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

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 under 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