“God,” Quinn gasped. “There must be thousands of them.”
She squeezed her legs tight and let go of Pidge’s feathers with her hands, then raised the net high above her head. Pidge barreled straight into the butterflies. Quinn swept the net down through the swarm, gathering as many butterflies as she could before closing her hands tightly around the base of the net. The rope flexed against the butterflies trying to keep up with the rest of the group. Quinn twisted the net several times. Her fingers were already going numb. She knew there was no way that she could keep the net closed for long, not without a stick or something to tie the net shut, so she leaned into Pidge and turned her back toward the cave. With any luck, Meelie would be waiting for them, and she’d have found something Quinn could use to secure her catch.
* * *
“You can’t just take off like that,” Meelie scolded.
Pidge sulked toward her. Quinn didn’t budge, worried that the slightest movement would release the butterflies from her net.
“Did you find a stick? Or something I could use to tie this shut?”
Meelie produced a long pole and a small piece of rope.
“That’s perfect!”
“I told you I’d be right back. What were you thinking, running off into the night alone?”
Quinn handed Meelie the net, careful not to let go of the closed end until Meelie had tied the net shut with a length of rope.
“I wasn’t thinking. I saw the migration, and I just went after the butterflies. I couldn’t risk losing them. We’d have been stuck here all night.”
“Or we’d have made a torch and been fine.”
Quinn bit her lip. “That seems . . . easy. Why didn’t I think of that?”
“Heaven knows, bunny. Makes a whole lot more sense than this bag of butterflies.”
Quinn had to laugh. Something about the other realm and all the magic there had caused her to skip right over the simplest solution. “Maybe this is better,” she argued. “You said they move in some sort of pattern. Let’s follow them and see where they go.”
“Why would we do that?”
“Well, we don’t have any idea where to look for a heart flower. If we’re going to wander around the desert, shouldn’t we at least let these things lead the way?”
Meelie thought for a moment. “I suppose so. If there’s danger, they’re a heck of a lot more likely to move away from a threat than toward something that could harm them. Let’s give the plan a shot.” She handed the net, now secured and fastened to the pole, back to Quinn. “Scoot,” she ordered, climbing onto Pidge.
Quinn slid back on Pidge, putting one arm around Meelie’s waist and holding the pole with her other.
“Wedge that thing down into my boot. That’ll take some pressure off your arm.”
Quinn did as she was told.
Above them, the butterflies strained to break free.
“All right, now. Follow that light,” Meelie said to Pidge, nudging the animal sharply with her heel.
The three of them bounced across the desert, watching the glowing captives bend and stretch the net. They couldn’t see more than a few hundred feet in front of them. They were completely at the mercy of the butterflies and their instinctive flight.
“Where do you think they’re going?” Quinn asked.
“Who knows?”
“How long do you think before we get there?”
“Could take all night. Or we could be there any minute. Hard to say, bunny. We’re just along for the ride.”
The thought made Quinn feel helpless again. After years with Riley’s illness and the countless hospital visits, Quinn was used to feeling this way. She had learned almost immediately that she couldn’t control her sister’s sickness. But this was different. The one thing Quinn had always relied on, the one constant between them, was that she never left Riley’s side on a bad night. She was always there.
“Riley must be so scared,” she thought out loud. “She shouldn’t be alone tonight.”
“We’ll get you back, bunny. That’s a promise sure as I’m sitting on this hen. I won’t rest till you’re home.”
Just then, Quinn had a realization that made her stomach drop.
“Meelie, what if these butterflies are going somewhere we can’t follow?”
“What do you mean?”
“You said yourself that this hen can’t fly.”
“Speak plain, bunny.”
“These things don’t know that.”
“They could take us right off a cliff—”
“Or straight into the ocean—”
“And we wouldn’t have the foggiest idea until—” Meelie trailed off.
The two of them held tighter to Pidge and to each other, training their eyes on the expanse before them. The night was so dark that the world seemed to end, as though the desert was a universe expanding beneath their feet. Above them, the butterflies glowed, the closest thing they had to starlight. They could only guess at what lay ahead, reluctant explorers in an uncharted night.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Riley awoke with a start. She looked down to see an IV running from her hand. The nurses had always struggled to hit the veins in her arm. Sure enough, she saw that she had a cotton ball taped to each one.
“Quinn? Mom?”
Neither responded.
Riley searched for the bedside remote, then flicked on the overhead lights. The room was completely empty. She tried not to panic. Quinn had probably just stepped out to find a snack, or maybe she was in the bathroom.
She glanced over to the bathroom door and saw light peeking from within, which calmed her for a moment. Of course that’s where she was. Quinn never left her alone in the hospital, especially when she was sleeping. She settled back onto her pillow and waited, staring at the light like the glow was a bridge to some other world. Her eyes began to water.
None of this was fair. Not to her. Not to her family. Adults always talked about how they wished they could be kids again, but that was a lie. No one wanted to stay a kid forever. No one wanted to be born knowing that they’d never grow up. Her heart was a time bomb, her life a children’s story. Even at seven, she knew as well as anyone that when people spoke of her, there would only ever be one chapter, a handful of pages and a few pictures to remember her by.
