Seven

Brew with Caution

Fin made the tea when they returned to the big house.

The tea ball had come open in her coat pocket, so Fin had to scrape out the tea leaves, and she was pretty sure a bit of lint got into the tea. But Fin didn’t care so long as it worked.

The electric kettle bubbled merrily and its blue light clicked off. Fin picked it up and carefully poured the boiling water into a chipped blue mug. Steam rose in delicate tendrils, and the steel tea ball swung between her fingers on its chain before she lowered it into the mug.

Eddie was rummaging around in a closet. He swore he had an old fish tank in there—they could use it for their terrarium. Fin ignored the distant sounds of old cans, papers, and other clutter being tossed about; she watched as the water slowly turned a deep brown color. The scent of Ceylon filled the air, and Fin breathed it in. Maybe it was her imagination, but she was calmer already.

Once five minutes had passed, Fin pulled the tea ball up, setting it on a saucer. The mug was still warm to the touch, but the tea wouldn’t burn her.

Fin drank. The tea had a malty flavor lightened with citrus and a hint of sweetness and spice. When she was finished, she put the mug down and waited.

For the briefest moment, there was that knot at the back of her mind—thoughts of I can’t do the science fair and stand up in front of all those people! and Oh, what if Mom finds out I went back to the tea shop? and What if someone saw? and Counselor, counselor, counselor, and—

The knot loosened.

It was like releasing a fist that Fin hadn’t realized she’d been making.

She took one breath, then another.

Fin leaned against the counter. She summoned up the mental image of the phone ringing, of the shrill noise it would make, of having to answer it without knowing who was on the other end. She waited for the telltale thump of her fearful heart—but it never came.

If the phone rang, she’d just answer it.

Fin smiled. A real smile, the kind that crinkled at the corners of her mouth and had made a couple of candid photos embarrassing.

This—this was how normal people felt all the time. She wondered if they knew how lucky they were.

Fin picked up the tea ball. She unscrewed it and dumped the soggy tea leaves into the sink. She hit the garbage disposal and water, listened to the engine grumble to life, then turned it off. She rinsed the ball out, then shoved it into her pocket. She’d put it away in the cottage. And when Talia came back—because she would come back—Fin would return it to her, along with the key. No one would ever know.

Everything was going to be fine.

And for the first time in weeks, Fin actually believed that.

Most of the evening was spent in the backyard. In the waning sunlight, Fin sat on a tree stump with a plant identification book spread out across her legs, while Eddie rummaged around in the undergrowth. The lizard was still in his pocket, and it occasionally popped its head out before vanishing again. It wasn’t enough to have ferns or wildflowers, not for Eddie. He wanted this terrarium to be perfect—which meant native and rare plants. Along with whatever lizards wouldn’t eat each other. Two plants were safely dug up and transplanted. As for the lizard, it would remain a single occupant for now.

They set up the tank with food and water, and a few sticks for the lizard to climb on, and then they made dinner for themselves. Well, they heated up the mac and cheese. Then they retreated upstairs to Eddie’s room, where he played some video game on his laptop while Fin dug out a mystery book she hadn’t read yet. She liked the older ones best. The kind with moors and hidden attics and British words. There was a single bookshop in town, and mostly it dealt in donated mass market paperbacks and a few New York Times bestsellers that tourists would read. The owner, a middle-aged woman called Amalita, put aside any classic detective stories for Fin. Particularly the ones that always ended up in the fifty-cent bin.

Now Fin reclined on the bed and lost herself in historical London while Eddie attacked zombies in some medieval land. “Come on,” he was muttering. “Stop respawning—oh, come on. Healing yourself is a cheat.”

“Boss monster giving you a hard time?” asked Fin. She turned a page, the worn paper soft against her fingertips.

“It won’t stop eating health potions and getting bigger,” said Eddie. “You want a try?”

“I’ll pass.” Fin preferred the kinds of games where she went on quests to gather potion materials or fetch items for helpless villagers. Monster fights weren’t her thing.

When it was around nine, Fin dug out a sleeping bag from the hallway closet. She’d sleep on the floor, atop a foam pad with a borrowed pillow. She’d done it before when the cottage’s roof leaked. She took a step toward the bedroom, but a sudden noise made her go still.

A clatter—like pots rattling. “Mom?” she called down the stairs. But Mom was working the late shift again, wasn’t she? She shouldn’t have been back yet.

There was no answer.

Fin took a step toward the stairs. It was dark; Aunt Myrtle had no hall lights, saying they drained electricity. Fin cocked her head and listened.

Another clatter—this time even louder. Fin jumped. She set the sleeping bag down and poked her head into the bedroom. “Eddie?”

Eddie was in the midst of climbing up a virtual mountain, killing zombies the whole way. “Yeah?” he said distractedly.

“I think something’s downstairs.”

He frowned, pausing the game. “Something like . . .”

“Something that made a noise.”

His frown deepened. “Did you leave a window open?”

“I never open the windows,” she said. “Yours don’t have screens and bugs can get in.”

Eddie rose from his chair and walked to the doorway, head angled so he could hear better. For a moment, neither moved.

“Are you sure . . . ,” Eddie began—and then there was a distinct sound of something falling from the counter.

Eddie and Fin looked at each other, eyes wide and faces pale in the light of the computer screen. All of a sudden, that frozen image of zombies mobbing Eddie’s character seemed less than comforting.

“What do we do?” Fin whispered.

Eddie glanced around. Then he went to his closet and withdrew a—

“You have got to be kidding me,” Fin hissed. “A lacrosse stick? You don’t even play!”

“I used it to catch frogs once,” he whispered back. “And I don’t have a baseball bat.”

“Well, that’s great if our intruder is a frog!” Fin’s stomach turned over. “What if it’s the mugger?”

