Three

The Big House

“I don’t give refunds,” said Aunt Myrtle as Eddie pushed the front door open. Fin followed closely at his heels.

Her heart was still unsteady. The sight of Talia being wheeled away on a stretcher was all she saw when she closed her eyes.

It was fine. Talia would be fine. She’d fallen; people did that all the time, didn’t they?

“No,” said Aunt Myrtle into the phone. It was a landline, like all the phones in Aldermere. Cell phones only started working about twenty miles south of town. It had nothing to do with magic; there were simply no cell towers within range of Aldermere. Aunt Myrtle saw Eddie and Fin, and all the irritation melted from her face. She gave them a smile, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Snack,” she mouthed. Then, into the phone she said, “Because I read tarot—I don’t do weather predictions.”

Eddie laughed quietly as he led the way into the kitchen. It was a tight fit: the kitchen was narrow, with low counters mostly filled with old mail, potted plants, and seashells that needed cleaning. The big house was always cluttered, but it was a comfortable, lived-in clutter. There were herbs drying in bundles hung from ceiling rafters, scuffed wooden floors, and secondhand books piled up in the corners. Eddie walked to the old fridge and pulled it open. “Protein ball?” he asked, pulling a plate out. The balls resembled unbaked cookie dough, but Fin knew better than to trust them. They were probably filled with chia seeds and oat flour.

“I’m good,” said Fin. She wasn’t lying. Her stomach was still too unsettled to think about food.

Eddie shrugged and popped one into his mouth. Fearless, even in this. He chewed and said gummily through his mouthful, “She added bits of almond this time. More crunch.”

Fin made a face, mildly amazed and disgusted.

“You want some juice?” asked Eddie, grabbing a glass jug.

Her throat was dry and the organic cranberry juice sounded good, but Fin shook her head. She wasn’t even sure why she refused—and the moment she did, she wanted to take it back.

“So now what?” she said quietly, so Aunt Myrtle couldn’t overhear.

Eddie drained half a cup of juice. “Now what?”

Fin gave him a hard look. “What are we going to do about the science fair?”

“Finish our poster, hopefully,” said Eddie. “And then get started on our terrarium. You want to be in charge of digging up plants or catching lizards?”

“Eddie,” said Fin, exasperated. “I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” replied Eddie. “There’s no way you’re catching lizards. You’re on plant duty.”

She crossed her arms. As much as she loved her cousin, Eddie had never truly understood. When she’d tried to explain the one time, he’d looked baffled. “If you’re scared, why don’t you think about something else?” he had asked.

Fin didn’t know how to explain that asking her not to think about something was like asking her not to breathe. She could only manage it for so long before all of her thoughts came rushing back. And then she wondered if something was wrong with her, because no one else she knew was followed by a low, constant background noise of fear.

It wasn’t even a fear of monsters or being kidnapped or anything else that would be understandable. No—Fin couldn’t pick up a ringing phone, couldn’t answer the door if she didn’t know who was on the doorstep. Her voice would crack if she had to speak to a stranger; she fretted over homework again and again until she was sure every answer was right. And those were only the fears she recognized. There were other, nameless fears. Ones that lurked in the moments between waking and sleeping. They were half-remembered nightmares, ones that broke apart when she tried to recall them.

Fin thought of the science fair and a full-body shudder rolled through her.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she said.

Eddie nudged her gently with his shoulder. “Come on. You read a few lines off a notecard. You stand by a terrarium for two hours and tell people what species of plants and lizards are native to Northern California. Then we watch River and his amazing mechanical windmill he built out of toothpicks that actually turns wind into electricity to power a clock win the fair because he always wins.” Eddie tilted his head back, eyes slipping shut, as if he were imagining a world in which River did not go to their school. He looked rather happy about it.

“I don’t want to win,” said Fin, which was an utter lie. “I just want to get through the speech without throwing up on someone.” Which was true.

“I love your goals,” said Eddie. “Now, we do need to start that poster. Want to work on it tonight?”

Fin shook her head. “It’s Tuesday,” she said. “Can we do it tomorrow?”

Understanding lit in Eddie’s eyes. “Oh, yeah. Delivery day. Well, tell Mr. Hardin I said hi.” He grabbed another protein ball.