To remember. What sort of kid woke in the middle of the night wondering how her family would remember her? She tried to push the thoughts from her head, turning again to the light beneath the bathroom door. How long had Quinn been in there? The minutes felt like lifetimes.
“Lifetimes I’ll never have,” Riley whispered to herself.
She rolled her eyes and groaned.
“Enough,” she said, pushing herself to a sitting position.
“Quinn!” she shouted toward the bathroom.
No response.
“Quinn! Answer me!”
Still nothing.
“I need to pee!”
Silence.
Riley growled, her frustration vibrating at the base of her throat before she doubled over, wheezing. Once she’d caught her breath, she gripped the IV stand and slid down the bed until her feet planted on the floor. She felt weak, barely able to support herself. Her legs were heavy, so she shuffled her way to the bathroom. Once there, she banged on the door.
“Quinn, hurry up!”
She pressed her ear to the door, but heard nothing. No water running. No rustling of clothes. Just a loud, lonely silence. She turned the handle and was surprised to find the door unlocked. Stepping inside, she stared into a bright, yet empty, bathroom. For the first time, Riley felt alone. No, she didn’t feel alone. She was alone.
* * *
“Riley? Riley, can you hear me?”
Someone was shouting. The words echoed in her ear. She tried to open her eyes, but the light made them burn. Her throat ached, and her head was rattling like an old farmhouse in an earthquake.
“Riley? Can you hear me?”
“Yeah,�
� she muttered.
Her mouth felt sticky and hot. She braced herself with her hands. The surface was cold and hard, not at all like the scratchy hospital sheets she was used to. She tried to sit up, which made her head throb.
“Careful, sweetie. You took a bad spill.”
Riley felt a hand on her back.
“Slowly, now,” the voice said. “We don’t want you to fall again.”
“What happened?” Riley asked, forcing her eyes open.
She looked around, taking a moment to process the scene. She was on the bathroom floor. Next to her, blood was on the grout between tiles.
“You don’t remember?”
Riley searched her thoughts, frowning at the dull pulse inside her head.
“Quinn—I was looking for Quinn.”
“And Quinn is?”
“My sister,” Riley answered, confused that her nurse wouldn’t know that. “Haven’t you met her?”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I didn’t realize you had a sister.”
“Did you just get here?” Riley asked.
Shift change could be confusing at the hospital. Nurses sometimes forget to warn those taking over Riley’s room that Quinn would be staying with her.
“No, I’ve been here all night. I helped you change into your gown, remember?”
“So, my sister —she hasn’t been here at all?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“What about my mom?”
“She said that she had to go take care of something. She should be back soon. Would you like me to call her for you?”
Something was very wrong. Quinn was missing. Her mother was gone. They had never just left her in a hospital room. Riley’s heart started to beat faster, making her feel dizzy.
“I don’t feel so good,” she whispered.
“Do you need to throw up?”
“No. Can you help me back to my bed? I think I need to lie down?”
“Of course, sweetie. Just as soon as we get you out of this gown.”
That’s when the smell hit Riley. She was soaked in urine. She ripped the wet clothing from her body and clenched her fists, refusing to succumb to the tears returning to her.
The nurse bent closer to her, putting Riley’s arms around her neck before scooping her off the floor. For an older woman, she was surprisingly strong. Riley had never been very heavy, but the nurse lifted her and strode to the bed with ease. She lowered Riley back onto the mattress slowly, careful not to let go until Riley’s head was supported by the pillow.
“Now just sit tight, sweetie. I’m going to get a sponge bath ready, and something to clean up that nasty cut on your head.”
Riley put a hand to her head. The hair was warm and wet. She looked at her fingers which were now red with blood. She tried not to cry, but she couldn’t prevent the tears. She was scared and alone. Why had her family left her? What was so important that Quinn hadn’t even visited? The questions made her tired. She closed her eyes, drifting off.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” the nurse said, reentering the room with gauze and alcohol wipes. “I know you’re tired, but I can’t let you sleep. Not just yet.”
“Why not?”
“You hit your head pretty hard. We need to check a few things before I can let you sleep.”
“What are you checking for?”
“Don’t you worry about that, sweetie. We’ll take good care of you.”
“I’m not stupid,” Riley snapped. “I may be a kid, but I’m in the hospital all the time. If you’re going to test me for something, I want to know what the test is for.” She was yelling now.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dismissed you like that.”
Riley glared at her for a moment, then burst into tears. She wanted to be angry. She wanted to yell. But inside all she felt was scared.
The nurse leaned onto the bed, hugging her. “Hey, now. You’re going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry,” Riley sniffled.
“Don’t worry. We nurses are used to being yelled at.”
“I’m just—I don’t understand—why would my mom leave me here? And where is my sister? I’m only seven. I’m not supposed to be by myself.”
“I’m sure whatever their reason, they’ll be here very soon. I’ll try to reach your mom just as soon as I get you cleaned up, okay?”
