There’s a click in the distance. Several someones just walked through the front doors of the school. I can hear low, furtive voices.
“I know you want to tell me something,” I say. “But if tonight doesn’t go our way, you won’t have the chance. Show me something that will help. Buy us some time. Anything.”
There’s a sharp sound. Rubber, squealing across pavement. My head whips to the side, but there’s no street there beyond the window. Just a playground, still and quiet in the desert night.
There’s a sharp, wet chill at my feet, and my head jerks down. There’s droplets of water blanketing the tile, sliding down the lockers. In the dark, they look thick and black.
Then seconds later, somewhere out in the street, I hear the crunch of metal and glass.
Out of the corner of my vision, the scenery shifts. And I shut my eyes tight.
“I don’t need to see that,” I whisper. They know that, don’t they? I’m not Gaby. I didn’t need to see the car. I didn’t need to see the body. And I don’t need to see what happens next.
“My.” The voice that answers instead is one I’ve only heard in person once. But it’s been following me around all day.
I open my eyes. Lotus Valley High has solidified, once again, before my eyes. The hallway is clean and dry. And Mayor Williams is walking toward me.
“Something wrong?” she says.
I take that tightness in my chest and exhale it out. “Communication issues.”
“There’s that wit,” she says, almost warm. “Ace Martin said you were funny.”
I can tell by the light, deliberate way she says the name: she’s trying to trip me up. “I liked Mr. Martin,” I say, just as deliberately. “I liked everyone.”
Her face doesn’t change. “I see,” she hums. “You liked them so much you’ll continue to put them at risk.”
I hold myself straighter. “I like them,” I say again, “so I’m going to do what I can to help.”
“And you know for sure that you’re helping,” she says.
My legs still feel wobbly, like all that blood and energy is redirecting to my pounding heart. But somehow I sound calm. “I’d love to,” I say. “But I’m not a prophet.”
She’s giving me that same vague, pleasant look. But I can tell that landed. “If you’ve heard that,” she says, very slowly, “then you’ve also heard I don’t do that anymore.”
“I have.” My voice does waver, this time. “But they’re not totally clear on whether you can’t—or won’t.”
The pleasantness slides away like fabric dropping to the floor. Fluid, soundless, final.
“And you think you know?” she says quietly.
“I think that either way, you could try,” I say. “And if you see something that could help, we could stop this together.”
She stares at me a long moment. Unblinking.
“You know what I know for sure, Rose Colter?” she says. “That you are dangerous. That’s the only information I need.”
She takes a step back and settles her shoulders. Then she slides her politician’s smile back into place as she sweeps past me.
“I hope you’ve said your goodbyes to that thing,” she calls over her shoulder as she disappears into the dark. “One way or another, it’s leaving tonight.”
* * *
—
FELIX HAS SET up a line of chairs on the stage when I make my slow, unsteady way to the auditorium. I collapse between Alex and Cassie, the chair creaking from my sudden shaky weight.
“We’ll start ten minutes late,” Cassie says. “At least.”
I blink at her. “You saw that?”
“No,” she says, shrugging. “That’s just a given.”
I briefly meet Felix’s and Alex’s parents, seated in the first row. Mr. Harper, almost as pale as his son, nods and smiles. Felix’s parents, who introduce themselves as Dr. Abbasi and Dr. Sohrabi, are much more animated. Dr. Abbasi, a stylish woman with a sleek bob and a British accent, nods diligently to our pleasantries and informs me she’ll look forward to my findings. Dr. Sohrabi is too busy taking video on his iPad.
“Baba,” Felix hisses.
“You all look so professional,” he gushes. One of Felix’s three sisters swats at his arm.
Sheriff Christie Jones arrives ten minutes later on the dot, holding her parasol over her head. She nods to us but keeps a careful distance. I can see the edges of her shadow quivering.
“I want you all to clean up after yourselves this time,” says a balding, exhausted-looking man into the mic. “I won’t ask twice.”
A cluster of teenagers in the back groan audibly. “This gym’s gonna be gone by Friday, Mr. B.”
“Then it will be pristine,” Mr. B says tightly, “until the moment it floats away.”
Mayor Williams arrives in a whirlwind moments later, like she’s just rushed in, like the two of us don’t know fully well that she’s been here for the last fifteen minutes.
“Christie,” she says, sugar-sweet.
Christie smirks. “Marge.”
The pale flash of anger across Mayor Williams’s face is quick enough that it’s safely filed away before the audience can catch it. “Let’s begin, then.”
But before Christie can open her mouth, the mayor gestures to a familiar face in the front row. “Ace, you had something to say?”
“Maggie.” Christie looks thrown. “We’d agreed to start with statements.”
“Due respect, Sheriff, I don’t think there’s a need for that.” Ace Martin eases himself off the seat. Maybe it’s my imagination, but he looks apologetic. “Ms. Colter had the entire day to make her case. And I have no doubt that she means well. But we’re unconvinced, me and mine. And we’re not willing to risk this any longer. Motion to begin the vote now.”