The sound of heavy footsteps proceeded Aunt Myrtle. She walked into the kitchen, looking as she always did—swathed in a loose skirt, folds of fabric draped elegantly about her shoulders in a shawl. Her feet were bare, toenails painted purple.

“Someone wanted a refund, Mom?” asked Eddie, picking up another protein ball. He popped it into his mouth.

“It happens sometimes,” said Aunt Myrtle. “Some people don’t like what the cards say.”

Aunt Myrtle was the kind of person who made salads of foraged dandelion greens and freshly grown turnips, every mouthful bright with lemon and basil. She would drive for an hour down the winding forest highways until she reached the beach, where she collected broken seashells and shards of abalone, fashioning them into wind chimes that she sold to the gift shop. She painted watercolor postcards. And she occasionally read tarot for the tourists who came by the Foragers’ Market.

“Why do you only read tourists’ fortunes?” Fin had asked once, when she had watched three teenagers go giggling from Aunt Myrtle’s table. She wasn’t sure what to call a group of teenagers. A herd? No—a gaggle. Definitely a gaggle.

Aunt Myrtle had answered, “Because people around here know better. Out there, in the world, fortunes will be like ivy with no soil to grow in—they’ll wither away. But here, prophecies grow like weeds. It’s why I never look at my future—or my family’s. You never know what might happen.”

Now Aunt Myrtle poured water into the electric kettle. It was the most modern thing in the kitchen. There wasn’t even a microwave—things had to be heated up on the old electric stove. “You two going to work on your science fair project?”

“I need to go to the Ack,” Fin said. “Tuesday deliveries.”

Aunt Myrtle nodded. “You be back before eight, okay? I don’t want either of you out after dark. Not with what happened.”

Eddie and Fin went still. She had asked Eddie not to mention going to the tea shop for fear that Mom would find out and be mad. Fin and Eddie managed not to share a guilty glance, but Fin knew it was more out of luck than any skill at deception.

“Why?” said Eddie. “What happened?”

Aunt Myrtle shook coffee grounds into a filter. For all that she looked like the type who should have been drinking tea with flowers floating in the water, Aunt Myrtle was fiercely addicted to coffee. “Oh, yes, I forgot you were in school. Mrs. Brackenbury was mugged earlier today.”

She might as well have said Mrs. Brackenbury had grown wings and flown to the ocean. Fin had known places where she had to be aware of muggers—she even had a dim memory of her mother handing over her purse to a strange man in a parking lot. But Aldermere was safe. It had fewer than three hundred people, most of them old and retired. Tourists came and went, but they wore shiny hiking boots and bought overpriced redwood forest calendars. Kids were used to running around in Aldermere without fear of dangerous traffic or strangers . . . because it had precious little of either.

“She got mugged?” said Eddie blankly. He and Fin shared a confused glance.

Aunt Myrtle nodded. “Someone took her shopping bag and ran off. She didn’t see who it was.”

“Mrs. Brackenbury is, like, ninety,” said Eddie. “Who robs an old lady?”

Aunt Myrtle regarded her son with a small smile. “You’d be surprised, sweetheart.” She kissed Eddie on the crown of his head, and he looked both pleased and a little embarrassed.

“She going to be okay?” asked Fin quietly. She thought of Talia, on the floor of the tea shop. But Talia hadn’t been mugged; she had fallen.

“Mrs. Brackenbury wasn’t injured,” said Aunt Myrtle. “More startled than anything else. She’d been doing her weekly errands: went to the grocery store, talked to a few friends, visited the tea shop, and then someone knocked her down. She said that if she found out who took her shopping bag, she’d send Mr. Bull after them.”

Mr. Bull was Mrs. Brackenbury’s old and lumpy bulldog. He spent his days napping on her front porch and begging passersby for ear scratches.

“Terrifying,” said Eddie, managing to keep a straight face.

“So that’s why I’d like you both home before dark,” said Aunt Myrtle. “I don’t think either of you have anything to worry about, but better safe than sorry.”

Fin’s deliveries rarely took longer than an hour, so it wouldn’t be a problem. “When’s my mom supposed to get home?” she asked.

Aunt Myrtle sighed. “She’s working a late shift, honey. She said there were leftovers in the fridge, or you could eat with us if you want.”

Fin nodded. She knew she’d eat dinner in the cottage; she didn’t want to overstay her welcome.

She slipped out of the kitchen before anyone could notice she was leaving.