Twelve

Tea Fin

The girl stepped out of the doorway, down the two wooden stairs, and walked toward Fin.

She didn’t move like Fin. Her stride was firmer, her shoulders thrown back, her stubborn chin pointed forward. Her silver eyes caught and held the light, and when she smiled, Fin recognized her.

This was who Fin sometimes glimpsed in window reflections—those moments when she wondered if she could be fearless, could be brave, could be comfortable in her own skin. This girl did not cower when faced with the world: she dared the world to face her.

It both was and was not Fin.

“W-what . . . ,” Fin said, and didn’t know how to finish.

The girl who looked like Fin tilted her head, her smile tightening at the edges.

“You’re too late,” she said again. “All the tea is gone.”

Too late. Too late. The words crowded out all other thoughts. Fin was too late, and this creature had stolen all the magical tea. She’d used it to become this—this thing.

A monster that looked like a girl.

Fin raised the lacrosse stick high.

“You stay back,” she said. “Or—”

The Fin made of tea laughed—and it was Fin’s laugh: a chortle with a snort at the end. Fin always tried to tamp it down because that laugh was embarrassing, but this girl didn’t care.

“You’ll what?” said the Tea Fin. “Score a goal at me?”

“You’re not supposed to exist,” Fin said. “When Talia gets back—”

“When Talia gets back, you’re going to have to tell her that she shouldn’t have trusted you with that key,” said Tea Fin. “Have fun with that.”

Fin’s jaw went tight. For the first time, anger flared deep within her belly.

“You shouldn’t exist,” she said hotly. “I did everything Talia did. I paid for my tea with a memory and—”

“You did,” agreed Tea Fin. She took a step closer, and Fin took a step back. “Bet you never wondered where those memories went. What happened to them.”

It was true—she’d never once considered that. She had thought them gone forever.

“I’m everything you forgot, Fin,” said the girl. “Luckily for you, memories aren’t so easily destroyed. That mortar carries the echoes of so many. Including yours.”

The words fell between them like a lead weight.

Fin gaped at her.

“Now,” said Tea Fin, “we’re going to split up. I’ve got things to do—people to find, scores to settle. And if I know you, which I do, you’re going to want to help her.” Tea Fin gestured at the overgrown grass near Fin’s feet. For a moment, Fin didn’t look; it was probably a trick, a way to get her to glance away. Then the monster would attack.

A low croak came from the grass. Startled, Fin leaped to one side, heart hammering, and saw the creature—or rather, she didn’t see it. The bird was a smudge of darkness against an already dark ground. Its wings rustled, and it croaked balefully at her.

A raven. It was sitting in the grass, small and inky black. A distant part of Fin wondered why the bird didn’t fly away.

Fin looked up at Tea Fin. The monster’s smile had gone, and all that was left was something hard. Her silver eyes glinted like steel.

Tea Fin turned on her heel and walked toward the darkness of the trees. She moved like—like something liquid. Fin took half a step after her, lacrosse stick still clutched in her hand.

She had to stop the monster.

“Don’t move,” she snapped.

Tea Fin didn’t stop; she merely glanced over her shoulder. “You need to get that bird to Edward.”

It took Fin a moment to realize that she meant Eddie. No one called Eddie by his full name except for the first day of school or if Aunt Myrtle was in a rare bad mood.

Fin knelt, and sure enough, the bird had a crooked wing. And abruptly, she remembered what Cedar had said about the break-in at Mr. Madeira’s home.

“He only noticed when the ravens started shrieking up a storm.”

Perhaps it hadn’t just been the break-in that had disturbed the ravens—maybe Tea Fin had injured them in an attempt to keep them quiet, taken one hostage when it hadn’t worked. Had she kept the raven all this time? To keep the other ravens at bay? To intimidate them? Or to distract Fin long enough to escape?

Fin shoved the lacrosse stick under her arm, then carefully reached down and placed her hands around the raven’s wings. It croaked weakly in protest, but it didn’t try to peck or escape. Fin rose, the bird in her hands, and she looked up.

The monster was gone.

