The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney (10 best books of all time TXT) 📗

I can feel Alex looking at me. Then, softly, he says, “Hello again.”

I still can’t see her. But I feel her attention, unmistakably, shift to Alex. “Little one,” she says, with something like fondness. “Sheila should have told me it was you. She’s not a very good assistant. As appetizing as she smells.”

Her focus narrows on him. It seems strange to say that for sure when I can’t see her, and yet I have no doubt.

“He’s here for work,” I say. “Not for you.”

“Is that so?” That brief softness in her voice—Mom’s voice—is gone. “You should be careful with him. Something already took a bite. You can’t bleed into the water and hope the sharks stay away.”

I hear shuffling. Felix has shouldered his way in front of Alex.

The room shivers with her hum. “Are you still that scared of me, little one?”

Alex’s breath hitches on the inhale. But when I glance back at him, he’s drawn himself taller.

“Yes,” he says, his voice small but firm. “But as of this week, I’ve seen scarier.”

The darkness ahead stills. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Felix gaping at him. If we survive this, I’m going to tell him that he’s not nearly as subtle as he thinks he is.

“All right,” she says, imitating his careful cadence. “You know how this goes. Payment first, and then we talk.”

Felix has started to look queasy. But he grabs the paper bag.

“Brave boy,” she croons. “On that cement block, right there. That’s right.”

Very carefully, Felix shakes out the contents of the bag and unwraps it from butcher paper, and my stomach does a flip—it’s meat. Bloody rare. There’s a sharp tug, like a pull of the current, and it vanishes into the dark ahead.

I try very hard not to listen too closely to the wet smack of each swallow.

“I certainly hope there isn’t a problem,” she says between chews. “I run a legitimate business, as your sheriff well knows.”

“You know why we’re here,” Cassie says. We all feel the Mockingbird’s attention shift to her, and despite the wobble in her voice, she presses on. “And yet you made us wait a full—”

“You know, you’re all being terribly dramatic about this whole business,” the Mockingbird drawls. “You have another day before your prophecy comes to pass, don’t you? The days before a disaster are a busy time in my line of work. Your poor planning is no reason to cut in line.”

“Then we’ll make this quick,” Alex says. “This is about one of your customers.”

There’s a short, intrigued silence. “My clients expect confidentiality. I can’t hope to create a safe space here if I hand their most trusted secrets to the law.”

“Safe space,” Felix says flatly.

“Emotionally safe,” the Mockingbird allows. “And how am I to remember every commission?”

“I think you’d remember,” Alex says. Polite as ever. But the sharp certainty makes me look.

“How’s that, dear?” the Mockingbird says.

“This was a specialty order,” Alex says. “Your premium package.”

I’ve never felt someone smile before. But it’s unmistakable. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It sounds like you care about your business,” I say before I lose my nerve. “I’m sure you’ll be disappointed to lose it.”

“The destruction of buildings means nothing to me, clever one,” the Mockingbird says. “This town will continue, one way or another. It always has.”

“And do you think it’s just the town above that’s at risk?” I say.

“Meaning what?” says the Mockingbird.

“Oh!” Cassie, catching my glance, blinks her big blue eyes. “Gosh, this is awkward. This isn’t public information, but since small businesses are so important to Sheriff Jones, we’ll make an exception.”

“This isn’t going to be an ordinary flood,” I say. “It’s the ocean that dried up here all those years ago coming back home. The ocean that must have formed these caverns. And I don’t know, Cassie. What do you think is going to happen to this place when it floods?”

“Good question,” Cassie says. “It’s embarrassing, but I don’t always see everything.”

“She’s only third-most accurate in town,” I say in a stage whisper.

The Mockingbird’s voice is low when she speaks again. “You’re bluffing.”

“I wish I was,” I say. “Now. I’m here because of a broadcast that couldn’t possibly exist. The voice of someone I lost. Was what I heard your ‘premium package’?”

There’s a long, cold pause. And then somewhere ahead, a slow breath in.

“How clumsy of me,” she says. Her tone is light. But the temperature drops. “But let’s look on the bright side. I can point you in the right direction. And perhaps you can do the same for me.”

“I’m not sure I can,” I say.

“Don’t be so modest, dear,” she says. “After all these years, you’ve brought my old friend back.”

Eighteen THE QUESTION

I LOOK OVER my shoulder. It’s an unconscious gesture now. Even when there’s nothing there, even when it’s just the present and nothing more, I never forget what’s coming.

“If I’d known,” I say brightly, “I would have come down a lot sooner, let you kids get caught up.”

The Mockingbird lets out an agreeable hum. “Has anyone ever told you, my clever thing, that you say very little for a creature that talks so much?”

I let out a burst of air, half a laugh and half an exhale. “Ouch,” I say. “Do you take requests? Because that one would have been perfect in my third-grade teacher’s voice.”

Her confusion is like a physical sensation. There’s a shift in the atmosphere, from puzzlement to understanding. “Oh. It’s not my voice that changes, dear,” she says. “It’s your perception. The same is true for many that you call the neighbors—we may exceed your limited comprehension, but you do your best to catch up. Sometimes, that means how you see us, or how you hear us, says more about you than it does about what we really are. When I hear myself speak, I sound only like myself. But you hear who you most long to hear.”

“Most of