It takes a while to get off the plane with Talia’s fifty-pound carry-on. But finally we make it.
I love when you enter the jetport in Miami, and you’re met with that first blast of hot air through the cracks that reminds you you’re home. I watch Talia’s face as we walk off the plane.
“Ooh! So warm!”
I grin.
I told Talia no one would be there to pick us up at the airport, mostly because I didn’t want her to spend an hour in the airport bathroom, fixing her hair with that ten-pound brush of hers and pinching her cheeks to make them pink or something. But I didn’t really think no one was coming.
I check my cell phone to make sure I turned it on, and I check to see if I have messages, even though I know I don’t. I texted both parents when I got off the plane. Nothing yet.
We head downstairs to the baggage claim. Talia seems a bit dazed, and I nudge her. “You okay?”
She rests her hand on my arm. “I am glad you are here. I do not think I have seen as many people in my entire life as I have seen today.”
“No problem.” Her hand’s still there. It’s weird because I kind of like the way it feels, her sort of depending on me.
She points to the luggage carousel. “Ooh! What fun!”
“Yeah. Don’t touch it. We have to look for our suitcases.”
My parents still aren’t here, so I dial home. My sister answers.
“Hey, Mer, where’s Mom?”
“Out drowning her sorrows about getting stuck with such a bad son.”
“Yeah?”
“I think she’s playing tennis.”
“I’m at the airport.” I turn so Talia can’t hear me. “Is anyone coming?”
“Hmm…I’m guessing that would be a no. That’s weird. She came and picked me up from camp last week. They must love me more—but then, I didn’t run away from camp.”
“Very funny.”
I call Dad. His secretary answers. Her name is Marilyn, which I know because making me work in his office is my dad’s other favorite way to ruin my summer. Actually, that was the one selling point for the Europe trip.
“Oh, was that today?” she says when I tell her I’m at the airport.
“Uh, yeah.”
“He’s in Houston right now. Do you want me to call Super Shuttle for you?”
No way. If my parents forget to pick me up from the airport after I’ve been gone almost the whole time I was supposed to be, they’re springing for a cab.
I see my suitcase, and I grab it. But I’m more worried about what I don’t see, which is Talia. Where’d she go? She was holding my arm, but now she’s not.
Which gets me thinking about all the things that could have happened to her. Like, what if she decided to take a ride on the luggage carousel and ended up in some kind of baggage dead-letter office?
Or maybe she decided to show the nice security guard her jewels.
Or someone offered her some candy if she’d help him find his lost puppy.
She’d go. That’s what she’d do.
Stay calm. There are a lot of people here. She’s probably just stuck in a crowd.
Where is she?
“Jack?” A whisper interrupts me. Talia!
“Jack?”
I look again, and I see her. She’s pressed against a wall, the green hoodie I got her covering all her yellow hair and most of her body.
“Come on,” I say. “I have the suitcases.”
She looks over her shoulder, not really at me but out at the airport. “Is she still there?” she whispers.
“Is who still there?”
“Shh! There was a lady, an old lady in a black dress. It was Malvolia.”
Malvolia? I try to remember where I’ve heard that name before. The fairy. Witch. Whatever. The one who cast the spell on Talia and made her sleep all those years.
I laugh. “She couldn’t be here. She was alive hundreds of years ago, in Euphrasia.”
“I was alive hundreds of years ago in Euphrasia, and I am here.”
Good point. “Still…” I look around and see the lady Talia’s talking about, an old lady in a black dress. A black habit, actually.
“That’s not Malvolia,” I say. “That’s a nun.”
“Not her. She was…” She turns the rest of the way around, using the hoodie to shield her face. “She has vanished.”
“Good. Then we can go.”
“I suppose.” Talia keeps looking, walking as though she expects something or someone to swoop down on her from the ceiling.
“Ah, if she’s still alive, she’s probably forgotten you by now.” I take her arm to lead her toward the exit. “How long can someone stay mad about not being invited to a party?”
“Perhaps. But she was a woman. Women never forget such slights. And I have learned the consequences of not heeding warnings. It shall not happen again.”