Eddie was in his pajamas when Fin knocked at the back door of the big house. He wore loose sweats too big for him—no doubt bought secondhand—and a toothbrush hung from the corner of his mouth. When he spoke, his words came out gummy.

“Wha,” he managed to say.

Fin knew she must have looked ridiculous: hair tangled, lacrosse stick jammed under one arm, and a raven held between both hands.

“It’s hurt,” she said. “I—I found it.”

She added that last bit when Aunt Myrtle rounded the corner. Aunt Myrtle wore her soft robe, and her frizzy hair was braided down her back. “Oh, sweetie,” she said, when she saw the raven and Fin.

“I found it on my way home,” Fin said. The words may have been a lie, but the quaver in her voice was real.

“Come on in.” Aunt Myrtle opened the door wider and Fin stepped inside. “You know you don’t have to knock.”

The truth was, Fin wasn’t always sure. The big house was a home—but it wasn’t Fin’s home. Her home was the tiny cottage out back.

They took the raven to the bathroom, where Eddie snapped into action. He retrieved a box and added a soft towel before Fin carefully placed the bird inside. It croaked again, this time sounding more weary than protesting. Eddie filled a small bowl with water and offered it to the bird. It considered the shiny edge of the bowl, nibbling at it with the tip of its beak before dipping into the water and tipping its head back in a birdish swallow.

“Good,” Eddie murmured, more to himself than to Fin. “She’s healthy enough to be thirsty.”

“How do you know it’s a girl?” asked Fin, blinking.

Eddie shrugged. “Just do.”

Fin didn’t question; Eddie’s knack for animals was something she’d never understand, but she trusted him.

Aunt Myrtle stood in the doorway. The bathroom was too small for all three of them. “You should take the bird to Nick at the gas station tomorrow before school,” she said. “He’s worked with ravens before.”

“Not animal control or bird vets or something?” asked Fin.

Aunt Myrtle shook her head. “Nick’ll decide if that’s necessary. He’s good with that kind of thing.” She trudged down the hallway, and Fin heard her rummaging around in the kitchen.

Eddie leaned closer. “All right,” he said quietly. “What really happened?”

Fin lowered her voice. “How do you know I didn’t just find her?”

“Because you don’t typically walk back from town council meetings alone with a lacrosse stick,” said Eddie. “Unless the meetings have gotten way more interesting.”

Fin bit down on her lower lip. “It’s . . . it’s a long story. Can I tell you tomorrow?”

Eddie looked a little hurt, but he nodded. “Okay. We’ll have to get up early to bring the bird to Nick before school, anyways. You can tell me then.”

All the while, he was still holding out the water to the raven. She drank twice more, then ruffled her feathers.

“My mom’ll be home any minute,” said Fin. “I . . . I should go.”

Eddie glanced down at the bird. “I’ll take care of her.”

Fin knew he would—that was why she’d brought the raven to him. “Good night,” she said. She began to walk out of the bathroom, then hesitated. “Eddie?”

“Yeah?” He looked up from the raven.

Fin swallowed hard. “Lock your doors and windows tonight.”

Eddie’s skin was both tanned and freckled from hours spent in the sun, but now Fin watched as the color drained from his face. He understood, even if she didn’t say the words.

“You . . . ,” he began to say, but he faltered. Fin knew what he was trying to say: “You found it?”

Fin nodded jerkily.

Eddie’s gaze dropped to the injured raven, and his mouth flattened into an angry line. It took a lot for Eddie to get angry, but anyone hurting an animal would set him off instantly.

“I’ll make sure nothing gets in,” he said, and Fin’s shoulders wilted with relief.

Fin walked out of the bathroom and passed Aunt Myrtle. She had a plate with bits of cooked rice on it, probably leftovers for the raven. “You going back to the cottage?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Fin said. “I’m tired.”

It wasn’t a lie. Now that the raven was safe, exhaustion settled into her every limb. Her bed sounded wonderful—provided it was behind a locked door, of course.

Fin remembered the eerie grace of the monster—of Tea Fin—creeping up out of the sink and through that crack in the window. Fin would have to make sure every window in the cottage was secure before she could sleep. At least Mom would lock the door behind her when she came home. Even if Aldermere was safe, Mom would never sleep in an unlocked house.

