance.

I stood and turned to Hulda. “Indeed, Fru Hulda, I believe this to be the case. I realize that it’s not standard practice, but, yes, on behalf of a predetermined mother, multiple essences presented themselves.”

Hulda sat back in her chair and flopped her arms over its sides. Many moments passed.

I remained standing, not knowing whether to continue or wait for her to comment. And my sister Storks — generally quick to fly into squawks of alarm — took me in with stretched lips and bulging eyes. I finally decided to take my seat. I sensed it was best to keep a low profile and preserve my strength.

“This is quite unprecedented,” Hulda said finally. “Never have I heard of such a thing. Not here. Nor at my many visits to the World Council.” Again, she went ashen. I didn’t know what to do. “You best continue,” she said. “I feel quite certain that we will not know how to proceed until all the information is known to us.”

“But Fru Hulda, this is clearly an act of willful defiance,” Grim said. “Would you have us encourage such behavior?”

Hulda, when turning to Grim, looked tired, the gray of her woolen cardigan the same shade as her neck and face. “Fru Grimilla, I have asked our sister Stork Katla to continue. Would you defy my authority?”

Grim’s head snapped back so far I heard the ping. It sounded like a bullet dropping into a chamber.

All eyes swiveled back to me. How did I never learn with Grim? Her hatred of me was now so complete I could read the fill line at the top of her brow scrunch. But I supposed the bigger question was how did I never learn, period.

“The mother is confident and assertive.” I wasn’t about to use Grim’s choice words of “gung ho and brassy” to describe Jaelle, nor did I have to. Her slitted eyes conveyed her comprehension. “And the souls, as I described earlier, are separate and distinct. I well remember Fru Svana’s placement of twins; those essences presented together and remained united during all dream sequences.” I looked off to the sconces lighting the room. They flared as if censuring me, too. “The two even present as different ages —”

“How so?” Hulda cut in, biting back her lips as if reproaching herself for interrupting.

“One is a baby girl, frightened and helpless. One is a boy, two or possibly three years of age, brave and inquisitive.”

I paused, sensing a shock-and-awe reaction to my announcement. Not a one of them moved. Even the walls seemed to close in, as if leaning in to hear better.

“I recommend number one, the baby girl,” I continued. “A preference for a girl is known to me.” I looked around the room, realizing they were all gaping at me like my head was on backward. I touched my nose just to be sure. They were all still staring. “Should I go ahead with the vote now?”

Hulda stood, pushing her chair back. It scraped across the slab concrete floor. “It occurs to me that, per Stork protocol, once multiple candidates have been presented, a vote must follow.”

Stork protocol? A memo I never got.

“Fru Hulda, this refers to multiple maternal or
vessel
candidates,” Grim added.

“I believe,” Hulda said, “you’ll find the wording to be nonspecific. Fru Birta, if you would be so kind as to check.”

I’d never really pondered the thickness of Birta’s book before, even after we’d had to replace it after the infamous vandalism incident — by Brigid, no less — to our meeting space. It would appear, however, the way Birta now ran her finger over pages and columns, that it was a reference tome, as well as an attendance log.

“Fru Hulda is correct,” Birta said, removing her round, wire spectacles. “The wording simply states ‘When a minimum of two candidates have been presented, a vote must forthwith proceed.”

Hulda looked at me expectantly. I took it as a “Carry on” directive.

I raised a single shaky digit. “Who votes with me for essence one, the gentle baby girl?”

Half the room raised their index finger.

“And who votes for essence number two, the brave young boy?” I had made my choice clear as well as stated the mother’s preference for a girl. It was no surprise, then, that Grim pumped her bony arm into the air, raising two fingers and leading a rebellion that was quickly joined by the other half of the room, Hulda — to my complete and utter shame — included.

I had a hard time perceiving what happened next. My vision had gone all wavy.

“A tie,” Hulda said, stroking her chin. “Fru Birta, would you please read protocol regarding a tie?”

“We all know what to do in the case of a tie,” Grim added, her voice struggling to tamp down her irritation.

“Fru Birta, please,” Hulda said, overruling Grim’s interruption.

Fru Birta trailed a bony digit along the bottom of a page. She’d always been a bit of a mumbler, but the voice she used as she scanned the text was positively crumbling. I had to strain, leaning forward in my seat, to hear her. She murmured bits of phrasing and then skipped ahead as she searched for the relevant clause. Though her articulation was grainy, like an old phonograph, I made out that she was under the section heading “Extenuating Circumstances,” from which she read: “‘Overlapping jurisdictions, unforeseen physical conditions and limitations, and autonomous bestowments,’ as if we’d want to put any more ideas in Katla’s head.”

I hardly knew what to make of the last comment. It wasn’t like Birta to be so outspoken.

Finally, she perked up and said, loud and clear, with her lips actually moving this time, “‘In the event of a tie vote between two potential
vessels
—’”

“Stop there,” Hulda broke in. “In this case, the book clearly specifies ‘potential vessels.’ Thus procedural instructions regarding a tie do not apply in the case at hand, one where we’re deciding between potential
essences.
”

“But what does that mean?” I asked, scooting forward in my seat.

“It means,” Hulda said, sadness apparent in her voice, “that we are without precedent.”

OK, but that didn’t answer my question.

“So what do we do?” I asked, a more direct question this time.

Hulda folded her hands in front of her. “Sister Katla, you have presented us with a very difficult situation. One that, in disservice to all involved parties, leaves us at an impasse.”

“What do you mean by an impasse?” I asked.

Hulda shook her head slowly from side to side, taking a long time to answer.

In the interim, I pondered the term
impasse,
as in obstruction or roadblock, nothing that a little elbow grease — and possibly a stick of dynamite — couldn’t surmount.

“I shall take the matter to the World Council. This, in combination with the events of last night, merits further consideration.”

Before I could react or object, Hulda had issued her customary “peace be,” the meeting was adjourned, and my sister Storks were filing out past me with looks ranging from pity to fear to outright contempt.

I didn’t mean to stay after, necessarily, but half my body was paralyzed by shock and the other half by plain old embarrassment. Hulda had voted against me. Forget Dickens, it hurt like Faulkner. And Jaelle’s bestowment was on hold. This couldn’t be good, either.

Finally, only Fru Hulda and I remained.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

She didn’t respond. Ouch.

I dropped my chin to my chest. “You’re disappointed in me, aren’t you?”