Addison opened the book of enchantments and flipped through the pages until she found one containing several lines of verse and a poorly drawn sketch of an owl. The owl was Addison’s spirit animal, an alter she transformed into when the need presented itself. She set the book on her lap, focused on the words written on the page, and chanted:
Ancient mothers far and near
Heed my voice, lend an ear
Give me wings, and allow me flight
Protection and the gift of sight
As you guide me toward the present
Addison closed her eyes, thought of Belle Manor, and released the book. It slipped through her fingers onto the floor. When her eyes opened, she felt the night’s brisk, cool breeze, and she found herself in midair, hovering over the manor. Through the moon’s cascading light, she caught a faint glimpse of herself in the manor’s window.
She’d done it.
She’d transformed into an owl.
Addison flapped her wings, angling herself toward the window ledge. The window was open, not by much, just enough for her to duck beneath it. She stuck the landing and bobbed her head beneath the glass, trying to nudge the window open a bit more. Three quarters of the way through, her backside became stuck on the window latch.
Don’t freak out.
Everything will be all right.
But everything wasn’t all right.
Addison rocked her body back and forth, squeezing beneath the crack in the window until she broke free, the force so strong it launched her inside. She tumbled onto the floor, shaken, but unharmed.
Voices echoed from the manor’s lower level.
“Did you hear that?” a man asked.
“Yeah,” a woman said. “It sounded like it came from upstairs.”
“I’m sure it’s no big deal,” the man said. “I bet it’s just a—”
“You don’t know what it is or isn’t until you check it out,” the woman said. “We can’t just assume everything is fine up there. She could be hurt. Go check on her.”
The man sighed. “All right, fine. I’ll go.”
“Wait,” the woman said. “If it’s not her, and it’s something else, you should take this.”
This?
What was this?
A bat?
A gun?
A knife?
Worse?
Addison wasn’t waiting around to find out.
She scampered out the door toward a dim light coming from inside a room on the opposite end of the hall. She entered, looked around, and froze, shocked to find Cecilia Belle laying on a bed, dressed in the same nightgown she’d worn the last time Addison saw her.
Cecilia pushed a pair of glasses over the rim of her nose and blinked down at Addison. It was too late. She’d been seen. Addison’s gaze shifted left to right, looking for an alternate means of escape. There wasn’t one, and the sound of the man’s heavy footsteps ascending the stairs meant he was close.
There was no place left for Addison to go.
Without uttering a word, Cecilia grabbed a mug off of her nightstand, tipped the liquid out, leaned down, and placed the mug on its side on the floor, a gesture Addison found peculiar.
All these years living like a muzzled dog has rendered her insane.
Cecilia waved Addison closer. “It’s all right, my feathered friend. I won’t hurt you. Come here. Get behind the bed. Hurry now. You must do what I tell you. There isn’t much time.”
Cecilia had spoken to Addison as if she expected her to understand what she’d just said.
Do what she says, or don’t?
I have no other options, no means of escape.
With a great deal of reluctance, Addison did as she was told.
A man entered the room seconds later.
“Yes?” Cecilia asked. “Come to clean up my mess, have you?”
“I ... what happened in here?” he stammered.
“Who knows? My arms must have been flailing about while I slept, and I knocked the cup onto the floor. Doesn’t matter. It’s just water, anyway. I’ll clean it up.”
The man sighed. “I’m here now. I’ll do it.”
“Like I said, there’s no need. It’s nice to take care of things myself once in a while.”
Cecilia opened the drawer on her nightstand, removed a handkerchief, and bent down, blotting it over the water. She looked back at the man and said, “Why are you carrying an umbrella? It’s not raining.”
“I ... I was just ... it doesn’t matter,” the man said. “I heard a noise and came to check it out.”
He turned and left the room.
Cecilia stayed silent for a minute, and then said, “Stay there, my friend. I’ve known him a long time, and I don’t think he’s done with me just yet.”
Addison held her position. Cecilia may not have been lucid, but she was right. Minutes later, footsteps swished along the floor toward them, and the man revisited the room.
“A mop?” Cecilia said. “You’re being a bit ridiculous don’t you think? A splash of water won’t do much damage.”
“It will preserve the floor,” he said.
“The floor is fine. At any rate, hand me the mop. I’ll do it.”
The man breathed a sigh of frustration. “What’s gotten into you tonight?”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“You haven’t been this chatty in months.”
“Who knows? Maybe I’m starting to feel like myself again.”
From her hiding spot, Addison saw a man’s hand scoop one of the pill bottles off the nightstand. He jiggled it back and forth as if gauging how many pills remained.
“How have you been feeling the last several days?” he asked.
“Fine. Why?”
“Do you think your meds are still working?”
“How the hell should I know? You have me taking an entire drugstore full of pharmaceuticals. I’m sure they work the same way they always have.”
“It’s not true. You take what you need, nothing more.”
“Of course, it’s true. No need to lie about it.”