“You did a nice thing, sweetie,” said Aunt Myrtle, patting her on the shoulder. “Saving that bird. I’m proud of you.”

The words sank into Fin like splinters, sharp slices of pain that she wanted to dig out. She wasn’t brave or nice; she’d stolen tea, unleashed a monster—a monster that had broken into Mr. Madeira’s home, injured a bird, stolen Talia’s spare key, and made off with every bit of magical tea in Aldermere. It was only a matter of time until people figured it out and Fin would have to let the world know how badly she’d screwed up.

She thought of the disappointed expression on her mother’s tired face, and her stomach clenched.

No, Fin thought. Things weren’t hopeless yet. Fin knew what the monster looked like, and she would find it again. She would stop it.

Fin walked to the back door. She took a breath of the peppery redwood air and began to step outside.

She froze mid-step.

The cottage was fifty feet from the big house. It had never seemed a long distance, but now it looked as wide as a football field. Fin hadn’t understood the true meaning of night, not until she’d moved to Aldermere. Cities always had streetlights, car headlights, distant glows from shopping centers or storefronts. But in the forest, where the branches were so thick they crowded out moonlight, the darkness was impenetrable. The cottage was tucked against the edge of that forest, its windows black and door locked. Because Fin had made sure to lock it.

Her fingers found her house key jammed deep in her pocket. She held it so tightly that its metal teeth bit into her skin.

Go on, she thought. Step down. Just step down. Do it on the count of three. One, two, three—

She didn’t move.

Things lurked in the dark. Tea Fin and the monster that lived in Bower’s Creek and the ravens that slept in the trees overhead and those deer with the strange shadows.

Be brave.

She stepped down from the doorstep, walking as quickly as she could without breaking into a jog. If she could pretend she wasn’t afraid, maybe the fear wouldn’t be real, either.

The long grass brushed her bare fingers as she walked toward the cottage. The forest loomed ever closer, the tall branches catching what little moonlight fell across the ground.

She was fine. It was fine, she was—

A branch snapped somewhere to her left.

Fin broke into a sprint, her breath coming in a jagged gasp. Her feet slammed against the ground and the grasses dragged at her jeans and shoes. She was too slow, and the cottage too far and—

She stumbled up the stairs and nearly fell against the front door. She tried to shove her key into the lock, but her hands were shaking too badly. She didn’t dare glance behind her. She had to unlock the door, unlock the door, unlock, un—

The key slid home and she twisted it. The door came open and Fin stumbled inside, yanking her key free and shoving the door shut with a loud bang. She leaned against it, gasping for air, heart beating so hard that it burned. She covered her mouth with one hand, trying to block out the sounds of her own breaths, and listened. For a footstep, for the sound of wet tea leaves falling against the wooden steps. For anything.

But she didn’t hear a thing.

She locked the door, climbed up to her loft, and unknotted the laces on her shoes. She let the shoes drop against the floor with soft thumps. She didn’t bother getting undressed; she buried herself beneath the covers. Maybe it was childish to think that blankets could protect her, but she felt better the instant she was beneath them.

She was safe.

Yet even as she calmed, a terrible thought occurred to her. She was safe—but Mom would still be walking home alone.

Fin lay there, wondering if she’d made a mistake by telling no one but Eddie about the monster. If she had, she’d have been in trouble—but also, people would know to be on their guard.

There was nothing she could do now. Nothing but lie awake and wait for her mother to come home.

It took twenty minutes. Twenty minutes that were an eternity. Fin heard someone unlocking the door and rolled over to see the familiar shape of Mom’s shoulders and short haircut silhouetted in the darkness.

Fin listened to Mom lock the door and stumble over Fin’s dropped shoes. There was something comforting in the grumble of Mom’s voice as she picked up Fin’s sneakers and tucked them against a wall. Then Mom walked into her small bedroom and shut the door behind her.

Fin lay there, gazing up at the ceiling. She didn’t glance at any of the windows.

After all, if she could see anything out there, it meant something could see her.