Frost (33 page)

He cupped the back of my neck and brought his forehead into mine. “But not now. Not here.”

“I can’t think about it right now, anyway. Not while my mom and newborn sister . . .”

“I know. I know. You go.” He removed his hand, trailing it across my cheek. “I’ll see you later. Wherever. Whenever.”

I hurried back into the building with confidence in his words, in him.

I located my mom’s hospital room. From the doorway, she looked so small and weak and there were so many lines and tubes connecting her to beeping machinery that I hung back, hesitating. She patted to a small patch of white on the bed next to her, and I crumpled into her open arms.

“Mom, are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“And the baby?”

“We have every hope.” With this, she looked up at Stanley, who was stationed on her other side in an armchair. She turned back to me. “It’s her lungs we’re most worried about. They’re filled with fluid. She’s on a ventilator, and will be for some time. And she’s tiny, but they’re already calling her a fighter.”

That I didn’t doubt. “And she’s going to have a big cheering section,” I said.

“It will help,” my mom said. “I know it will.”

At moments like these, I super-loved my mom’s can-do attitude. The baby
would
have lots of help, which reminded me of two who were missing.

“Where did Dad and Afi go?”

“Down to the cafeteria. Afi needed to eat something. He was feeling a little weak.”

“Have you named the baby yet?”

My mom nodded and finally smiled. “Oddly enough, I didn’t have to. Your
amma
took care of that.”

“What? How?” I asked. My grandmother had been dead for six years.

“The summer before her death, while I was visiting, she told me, out of the blue, that I’d have another baby, a girl, and I was to name her Leira.”

My heart didn’t just stop, it flipped, then bolted, and was now flailing at my feet like some hook-in-mouth fish. My voice, too, had jumped ship.

“Pretty,” my dad said, appearing in the doorway. “And an anagram, too. For Ariel, like the mermaid.”

Oh, my God.
A shudder worked its way across my entire epidermis. Even my teeth got in on the rattling.

“Oh,” my mom said, pulling her hand to her mouth. “I hadn’t thought of that. How odd, especially given the . . .”

“What?” I asked.

“There are some irregularities. . . . Apparently, more common than anyone would guess. And easily corrected by surgery.”

“What?” I repeated.

“Her fingers and toes,” Stanley said, “are webbed. The doctors have assured us it’s a simple fix.”

I could feel the room tunneling away from me. Fragments of knowledge floated from behind me into the foreground. Webbed like a water creature. A water creature like the mermaid I’d invented, or conjured, during the bestowal of my sister’s soul. Hulda had called it a powerful symbol. The selkie legends and our family’s ancestry tracing back to the
selurmanna.
And my pact with the childless and desperate water queen, one I was even warned of,
“Leira — to whom the waters are home — must be returned
to the sea.”
What had I done? Dear God, what had I done?

“Can you change her name?” I asked, hearing, for myself, the manic quality to my voice.

“You don’t like it?” my mom asked, hurt evident in her tone.

“It’s just freaky, don’t you think?” I ad-libbed. “The coincidence.”

“No, I don’t think,” my mom said. “Besides, the birth certificate has been recorded. It’s her name. All the more special given your
amma
’s premonition. She was always kind of special like that. I think it’s a good omen, not ‘freaky,’ as you say.”

Great.
On top of promising my baby sister to the regent of the Water Kingdom, I’d upset my poor mom, who was connected to tubes and gizmos. I couldn’t even think, I was so filled with panic and guilt. Now was not the time.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “You’re right. It’s a beautiful name. And special because of the connection to Amma. I’m just a little frazzled with worry about you and the baby, and tired after the long journey, and everything with Jack . . . and Brigid.” Again, I could barely say her name.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” my mom said.

“Can I see her?” I asked, needing an excuse to get out of that room.

My mom and Stanley exchanged looks. “It’s a little upsetting,” my mom said. “She’s so small and helpless.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It’ll be from a distance, through the glass windows.”

“That’s OK,” I said.

My dad offered to accompany me, but I said I’d find it on my own. I sensed it was something I needed to do alone. A few minutes later, I stood with my arms bracing me against the pane glass window looking down on the tiniest, most fragile little thing I’d ever seen. And I thought my mom had been hardwired with cords and plugs. Leira looked like something out of a sci-fi movie, part bionic baby, part featherless bird, part alien, as much as I hated to even think it. As if aware of the scrutiny, Leira fussed, lifting her intubated arm. I could see the webbing of her fingers, though the skin was so pale it was almost translucent. I remembered the odd way that Jack’s grandmother had once tested the grooves of my own hand and her cryptic remark, “The power of three.” Jack and I, combined, tapped three powerful lineages: Storks, Winter People, and the
selurmanna.

What have I done? What do I do now?
I couldn’t stop either question from curling end-to-end from my tongue. A throbbing tug of remorse had me questioning everything, every little thing that had led me up to this moment.

I rapped my head against the glass. One of the nurses attending to the preemies looked up; I held my hand up in apology. The poor little things needed their peace and quiet.

I whispered encouragements to my sister. And I swore to her, though I had no right to ever again enter into a pact. Nonetheless, I made her a promise. I’d fix it. Fix everything. Or die trying. That last bit, an addendum, was easier to tack on than I’d have ever imagined.

After an imaginary seal-the-deal crossing of my heart, it began. The summons for a same-day, nine p.m. Stork meeting. Because, yes, it was
always
something.

