Ofelia, bearing a potted plant, turned up at the hospital just as we were sorting out rides. Her offer to drive me home made perfect sense, given that she had her things to pick up. She didn’t drive me home, not directly, anyway. Instead, we went straight to Stork Council.

We weren’t the first to arrive. Grim and a few others were already in their places. After all the seats — except one — had filled, and the clock lunged to straight-up nine, we looked at one another with varying degrees of confusion.

“Who called this meeting?” Grim asked.

No one spoke up.

“Don’t you know?” Grim continued, turning to me with a frown. For once, I had protocol on my side. As usual, she had the fine art of browbeating on hers.

“Fru Birta,” I said. “Call roll. Then we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Fru Hulda’s name was called last, and twice, though it was evident her dais-raised chair was unoccupied. Just as Birta was about to close the book, I heard a familiar “Present.”

We all turned to see Hulda standing in the doorway. She was thinner and more stooped than ever, but everything else — her tangled nest of gray hair, orange hat with floral trim, and drab gray apparel — was hallmark Hulda. Hallelujah.

And screw protocol. I rushed from my seat and tackled Hulda like a fourth-down, minutes-to-go, championship-on-the-line play. For the record, she was smiling when I let go, and I don’t care what Grim says; Hulda always walked with a slight hobble.

“Fru Hulda, you’re back!”

The entire room came alive. Others hurried to greet her with hugs, and there was a buzz of excited chatter and laughter coursing through the air. Even Grim, I noticed, rose to meet Hulda. Her welcome was a brisk handshake, but it may have been one of the few sightings of Grim’s crooked smile.

Hulda took her place, First Chair, and motioned for everyone to be seated.

“Thank you, to all of my sister Storks, for such a warm welcome. And I thank you for your assistance and vigil during my long illness and absence.” Hulda gestured to Ofelia. “And what a pleasure it is to receive a new member to our fold. Velkominn, vinur. Welcome, friend.”

Ofelia bowed her head in acceptance of the greeting. My own shied in shame for ever having suspected her.

“As to the nature of my affliction,” Hulda continued, “there was indeed an enemy in our midst. One whom I detected within the hour of her arrival, and who, through sorcery and coldheartedness, sought to neutralize my powers and cripple my resistance — by trying to kill me.”

A gasp worked its way around the room. The way Hulda had enunciated “coldheartedness” had me, too, sucking in air.

“Though she came close, know that this crisis has passed.”

“But, Fru Hulda, why do you not name this enemy?” Svana asked.

Hulda gave me a brief in-cahoots once-over. “If only I could. Alas, it all happened so fast. I have only suspicions.”

This upset the room, possibly even more than her “by trying to kill me” proclamation. I was seriously confused. Hulda had called the enemy coldhearted. She had to know. And what was up with that look we shared? If the crisis had passed, then why no full disclosure? My heart beat with big, blouse-lifting pangs of dread.

“But how do we know for certain that we are all safe?” Birta asked. “Dorit’s whereabouts, for instance, are still unknown.”

“Trust me when I say there are no immediate dangers,” Hulda said. “In the meantime, I thank you for coming out this evening without even a soul to bestow. I shall take this occasion to inform you of my absence for the next few weeks. These recent events have necessitated a trip to the World Tribunal. I hope to return with more information to share.” Several of the Storks interrupted with questions. Hulda raised her hand to silence them. “For now, I ask for your patience and for calm. Know that I am, as ever, in your service. Peace be.”

The Storks filed out, lifting a cloud of nervous energy with their old-lady shoes. Even Grim had a little bounce in her step.

“Katla, you will stay,” Hulda said. As usual, it wasn’t a question.

When we were finally alone, Hulda said, “You have been traveling.” Again, not a question. Hulda would suck at Jeopardy.

“I was in Iceland with my afi.”

“And . . .”

So what if game shows weren’t her thing. If she wanted it, the woman had a future in interrogation.

“Fru Hulda, all those things you told me about the other realms . . .”

“Yes, child.”

“What if?”

“Go on.”

Where to start?

“Did you know my afi was a descendant of the selurmanna, from the selkie stories?”

“Of course.”

“And that Jack Snjosson, while he was recently in Greenland on a bogus research trip, was lured away to Niflheim, by . . .”

Hulda had been the one, way back last September, to tell me of the Snow Queen’s fondness for blue, and of my connection to red. So why was it so hard for me to say her name out loud?

“By Brigid Fonnkona, the Snow Queen,” I finished.

“This I suspected. Go on.”

“I went after Jack.”

Hulda nodded encouragement.

“En route, I met a messenger of a King Marbendlar and a Queen Safira,” I said, speaking faster. Even knowing that Hulda was like me — para-abnormal — it still didn’t make recounting the events any easier. “He helped me get to Niflheim, where I figured out that Brigid planned on deep-freezing all the realms as revenge for global warming but also as a power grab. We got out, and I’m pretty sure that Jack did something to close the portals, because we’re back and everything seems fine: no eternal winter; spring is in the air, right? So, I think that’s pretty much everything, in a nutshell, anyway.” I took a big gulp of air.

God, it felt great to spill. And so what if I had left out the part about using my sister’s soul as a kind of tollbooth token? I was going to fix it. No need to dwell. Besides, I could see by the look on Hulda’s face that I’d given her more than enough to think about. She was, after all, still weakened, and the immediate threat was passed. She’d said so herself. She left me with a “Peace be,” which, disturbingly enough, she turned into a question.