“Doctor Farnsworth is stopping by tomorrow. I’d like him to assess you again. It’s been a while since he’s checked you out. Let’s see what he has to say.”
“See what he has to say about what?”
“Have you taken your sleeping medication tonight?”
“Not yet. I dozed off about an hour ago, though, without it.”
“You need to take it. I’ve brought you another glass of water so you can.”
The man sat on the edge of the bed. From Addison’s hiding spot, she had a slight view of his face. If he angled his head a bit more to the right and glanced down, he’d see her.
“I’ve been thinking it may be time to up your dosage again,” he said, “or even switch you to something else. It’s possible you’re so used to the medication you’re on, since you’ve been taking it for a while, that it’s not working like it should anymore.”
“How would you know whether it does or doesn’t work?” Cecilia asked. “You’re not the one taking them. I told you. I feel fine. Best I’ve felt in years, in fact. I’m not interested in seeing Farnsworth tomorrow or any other day. He’s pushy, and I don’t like it.”
There was a heap of dissatisfaction in Cecilia’s tone. It was easy to understand why. The man spoke to her like she was a foolish child, incapable of deciding what was best for herself, and though Cecilia was several marbles short, she articulated her words with precision. Maybe that’s what had the man worried. If the meds didn’t have the effect they once did, and Cecilia became herself again, what would it mean for him, a man who seemed to have questionable motives?
“I understand Farnsworth isn’t your favorite person,” he said. “Let’s not worry about him tonight. You get back to sleep now, and we can talk again in the morning after you’ve had some rest.”
Or when she was a lot more doped up.
“I don’t see what more there is to say,” Cecilia said. “I’m not changing my mind.”
He stood and shuffled toward the door. “I’ll leave you now.”
“Are you off to bed too?”
“Not for a while. I’m going to watch the news on television first. Why? Do you need anything? I can bring you a cup of tea if you like.”
“A hot toddy would be nice. A wee splash of bourbon sounds perfect right about now.”
“I ... don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You don’t think anything is a good idea anymore,” Cecilia said. “You’re a stuffed shirt nowadays.”
“I don’t want it to be this way. You’re in poor health. I’m only trying to do what’s best for you.”
“We never sleep in the same bed anymore,” Cecilia said. “I don’t understand why. Why can’t things go back to the way they used to, the way they were before—”
“We’ve been over this several times. You snore, which makes it impossible for me to get a decent night’s rest.”
“So you say, although I can’t remember snoring a day in my life.”
“You’re asleep. You wouldn’t know.”
“Perhaps,” Cecilia said.
“Goodnight, then,” the man said. “I’ll be up with breakfast in the morning.”
“Yes, you will. Breakfast and my morning cocktail of pills. Nine o’clock on the dot. As usual.”
He walked out, closing the door behind him. Cecilia jostled around in bed, and then the room went silent. Addison assumed Cecilia had forgotten about her and given in to sleep. It wasn’t long before she had an answer.
“Feathered friend?” Cecilia said. “Are you still there? Come on out and let’s get a good look at you.”
Addison hopped onto the bed. She stared into Cecilia’s eyes, vacant voids of nothing. What light she’d once had seemed to have been replaced with a sense of indifference.
“This is a real treat,” Cecilia said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen an owl this close before. No, I’m sure I haven’t. Have you wandered far from your home in the forest? Have you lost your way? Is that how you ended up here tonight?”
Addison’s eyes shifted to the plethora of pill bottles on the nightstand. In all, there were seven. Why did she need so many different prescriptions? It was no wonder Cecilia acted loopy. She couldn’t possibly have needed them all.
“Lawrence is a pain sometimes, isn’t he?” she said. “I try talking to him, but it always proves difficult. Most days, he’s not up for conversation. Tonight is the most we’ve talked to one another in a long time. I think so, at least. In truth, I don’t know. I think I forget from one day to the next.”
Addison blinked.
Cecilia shook her head and laughed. “Sometimes I feel like I’m going mad in this old place. I mean, look at me. I’m talking to an owl, for heaven’s sake. You’re probably not even real. I’ll bet you’re nothing more than a figment of my imagination.”
Without warning, Cecilia swept her hand through the air, knocking Addison off the bed. Addison flew through the air and fell to the ground, worried Lawrence would return to the room again. It was possible the television would be loud enough to spare her this time.
“Oh no,” Cecilia said. “My goodness. What have I done? I’m sorr—”
Cecilia poked her head over the side of the bed and Addison glanced up. Eyes wide, what little color Cecilia had drained from her face. In a mirror on the opposite wall, Addison learned why, gasping as she caught a glimpse of her pale, freckled skin.
“Please,” Addison said. “I don’t want Lawrence to come up here again. I can explain.”
But how?
How could she?
Cecilia’s mouth dropped open, but no sound came out.
“Please,” Addison said. “Don’t scream. Don’t call for anyone. If you could just allow me to—”
Cecilia cupped a hand over her mouth and said, “You were just covered in feathers, and now you’re... I can’t ... I can’t believe it’s you.”