There’s a flurry of whispers through the auditorium, and to my shock, someone in the crowd stands up before any of us. I catch a flash of auburn curls against a peach uniform—Adrienne from the Sweet as Pie. I try to watch her without staring. “Doesn’t seem quite fair, Madam Mayor,” she says evenly. “I say let them talk.”
“Seconded,” Sandy Alvarez calls out. She’s looking straight at me, sincerity and concern in every inch of her face. I understand instantly why Christie and Cassie would never suspect her.
“One motion at a time, please,” the mayor says. “Would anyone like to second Ace’s proposal?”
“This is low, Maggie,” Christie says tightly.
“This is democracy at work,” the mayor chirps. “We’ve been having this conversation for years. I think we’re all quite sick of it, aren’t we?”
“Actually, I’ve foreseen several undecided votes.” John Jonas, second-most accurate prophet in Lotus Valley, smiles serenely at the stage. “Your assistant, Loreen, for example.”
“Thanks, John,” Loreen drawls, barely glancing up from their phone. “Way to narc.”
I don’t think anyone misses the gaps in Mayor Williams’s smile this time. “Then I’ll ask that you decide quickly,” she says. “I second Ace’s proposal. We’ll be holding the vote effective immediately.”
“You’ll be holding a vote.”
Gaby’s voice jolts through me, so completely out of context that I almost don’t recognize it. It’s only when I see the look on Christie’s face and feel that ancient old chill that I understand why the back of the auditorium has gone so dark.
The Mockingbird. And she’s not alone.
I catch familiar movements—the quick, hazy scurrying of the figures from the library, moving into the upper balcony seats, and the shadows at the ceiling bursting into chattering, snakelike streamers, just like at the movie theater. But they’re not the only ones. I can faintly see a figure by the stage curtains, thin and unnaturally tall, peering at us through stringy hair. And though I can’t tell what’s und
er Ace Martin’s seat, I see how pale he goes, how he mouths, It’s you.
“I can’t say I understand all of your laws, Madam Mayor,” the Mockingbird says, with Gaby’s voice. “But you can’t just turn to the end of the book, can you? If I grasp your rules correctly, before you can vote, you’ll need to vote on whether or not to proceed with a vote. Seems a bit circular to me. But if it makes you feel better.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. It’s not how she’d say it, obviously, but it’s just the way Gaby would twist it.
“Ms. Mockingbird.” Mayor Williams goes stiff. “I didn’t realize you’d be coming.”
“Mmm,” the Mockingbird says. “No. You hoped we wouldn’t.”
“Here to defend your buddy?” someone calls out, then promptly shrinks in his seat as the Mockingbird turns her focus to him.
“Here to cast our votes,” she says. “As is our right. The Flood is one of ours, yes, as is the sheriff’s pet. But we are here, first and foremost, as your neighbors.”
Once again, I can feel her attention shift without seeing it. “Several of us lack hands to raise, Madam Sheriff,” the Mockingbird says. “I’d be happy to tally on your behalf, if that’s sufficient.”
A bright, rueful smile spreads across Christie’s face. Wondering, I think, why she didn’t try this from the start. “I’ll trust you.”
The Mockingbird laughs. “Not always the wise choice, I’ll grant you.”
“All right, then.” The mayor’s fingers curl and uncurl. “All in favor of holding the vote immediately.”
A number of hands do go up. But I’m more surprised at how many don’t. Even Ace, his stare fixed on whatever’s hiding under his chair, doesn’t vote for his own proposal.
Rudy’s limbs don’t move. But Christie grimaces, sweat beading across her forehead, and glances at the parasol’s shadow. “One in favor here,” she manages. Whether Rudy managed to vote or just tried to lunge at me again, it’s hard to say.
“Six in favor here, as well,” says the Mockingbird. “Apologies, my clever one. But the confusion and chaos of my friend’s return, the emotions and memories that would come pouring out of every one of you—that would be quite the feast for some of them. You understand.”
There’s a high, lilting laugh from the rafters. The same we heard at the hospital. “Let us feed,” something whispers. “Let us feed.”
As if sensing my shoulders tense, one of the creatures from the movie theater slides around my neck and nuzzles. “Vote,” it chirps. “Vote.”
Christie turns back to the crowd. “And all against?”
The hands raise—the human palms high and open, the flickers at the balcony, the skeletal limb of the figure by the curtains. Alex reaches out to grip Felix’s arm, as if by reflex. I know the feeling. Even without the Mockingbird’s tally, it’s more than half.
But I can’t help but notice Theresa, directly in my line of vision, didn’t vote for either option. She’s too busy looking at me.
“Rose,” Christie says over her shoulder, “I believe that means the floor is yours.”
“Oh,” I say. Yes. Right. That was the plan.
I move forward on the stage, a few steps away from Alex, Felix, and Cassie. It’s like I’ve left them miles behind. Whoever wasn’t staring before, they are now.
With a burbling giggle, a few more creatures from the theater descend, weaving in and out of my legs. “Are,” one whispers.
“You,” another volleys.
“Familiar.”
“With.”
“The.”
“Entity.”
“That.”
“Was.”
“Born.”
“Here.”
I’m not saying this in front of the Mockingbird, but they’re my favorites.
“Yes, Ms. Colter,” the mayor says through her teeth. “What insight can you share with us?”