Eddie squared his shoulders. “We have to go downstairs. The only phone is downstairs. You grab the phone, I’ll go into the kitchen. If I yell, call someone.”

It was a terrible plan, and part of Fin wanted to shut the bedroom door and wedge a chair beneath the doorknob, but even if they did that, there was no way out. They were on the second story and there were no good trees to climb from the window. They were trapped.

“If I die, release the lizard in the forest, okay?” Eddie whispered. “Oh, and tell my mom I love her.”

Fin glared at him. “I am not touching that lizard, so you better live.”

He nodded and, still holding the lacrosse stick, began to edge toward the stairs. They moved as silently as they could. Eddie knew which stairs creaked, and he avoided them; Fin followed in his footsteps. They descended slowly, ever so slowly, and Fin thought she might shake apart, she was so scared.

This wasn’t her normal anxiety, that low buzz that crowded in on her thoughts at all hours of the day. This was well-earned fear—the rational kind.

When they reached the hallway, Eddie gestured her toward the living room, where the corded phone would be resting on the coffee table. Then he took a step into the kitchen. Fin considered grabbing him and dragging him with her, because he was her cousin and she didn’t want him to be murdered by some mugger because the only weapon they had was a frog-catching lacrosse stick.

But then he was too far out of reach. So she turned and tiptoed into the living room. There was barely enough light to see by—faint moonlight cast the edges of the furniture into fuzzy outlines and shapes. Fin navigated more by memory than anything else, creeping around the secondhand couch and bookshelves. There was a desk covered in scattered papers; this was where Aunt Myrtle conducted her business and took orders. Fin rested her hand on the phone and waited. Her heartbeat was a steady drum in her chest, pounding so hard she was sure anyone who came near enough would hear it.

She waited. For the sound of a fight, for a yell, for anything.

Eddie said, “Fin? Um. I think it’s coming from the sink.”

“The sink?” she said, and her hand slipped away from the phone. Sure enough, the kitchen was empty but for Eddie. He held the stick loosely at his side.

“Something’s shaking the sink,” he said. “That’s why a pot fell off the counter.”

“Seriously?” said Fin. “That can’t be—”

The sink quivered.

“Did something crawl down there?” said Eddie, sounding more alarmed than truly scared. “Did—did the lizard get out?” He turned and sprinted in the direction of their terrarium, tripping over a broom as he went. Fin remained still, watching. Every breath was sandpaper in her lungs.

She knelt, reached down, and opened the cupboard beneath the sink. There were a few bottles of half-full cleaning supplies: a lemon-scented soap for the floor, wood polish, and scattered rubber bands. The U-bend of the sink looked old, the plastic stained.

It shivered.

A bit of dust slipped to the floor. There was something alive down there. A mouse or maybe a whintosser. They had dealt with mice in the past, Eddie putting out cheese and boxes so he could release them back into the forest.

The pipe shuddered harder and Fin recoiled, tripping over her own legs. She fell, gazing at the dark space beneath the sink.

She wanted to cry out, to yell for Eddie. It was like one of those dreams when she couldn’t speak loud enough for anyone to hear her—and she was awake.

The wire-mesh sink strainer jumped, shook once, then flew into the air. It hit the counter, traces of food still trapped between the wires, and rolled to the floor. Fin gaped at it—then she saw the thing creeping up and out of the sink.

It moved like something boneless, weightless. It reminded her of a video she’d seen of squid gliding along an ocean floor.

One tendril slipped out of the sink’s drain, feeling about as if searching for something.

Then another tendril slipped free, and the creature lifted itself up and out of the pipe.

It was dark brown, slick and damp. For a moment it sat there, swaying back and forth. It was not like any animal that Fin had ever seen—it had no mouth, no eyes, no face.

It was not an animal at all. Which meant it had to be magic.

Fin could not breathe. She could not move. She feared if she even twitched a finger, that thing would see her and lunge.

And for the first time, Fin thought she understood why Mom had told Fin to stay away from the tea shop: because magic was not just hungry ravens and doors that led to places they should not. It was dark and slimy and something altogether unknown.

Fin’s lungs burned, and she took the shakiest of breaths.

The creature seemed to notice Fin. It had no eyes, but she had the distinct impression it was studying her. A ripple curved along its surface, and its edges solidified. It raised itself higher, sliding across the sink, one tendril wrapping around the neck of the faucet. As if readying itself to strike.

A shout came from behind Fin. Eddie stood there, his face stark in the pale moonlight, lips bloodless, but his expression hard with determination. He held the lacrosse stick like a spear.

The creature recoiled a few inches, shifting as its form changed.

“Get back,” Eddie said, threatening. “You—whatever you are.”

The creature glanced from Eddie to Fin, then it hunched in on itself. Coiling like a snake.

Fin scrambled to her feet, ready to run, when—

The creature launched itself into the air, but not toward Fin. Toward the window. The crack between window and frame was a quarter of an inch. But the narrowness did not deter the creature: it squeezed through the small space. A bit of stuff fell from it, landing wetly on the counter.

The creature was gone—and the kitchen was very still.

Fin heard Eddie’s ragged breathing a few feet away; he had yet to put down the lacrosse stick.

“What,” said Eddie, “was that?”

Fin reached one shaking hand to the counter and reached for the fallen piece.

“Don’t touch it! What if it’s an alien and infects you or something?” said Eddie, rushing forward. But Fin didn’t listen. She picked it up between thumb and forefinger. It slid between her fingers, soggy and slick. She recognized the smell.

“What is that?” asked Eddie.

Fin finally managed to speak. Her voice quavered, and it took two tries.

“T-tea,” she said, holding up the leaf. “It’s made of tea.”