Unbelievable. At 8:59, Afi’s back room had been a jumble of boxes and crates wedged on wobbly shelving units or piled high on the floor. At 9:01 it was transformed into our Stork crib, complete with heavy oval table, the somehow-mended bird chairs, and lit — by whom? — candled sconces. I would never, ever get used to some of the more fantastical aspects of this soul-delivery business. I pinched myself as a reality check. It hurt.

I sat in my Robin’s chair this time. Grim was the last to arrive. Her dragging feet were an obvious sign of her continued opposition to a prescheduled meeting.

“Fru Birta,” I began. “Is our book still missing?”

“Yes.”

“Then no need to call roll. It’s obvious, anyway, that we’re all here — besides Fru Hulda, of course.”

I saw Grim stiffen, bristling at this change to our meeting’s program. What’d she expect Fru Birta to do without the book, though? Whittle attendance into the table? Ink it onto her lined palm?

Two spaces down from me, I eyed Dorit’s old chair, turned away from the table as mine had been that fateful first night. Also catching my attention were its carvings. They were, again — as mine had once been — birds of all kinds, no longer Dorit’s puffers.

A commotion at the door lifted my eyes. There stood Ofelia with a curious look on her face and an armful of papers.

Shoot. A security breach. What was she doing back? I’d sent her home an hour ago. I was about to quickly invent some sort of explanation for this crazy meeting and usher her out, when she pulled a soft brown derby from atop her stack of papers, placed it on her head, and walked briskly to stand behind Dorit’s old chair.

“Fru Ofelia Dagmundsdottir submitting transfer papers,” she said, placing a small pile of crumpled sheets onto the table.

What the —? Transfer papers? It made no sense on several levels, the obvious one being that it sure didn’t look like her head was bugging her. And documents for a swarm of old gals who used hand signals, not ballots, to decide the fate of hovering souls? And transferring from where? She told me she was from North Dakota.

Ofelia looked to Hulda’s empty seat. “Your first chair. It’s vacant?”

Grim rose from her own chair and walked to where Ofelia stood. “Fru Hulda, our Owl, is not well.” She lifted Ofelia’s papers from the tabletop. “Katla, as second chair, would you like to check these, or should I?”

And what exactly would I be checking for? Spelling and punctuation errors? Watermarks against the light?

“If you’d be so kind, Fru Grimilla?” I said.

Grim rifled through the pages quickly. I watched Ofelia as she stood patiently behind Dorit’s place. She would be, besides me, the youngest member of this group. Even Grim, well into her sixties, was spry for this lot. I also remarked that her sister, Paulina, owner of the used bookstore, was not among our ranks, though she seemed slightly older than Ofelia. Interesting. As was so much about the Storks.

Grim straightened the papers against the table and handed them to me. “Everything appears to be in order. Until our book is returned, we cannot formally enter Fru Ofelia. Until that time, Katla, you may welcome her to our group.”

Luckily I remembered how Hulda had welcomed me. “Velkominn, vinur. Welcome friend.”

“Velkominn, vinur,” the Storks chorused in reply.

Ofelia turned her chair, which now bore the chiseled images of turkeys, to face the table and seated herself. So Ofelia would be our Turkey. It at least explained that little wattle under her chin.

All eyes turned to me. I had, after all, called the meeting. “Fru Maria,” I said to one of the cortege members. “Would you be so kind as to update us on Fru Hulda’s condition?”

“I believe it would be best if I updated the group,” Grim interrupted.

When and how did Grim come by this “update”?

Grim sat up straight and placed her clasped hands on the table. “Fru Hulda is extremely sick, but in a safe place. She is unresponsive — in a coma of unknown origin. Praise be that she is being cared for, but the situation is very, very troubling. It can only be assumed that Hulda was attacked.”

The room erupted in gasps and squawks and cries of alarm.

“What can we do?” Birta asked.

“I fear for all of our safety,” Svana said.

I needed to calm everyone down and bring some sort of order to the meeting. “Sisters, let’s discuss this rationally.”

“Would it not be helpful,” Ofelia interrupted, “to begin by repeating Fru Hulda’s last words that fateful night?”

Hmmm. I didn’t remember saying that Hulda had spoken, nor was Ofelia present the night of the attack. Besides, to term them “last words” was definitely not cool.

“Before she fell ill, Fru Hulda said, ‘Enemy in our midst.’ This only days after one of our former sisters had her Stork affiliation terminated and had warned us all that we’d ‘be sorry,’” Grim said.

Sure. Now Grim wants to be helpful.

“What about Dorit?” I asked, trying to remain in charge. “Does anyone know anything about her state of mind?” I asked.

The room was so quiet I could hear the flare of the candlewicks.

Finally, Fru Svana spoke up: “The family has moved without a word to anyone.”

That couldn’t be a good sign. Granted, there couldn’t be many happy memories for them here, but the timing was suspicious.

“Fru Svana, you were friendly with Dorit, weren’t you?”

Svana looked around nervously. “Before the events of . . . September.”

“But of everyone, she trusted you most,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Fru Svana, would you feel comfortable trying to locate them? It seems to me that we should know where she is.”

Svana squirmed in her seat. “I could try.”

“Thank you. And to all my sister Storks,” I said, looking around the room, “I want to ask for your help during this difficult period. I am new to the council and the second chair, and I never asked for any of this.” Grim cleared her throat with a loud honk. “But I’ll do my best to serve during Fru Hulda’s absence. Fru Grimilla, I trust if there is some change in Fru Hulda’s condition that you will call a meeting.”

“I will.”

“And if anyone feels in danger or threatened or encounters something unusual that they will call a meeting?”

A roomful of heads nodded and said, “We will.” Even Ofelia joined in.

“Have we reported our missing book to anyone at the World Council?” I turned to Grim as I asked this.

Grim’s chin jutted forward as she spoke. “Fru Birta could accomplish such a task.”

There was the smallest of nods from Grim directed to Birta.

“I would be honored,” Fru Birta said.

“And of course, business as usual, should a soul seek guidance,” I said.

More nods and affirmations.

“Then meeting adjourned.” Hulda’s customary peace be just wouldn’t spill from my lips. I was determined to do things my way. Besides, I didn’t think we were at peace — far from it, in fact.