“Okay,” Riley choked between sobs. “Thanks.”
“That’s what I’m here for, sweetie.” She smiled at Riley, then began wiping the blood from her forehead.
Riley closed her eyes again, wincing as the alcohol trickled into the cut. She focused on the cold burn of the sanitizing squares and the spongy softness of the gauze, trying not to think about where her family had gone. Before long, she was slipping into sleep again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Quinn and Meelie had been in the desert for what felt like days. Their water was gone, and their legs were beginning to cramp. Quinn was having muscle spasms in her forearm from gripping the pole, yet she refused to relax her fingers. The butterflies were stronger than she imagined, and she was convinced that they’d take off into the sky in an instant if they could. That pole was her only hope of saving Riley; without a butterfly net, they’d be forced to set up camp in the desert until the sky was bright enough to navigate.
“You okay back there?” Meelie asked, breaking the silence that had settled between them.
“I’m sore, but I’m managing. How much farther do you think they’ll take us?”
Meelie peered up at the sky. “Hard to say. The night’s still young.”
“Do you have any clue where we are?”
“I surely don’t. Truth is, there’s a lot to this place that I never bothered to learn. I wouldn’t be surprised if I’ve only seen a sliver of this world.”
“How big is this place, anyway?”
“I can’t say for sure. I know back home the chickens could cover seven or eight miles in an hour. Figuring that this one here is a whole lot bigger, she can probably cover at least twice that. I’ve gone as many as five hours in any one direction, so that works out to . . .” Meelie trailed off, drawing numbers in front of her.
“About eight hundred miles of desert,” Quinn broke in.
Meelie whistled. “Man alive. You sure that math is right?”
“Pretty sure. I’m in Algebra 2 right now.”
“Algebra 2? Your school has more than one kind of algebra?”
“Well, no. The math is the same, but the second class covers more complicated types of problems.”
“Wow. Most girls I knew had already quit school by the time they were your age, kid. But that was a different time, then. Few people cared if we girls had finished school. Most jobs offered to women didn’t require much education anyhow.”
“Did you finish high school?”
“I did. Bounced around a bit to get there, but I managed. Mother even set me up at a junior college for a bit. Didn’t stick, though.”
“Why not?”
“You know about the Great War?”
“You mean World War I? Or World War II?”
“I’d forgot all about there being a second war,” Meelie said, her voice cracking. “Should have seen that one coming with that man in Germany riling up all of Europe.” She went quiet.
“So you quit college because of the war?”
“I guess you could say that. I went to visit my sister around Christmastime, and the hospitals were just full of our boys from the war. I couldn’t stand the idea of not helping, so I left school and started volunteering at a hospital with the Red Cross.”
“Do you ever regret not graduating from college?”
“Not for one minute. The hospitals are where I got an itch for flying, listening to the boys and all their stories about the Royal Flying Corps.”
“I never pictured myself dropping out of high school.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I can’t exactly help Riley and finish school back home.”
>
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
Quinn was looking off to the left, trying to work out a cramp forming in her neck.“Uh, Meelie?”
“What’s wrong, bunny?”
Quinn raised her hand and pointed to the ground. There was a definitive edge, beyond which everything went black, and the edge was closing in on them. They shifted their eyes in front of Pidge, trying hard to see what they were running toward. Darkness opened up ahead of them like a pool of black tar.
“This must be a cliff!” Quinn shouted. “What are we going to do?”
“Hold on, bunny! I don’t think we’ll be able to slow down in time.”
Meelie bent down, talking to Pidge. “Now or never, old girl.”
She tugged on Pidge’s wings with both hands. Pidge stiffened, bawking frantically. “Get ready, Quinn!”
Pidge ran straight off the cliff, clawing for dirt and twisting her body.
“Fly, damn it. Fly!”
Meelie pushed and pulled Pidge’s wings in desperation.
Quinn looked below them; she couldn’t see anything. They could be twenty feet in the air or twenty stories. She thought about bracing for impact just as Pidge began flapping her wings. Her muscles were tense, but her stomach had begun to settle. They were in a controlled descent, which was better than nothing. Hopefully, she thought, they’d find something solid to stand on at the end of the fall.
Meelie let out a guttural yell and pumped her fists in the air.
“Not the smoothest takeoff I’ve ever been a part of, but we’re in the air, Quinn. We’re flying!”
Quinn had to laugh. Whatever waited for them at the bottom paled in the wake of Meelie’s joy. Quinn could feel the energy pulsing through Meelie’s entire body.
“I’ve spent the better part of a century on the ground, bunny.”
“I guess sometimes you just have to close your eyes and jump.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Quinn closed her eyes. The wind howled in her ears. Or was that Meelie shouting again? Quinn didn’t care. She stuck out her tongue to taste the air. For the third time that night, her stomach dropped.
“Meelie,” she whispered.
“I know. No mistaking that smell.”
The air around them was cool, damp, and unmistakably sweet. They were gliding over the ocean with no way to tell when they’d hit the water, or how far from shore they already were.
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