Ofelia, bearing a potted plant, turned up at the hospital just as we were sorting out rides. Her offer to drive me home made perfect sense, given that she had her things to pick up. She didn’t drive me home, not directly, anyway. Instead, we went straight to Stork Council.

We weren’t the first to arrive. Grim and a few others were already in their places. After all the seats — except one — had filled, and the clock lunged to straight-up nine, we looked at one another with varying degrees of confusion.

“Who called this meeting?” Grim asked.

No one spoke up.

“Don’t you know?” Grim continued, turning to me with a frown. For once, I had protocol on my side. As usual, she had the fine art of browbeating on hers.

“Fru Birta,” I said. “Call roll. Then we’ll figure out what’s going on.”

Fru Hulda’s name was called last, and twice, though it was evident her dais-raised chair was unoccupied. Just as Birta was about to close the book, I heard a familiar “Present.”

We all turned to see Hulda standing in the doorway. She was thinner and more stooped than ever, but everything else — her tangled nest of gray hair, orange hat with floral trim, and drab gray apparel — was hallmark Hulda.
Hallelujah.

And screw protocol.
I rushed from my seat and tackled Hulda like a fourth-down, minutes-to-go, championship-on-the-line play. For the record, she was smiling when I let go, and I don’t care what Grim says; Hulda always walked with a slight hobble.

“Fru Hulda, you’re back!”

The entire room came alive. Others hurried to greet her with hugs, and there was a buzz of excited chatter and laughter coursing through the air. Even Grim, I noticed, rose to meet Hulda. Her welcome was a brisk handshake, but it may have been one of the few sightings of Grim’s crooked smile.

Hulda took her place, First Chair, and motioned for everyone to be seated.

“Thank you, to all of my sister Storks, for such a warm welcome. And I thank you for your assistance and vigil during my long illness and absence.” Hulda gestured to Ofelia. “And what a pleasure it is to receive a new member to our fold.
Velkominn, vinur.
Welcome, friend.”

Ofelia bowed her head in acceptance of the greeting. My own shied in shame for ever having suspected her.

“As to the nature of my affliction,” Hulda continued, “there was indeed an enemy in our midst. One whom I detected within the hour of her arrival, and who, through sorcery and coldheartedness, sought to neutralize my powers and cripple my resistance — by trying to kill me.”

A gasp worked its way around the room. The way Hulda had enunciated “coldheartedness” had me, too, sucking in air.

“Though she came close, know that this crisis has passed.”

“But, Fru Hulda, why do you not name this enemy?” Svana asked.

Hulda gave me a brief in-cahoots once-over. “If only I could. Alas, it all happened so fast. I have only suspicions.”

This upset the room, possibly even more than her “by trying to kill me” proclamation. I was seriously confused. Hulda had called the enemy coldhearted. She had to know. And what was up with that look we shared? If the crisis had passed, then why no full disclosure? My heart beat with big, blouse-lifting pangs of dread.

“But how do we know for certain that we are all safe?” Birta asked. “Dorit’s whereabouts, for instance, are still unknown.”

“Trust me when I say there are no immediate dangers,” Hulda said. “In the meantime, I thank you for coming out this evening without even a soul to bestow. I shall take this occasion to inform you of my absence for the next few weeks. These recent events have necessitated a trip to the World Tribunal. I hope to return with more information to share.” Several of the Storks interrupted with questions. Hulda raised her hand to silence them. “For now, I ask for your patience and for calm. Know that I am, as ever, in your service. Peace be.”

The Storks filed out, lifting a cloud of nervous energy with their old-lady shoes. Even Grim had a little bounce in her step.

“Katla, you will stay,” Hulda said. As usual, it wasn’t a question.

When we were finally alone, Hulda said, “You have been traveling.” Again, not a question. Hulda would suck at
Jeopardy.

“I was in Iceland with my
afi.
”

“And . . .”

So what if game shows weren’t her thing. If she wanted it, the woman had a future in interrogation.

“Fru Hulda, all those things you told me about the other realms . . .”

“Yes, child.”

“What if?”

“Go on.”

Where to start?

“Did you know my
afi
was a descendant of the
selurmanna,
from the selkie stories?”

“Of course.”

“And that Jack Snjosson, while he was recently in Greenland on a bogus research trip, was lured away to Niflheim, by . . .”

Hulda had been the one, way back last September, to tell me of the Snow Queen’s fondness for blue, and of my connection to red. So why was it so hard for me to say her name out loud?

“By Brigid Fonnkona, the Snow Queen,” I finished.

“This I suspected. Go on.”

“I went after Jack.”

Hulda nodded encouragement.

“En route, I met a messenger of a King Marbendlar and a Queen Safira,” I said, speaking faster. Even knowing that Hulda was like me — para-abnormal — it still didn’t make recounting the events any easier. “He helped me get to Niflheim, where I figured out that Brigid planned on deep-freezing all the realms as revenge for global warming but also as a power grab. We got out, and I’m pretty sure that Jack did something to close the portals, because we’re back and everything seems fine: no eternal winter; spring is in the air, right? So, I think that’s pretty much everything, in a nutshell, anyway.” I took a big gulp of air.

God, it felt great to spill. And so what if I had left out the part about using my sister’s soul as a kind of tollbooth token? I was going to fix it. No need to dwell. Besides, I could see by the look on Hulda’s face that I’d given her more than enough to think about. She was, after all, still weakened, and the immediate threat was passed. She’d said so herself. She left me with a “Peace be,” which, disturbingly enough, she turned into a question.