I could almost thank her. The quick jolt of anger is what I need to get started.
“Not much more than you could, maybe,” I say. “But I’ve spoken to them.”
Another rush of murmurs from the crowd. “And?” Theresa speaks this time, arms still folded.
When I hesitate, a quivering hand goes up toward the back. “Are they good?” a woman asks quietly. “Or bad?”
“I don’t think it’s like that,” I say. “I think they’re too different from us to say what they are. It’s like having a feeling you can’t describe to begin with, and then trying to describe it in another language. They told me they would destroy this place. But I think they’ve been trying to tell me why. And if I can figure it out, then maybe I can convince them to stop.”
Another round of murmurs. I can feel the Mockingbird nod approvingly at me.
“Why do you think they’re doing it?” Ace says. It’s not accusatory. Just curious.
“The Mockingbird said something changed them,” I say. “That they believed they couldn’t come back to this place without becoming the ocean they once were. I think they saw terrible things out there. And maybe now they can’t see anything else. I know you’re all scared. I can’t imagine how it feels, knowing that you might lose your homes. But this town was built on something bigger than fear. I don’t know if Rudy can stop this tomorrow. But there’s something you all owe the Flood first. Something every citizen of Lotus Valley was promised.”
“Which is what?” Theresa says.
“Hospitality,” I say. “A home for living things that can’t be home anywhere else. And more than anyone else here, this is the Flood’s home.”
There’s a near-unnatural stillness. It’s the mayor who finally breaks it.
“And do you think it’s fair,” she says, “that you’re both gambling with our homes?”
I open my mouth to answer. But I don’t get a chance. The overhead lights brighten, flooding the auditorium. And the scene changes.
Not now, I think. But then I realize that, once again, the memory we’re in isn’t mine.
The light lingers, spreading across the room, spilling from sconces and table lamps and floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a cabinet of fine china on one side, and on the other, a painting of boats at sea. And behind me, two blonde women, talking in heated whispers.
“Please.” The older woman raises her hands placatingly. “Just one prophecy. Even a little one. They came all this way—”
“I don’t want to.” The woman opposite her is nearly identical— same sweater set, same shade of lipstick. But the outfit and the makeup create an illusion of someone older. She’s my age. “I don’t want any more customers. I don’t want to see another future, ever.”
“You don’t mean that, Mags.” The older woman smiles. Her hard, pleading eyes don’t smile with her. “This is the most important thing you’ll ever do.”
I can see it the second it happens—the girl’s spine stiffening. Calcifying.
“If I could stop it right now,” she says quietly, “I would.”
The lights dim, and the house dissipates back into a stage. The girl lingers in my vision, at first. And then she fades into the woman opposite me. Same sweater set. Same lipstick. Looking so much more like her mother than I think she’d want to believe.
“Well?” Maggie Williams says.
She looks confident—which means she didn’t see what I did. Judging by a quick look around the auditorium, the Flood only showed it to me. But I smile. Not only because I see her, really see her now. But because back in the hallway, I asked the Flood to do anything they could to buy us some time.
And this, I can use.
“I don’t know, Mags,” I say. “Is it fair that you’ve made your childhood trauma our problem?”
Under the layer of makeup, I can see her go white. “Excuse me?”
“What’s the plan?” I say. “Make this place normal, bit by b
it? Hope that it’ll make you normal, too? Because pretty soon you’re not going to have a town to force your issues on.”
“Th-this is—” Maggie rounds on Christie. “Are you just going to let her—”
Christie beams, leaning back against the wall. “Yup.”
I never understood why Gaby liked picking fights. I’d asked her about it once. I don’t really like fighting, Gaby had said with a shrug. I like telling people about themselves.
I take a step toward Maggie. She rocks back on her heels. “I heard what you told John Jonas. That you saw a future where your abilities controlled this town,” I say. “That came true. You made it true. All these people are here tonight because what you can do scares you.”
“That’s not—” She whirls on the audience. “She knows she’s got no one but herself to—”
“Trust me, I’ve got plenty of blame for myself.” I almost waver. But I’ve come too far for that. “I am dangerous. But I’m not the only one. And if you’ve chosen not to help us just because you want to be normal? Whatever happens tomorrow is on you, too.”
“Enough of this!” Maggie’s voice breaks on the last word. Beyond her, I can see my words working their way through the crowd. “There is one reason and one reason alone why we’re all here, and it’s time we deal with the person responsible!”
“She’s not responsible!” Deputy Jay blurts out.
The whole auditorium turns to Jay. He’s been so quiet all night, I’d forgotten he was there.
“She didn’t choose this,” Jay says The words come slow, like they take effort. “There’s something you don’t know. Something I . . .”
The crowd looks baffled. Even Maggie. No one in our corner of the stage does.
“I’m sorry, Cassie.” Tears pool in his eyes as, for the first time, he looks at her. “You trusted me with this. No one’s ever done that before. And I . . .”
“What.” Cassie doesn’t sound angry. Or disappointed. Just final. “What did you do.”
“I never meant to say it,” he whispers. “It just happened.”
Twenty-Three
The Valley and the Flood Page 22