The Giantess and the wolfhound disappeared into the darkened yard. Nor flipped on the light switch beside the door. Behind her, she could hear the sounds of running water and Apothia humming to herself quietly in the kitchen.
Nor stared out at the trees, now illuminated by the triangle of light pouring from the porch light. Silently, she counted the lines of raised scars that marred her wrists and the crook of her elbows. She counted them until her hair no longer hung wet from the rain, until she no longer felt like she was choking on the pounding heart lodged in her throat.
It took a force of nature to drive pain away. And as Nor finally turned away from the door, she reminded herself that, while she may not have been such a force, her grandmother most definitely was.
The next morning the grass was wet and gleaming. The remains of yesterday’s rain shower dripped steadily from the pine needles. Bijou followed Nor down Meandering Lane but stopped just beyond the humming alpacas basking in the morning sunshine. It was a beautiful day, the sky a lapis lazuli blue, the leaves — dashes of red and gold and brown drifting across the pavement — the only sign that it was September, not April or March.
Along the side of the road were white yarrow, thistles, and a resilient geranium peeking out from beneath the gnarled root of a tree. Blue lupines swayed gently in the breeze. A few weeks ago, Kaleema had planted daffodil bulbs in the garden beds in front of their farmhouse. Come spring, the yard would be a mélange of yellows.
When Nor was young, she used to pretend daffodils were teacups. She’d have tea parties in the garden in front of the Witching Hour; Madge had once helped her stretch the quilt from her bed out across the dirt, and Nor had spent the day serving dandelion heads and handfuls of clover on the maple leaves she used as plates. Later, Madge had brought out cookies and sugary-sweet lemonade. While Nor had eaten, Madge had pulled her into her lap and woven garlands for Nor to wear in her hair.
It was one of the few happy moments Nor remembered from her childhood. She had no such memories of her mother. With Fern, kindness turned to malice far too quickly for it to be trusted. Causing people pain was a game to Fern, and Nor was often forced to play. It was a game Nor never won.
When Nor turned the corner, she found that the end of Meandering Lane had been transformed, as it was every other Saturday morning. The road, closed to any traffic, was a scattering of pop-up tents and folding tables. The usual locals and tourists ambled through the street. Mothers and fathers pushed small children in strollers as older siblings followed on bicycles. A young couple shared a cup of hot chocolate and cookies, warm and gooey, wrapped in crinkly white paper.
Eclectic pieces of installation art and handcrafted pottery were on display in front of the Artist Co-Op. Outside Theo’s mechanic shop, a collection of sea glass in shades of blue — azure and cerulean, cobalt and beryl — had been spread across a woven blanket.
“What do you mean, what’re they for?” Savvy scolded some poor passerby. “They’re pretty!” Savvy’s hair today was a sunset of hot pink and fiery orange, piled on top of her head in a mess of natural corkscrew curls.
Harper Forgette and Kaleema peddled their scarves and sweaters of alpaca wool beside Reuben Finch with his artichokes, rainbow chard, and parsnips, all of a size that surely only he could grow. Catriona, one of Nor’s former classmates, was selling smoked salmon and cedar grilling planks alongside her gentle — and equally pleasantly plump — mother. It wasn’t like they had ever been friends, really, and it seemed rather pointless to start pretending now, but Catriona waved, and Nor waved back.
As Nor climbed the stairs to the Witching Hour, she passed by the bakery, where she could see Bliss Sweeney, her hands deep in a billowy ball of dough, talking animatedly with a customer. A line a few people deep zigzagged its way out the door.
Nor was holding her breath when she walked inside the little shop, but whatever she was expecting, it wasn’t there. A few tourists perused bins of healing crystals; others awaited Vega, the on-site palm reader, to tell them their fortune. A group of chatty older women awaited this morning’s guided walking tour. Fern Blackburn’s book was prominently displayed by the cash register, but it didn’t seem to be garnering much attention. In fact, it didn’t look like they’d sold many copies at all.
Though her mother had been gone for years, there had never been a time when Nor hadn’t feared — even expected — her return. It had always seemed inevitable, a recurrent nightmare that leaked into her dreams. Even on the brightest of days, the dread of Fern’s return was a black smudge on the window, blocking out the light.
Perhaps her fears were unwarranted; perhaps her mother’s charismatic hold over people wasn’t quite as strong as Nor feared it might be. Or maybe she’d changed, transformed into someone benevolent and kind. Maybe they’d be lucky this time? But as soon as Nor allowed that thought to comfort her, she remembered this — no one in the Blackburn family had ever been considered lucky.
By late afternoon, the farmers’ market had been disassembled. The last whale-watching tour of the day had returned hours ago, and though Savvy had popped in a while back, Nor had quickly lost her to the tented space Vega used to conduct his readings.
In an attempt to keep herself from falling asleep behind the counter, Nor started to unpack a box of incense onto a nearby shelf. The names of these things had always amused her: Citrus Linen, Fresh Waterfall Mist, Heaven.
Who in the hell has to decide what heaven smells like? she thought. I would hate that job.
The sound of clanging bells drew Nor’s attention to the door. Madge entered the shop, followed by a handful of tourists, all buzzing with excitement from the afternoon tour. Nor held her breath, but most of them were more excited about purchasing a breakup spell kit or protection charm than her mother’s book.
Madge lowered the hood of her cloak. Wisps of her glossy straight black hair were stuck to her flushed cheeks. Nor searched Madge’s face for any sign of yesterday’s distress but thankfully saw none.
“Think you could pop over to the Milk and Honey Spa and pick up some essential oils for me?” she said to Nor. “Otherwise, Vega’s evening readings will be sans aromatherapy.”
“That would be quite the travesty.”
“Mock if you must, but most people find having their fortunes read very comforting,” Madge insisted. “You of all people might benefit from letting him take a look at yours.”
“Fat chance of that happening,” Nor said, “but don’t let that stop you from trying.”
“You know I won’t.” Madge tugged on Nor’s wild hair fondly, and though Nor rolled her eyes, she smiled nonetheless.
“Just make me a list of what you need,” Nor told Madge. “I’d hate to get ylang-ylang when what you really need is sandalwood.”
“Now that would be a travesty,” Madge agreed. She handed Nor a quickly jotted list as well as a stack of flyers for Nor to leave on the spa’s counter. As she did, Savvy emerged from Vega’s tent looking suspiciously delighted by something.
Madge seems to be back to her old self. Even Savvy and that exasperating look on her face are about as normal as it gets, Nor thought, feeling relieved.
“So tell me,” Nor asked Savvy as the two traipsed toward the Milk and Honey Spa.
“Tell you what?” Savvy asked, feigning innocence.
“Don’t give me that. What did Vega say? Are you going to unexpectedly receive a large sum of money? Meet a tall and handsome stranger in a darkened alley?”
“Okay, first of all,” Savvy said, “if I meet any kind of stranger in a dark alley, I’m going straight for their tender parts. I don’t care how handsome they might be. Second, Vega said I am going to face an unexpected challenge, if you must know.” She absentmindedly tugged at the silver hoop in her left eyebrow. “And that it’s important I make a good impression this week.”
“A good impression on who? No one new or interesting ever comes here.” She caught a dirty look from a tourist walking by, and Nor leaned in closer
to Savvy. “You know Vega’s predictions never really have anything to do with you specifically, right?” she said. “He’s probably told that fortune to ten other people today.”
“Well, if you’re suddenly such the expert fortune teller,” Savvy teased, offering Nor her outstretched palm, “you give it a try.”
Nor stared at Savvy’s hand. The last Blackburn daughter capable of palmistry was predictably Rona Blackburn. The closest anyone else had ever gotten was Greta, the second daughter, who had been given the heavy Burden of prophetic dreams. To the rest of the Blackburn daughters, foresight of any kind — reading tea leaves, palms, runes, or tarot cards — might as well have been a foreign language. To Nor, palmistry was just another piece of Rona Blackburn’s legacy in which she had no interest. She shook her head and looked up at Savvy, who was still grinning at her expectantly. “Just looks like a bunch of lines and squiggles to me.”
“But you’ve spent your whole life in Madge’s shop,” Savvy said cajolingly. “And you’re a Blackburn. Some of it must have rubbed off on you.” She hadn’t moved her hand. “Come on. Throw some of that old black magic my way.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Nor saw the lines in Savvy’s palm begin to glow and flash. She tried not to notice the obvious break in Savvy’s heart line, quickly shut her eyes, and willed away the jumble of unbidden words that filled her head.
“I guess it doesn’t matter,” Savvy said. “But you’re wrong about no one coming to the island. I saw Reed Oliveira on my way back from school on the ferry last week.”
Nor’s eyes flew open, her pulse jumping like an electric spark. “But he — he left,” she stammered. “No one ever comes back to Anathema once they leave.”
Savvy shrugged. “Yeah, well, no one ever moves here, either, do they?” she said. She gave Nor a knowing look, and before Nor could think of a valid excuse to turn around, Savvy was dragging her down the street toward the Milk and Honey Spa, Reed Oliveira, and Nor’s certain humiliation.
On an island as small as Anathema, the arrival of new neighbors could cause quite a stir, especially when those new neighbors included two teenage boys like Reed and Grayson Oliveira. The first time Nor had seen Reed was also, incidentally, the first time Nor had attended the high school located on one of the larger islands. Though school had never been something at which Nor excelled, she’d allowed herself a brief moment of excitement as she walked down Meandering Lane, and she had even stopped at the Willowbark General Store before the forty-five-minute ferry ride to school.
One of the first structures ever built on the island, Willowbark was a small gray one-room building that sat alongside the ferry dock, and though the building had been rebuilt after the great fire, the original store sign still hung above the front door. The island was full of homegrown gardens of different varieties, and most households made their own bread and churned their own ice cream, butter, and cheese. Some harvested honey.
But Willowbark was the only place on the island that sold any kind of nonperishable item — laundry detergent, shampoo, boxed macaroni and cheese, and name-brand peanut butter. Willowbark was where the kids on the island bought king-size candy bars, cinnamon rolls delivered fresh from the Sweet and Savory Bakery, and cups of hot chocolate with mounds of chocolate whipped cream to sip on the ferry ride to school.
On that morning, the store’s few aisles had been filled with roaming bleary-eyed kids, the same ones Nor had gone to school with all her life, and all with their opinions about her: two pretty cheerleader types who’d never given someone like Nor a second thought, and, at the cash register, Catriona, who wasn’t nearly as pretty or as popular as she wanted to be. A few kids from the Coldwater family had been there as well. As usual, Nor made a point of avoiding Gage.
She’d ducked quietly out of the store, self-consciously tugging at the fingerless gloves Apothia had knit to cover the bandages on her wrists. They were wool and itched almost as much as the scabs underneath them. Nor had been silently lamenting Savvy’s proclivity for tardiness when she saw him: a strange new creature standing out on their little dock like some kind of miracle or myth.
Leaning against one of the railings, his long body propped up by sinewy muscled forearms, Reed Oliveira had given the impression that he couldn’t care less about being the new kid. But Nor had spent enough of her life attempting to draw as little attention to herself as possible, and she had become an expert observer by default.
Nor had heard that Reed’s dad had died suddenly just a few days after moving to Anathema Island. Losing a father was something with which Nor could empathize. She missed her father so much, just thinking about him could often bring tears to her eyes. Of course, the big difference between Nor and Reed was that Nor had never actually met her father. What would it be like, she’d wondered, to actually have a father, and then to lose him? She’d imagined that loss would be unbearable.
So, to her, Reed Oliveira had looked sad. Afraid. Most of all, he had looked lost, like a boat that had suddenly become untethered. Nor had known exactly what that felt like.
Nor still hadn’t spoken to Reed by the end of that first quarter. Not on the ferry on the way to school or when she’d passed him in the hallway. Her French class was the period directly after his, and sometimes they’d passed through the doorway at the same exact time, but Nor was just as invisible to him as to everyone else. And why shouldn’t she have been? She had made a point of being unnoticeable, hadn’t she?
And then.
It had been raining all week, a gray, blustery kind of miserable, and that morning was no exception. It was the day before winter break, and as was an unofficial tradition, most students had stayed home. The few who hadn’t skipped school boarded the ferry as usual.
Nor had headed straight for the concession stand, tempted by the scent of freshly brewed coffee. The line was already long, and as Nor had waited for her turn to order, she had tugged her thick scarf tighter around her neck and blown on her fingers in an attempt to warm them. Outside, the rain pounded against the windows as the ferry rocked across the churning water.
It was only when she finally got to the cash register that Nor had realized she was a couple of dollars short. Her face red, she’d mumbled an apology to the barista while hopelessly scouring the bottom of her bag for loose change. That was when Reed Oliveira had tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Let me get that for you.”
Afterward, Reed and Nor had carried their coffee cups to an empty table near the back.
“I didn’t think you knew who I was,” Nor had admitted.
“It would be difficult not to know who you were,” Reed had said with a smile.
“I guess it is a pretty small high school,” Nor had said.
“And I think your French class is right after mine,” Reed had added. “But even if neither of those things were true, I’m pretty sure I’d still figure out a way to get to know you, Nor Blackburn.”
Later that night, Nor had been surprised to find a slip of paper tucked into her bag. It read:
Tu es si belle, ça me ferait mal à chercher ailleurs.
You are so beautiful, it hurts to look elsewhere.
It had taken her a long time to write a response. She’d checked her translation over and over again to make sure she’d done it correctly. But when it had come time to give it to him, she’d panicked. All she could think about were the wool fingerless gloves she wore to hide the bandages on her wrists, or how she sometimes lost her train of thought in Mrs. Castillo’s class because her plants were always complaining that she overwatered them. If he knew her — really knew her — how could she be sure he’d still like what he saw? She couldn’t. So she’d torn it up and never brought up the first note with him, either.
Historically, Blackburn love stories lasted three days. Nor’s had lasted less than twenty-four hours.
Understandably, Reed had never spoken to her again after that. The following year, Nor had dropped out of school, and then, just like everyone else, he’d
left the island shortly after graduation.
And now — now he was back?
“What am I supposed to do with that?” Nor muttered to herself quietly.
As she and Savvy approached the Milk and Honey Spa, Nor could hear the gentle ping of cascading water from the tiered water fountain. The sweet perfume of lavender hung in the air. There was basil and rosemary and mint as well — an entire garden sat beside the spa, full of carefully tended herbs and flowers Vitória Oliveira used for her essential oils.
The tranquil ambience continued inside with bamboo wood floors, warm sconce lighting, and soft harp music. On the front desk sat a menu of spa services, everything from mineral mud wraps to deep tissue massage.
Savvy jumped up to sit on the counter. “Yoo-hoo!” she called, swinging her legs and knocking her platform shoes rhythmically against the glass.
“Yoo-hoo, yourself,” a voice replied.
And there he was. He’d always been tall, but he seemed leaner — as if he’d lost part of himself while he was away. His dark-brown hair, long and disheveled, hung past his ears, and he had a large silhouette of a bird — a crow, maybe — tattooed on the inside of his tawny right forearm. The rich brown color of his eyes was the same as Nor remembered, as was the twinge of sadness behind that confident, easy smile of his. The way Nor could feel the nearness of him in her pulse — that was the same as well.
“You know no one ever willingly comes back to this place once they escape, right?” Savvy teased.
“I’m just breaking all the rules, I guess,” he said, smiling. He motioned toward the flyers Nor held clenched in her hands. “I’ve never gone to one of Madge’s infamous séances. Am I missing out?”
“Nor makes a point of boycotting it every year,” Savvy answered. “It’s her birthday, you know. October thirty-first.”
“Is it?” Reed smiled at Nor, and she could feel her face growing hot under his gaze.