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

goes stiff. “I didn’t realize you’d be coming.”

“Mmm,” the Mockingbird says. “No. You hoped we wouldn’t.”

“Here to defend your buddy?” someone calls out, then promptly shrinks in his seat as the Mockingbird turns her focus to him.

“Here to cast our votes,” she says. “As is our right. The Flood is one of ours, yes, as is the sheriff’s pet. But we are here, first and foremost, as your neighbors.”

Once again, I can feel her attention shift without seeing it. “Several of us lack hands to raise, Madam Sheriff,” the Mockingbird says. “I’d be happy to tally on your behalf, if that’s sufficient.”

A bright, rueful smile spreads across Christie’s face. Wondering, I think, why she didn’t try this from the start. “I’ll trust you.”

The Mockingbird laughs. “Not always the wise choice, I’ll grant you.”

“All right, then.” The mayor’s fingers curl and uncurl. “All in favor of holding the vote immediately.”

A number of hands do go up. But I’m more surprised at how many don’t. Even Ace, his stare fixed on whatever’s hiding under his chair, doesn’t vote for his own proposal.

Rudy’s limbs don’t move. But Christie grimaces, sweat beading across her forehead, and glances at the parasol’s shadow. “One in favor here,” she manages. Whether Rudy managed to vote or just tried to lunge at me again, it’s hard to say.

“Six in favor here, as well,” says the Mockingbird. “Apologies, my clever one. But the confusion and chaos of my friend’s return, the emotions and memories that would come pouring out of every one of you—that would be quite the feast for some of them. You understand.”

There’s a high, lilting laugh from the rafters. The same we heard at the hospital. “Let us feed,” something whispers. “Let us feed.”

As if sensing my shoulders tense, one of the creatures from the movie theater slides around my neck and nuzzles. “Vote,” it chirps. “Vote.”

Christie turns back to the crowd. “And all against?”

The hands raise—the human palms high and open, the flickers at the balcony, the skeletal limb of the figure by the curtains. Alex reaches out to grip Felix’s arm, as if by reflex. I know the feeling. Even without the Mockingbird’s tally, it’s more than half.

But I can’t help but notice Theresa, directly in my line of vision, didn’t vote for either option. She’s too busy looking at me.

“Rose,” Christie says over her shoulder, “I believe that means the floor is yours.”

“Oh,” I say. Yes. Right. That was the plan.

I move forward on the stage, a few steps away from Alex, Felix, and Cassie. It’s like I’ve left them miles behind. Whoever wasn’t staring before, they are now.

With a burbling giggle, a few more creatures from the theater descend, weaving in and out of my legs. “Are,” one whispers.

“You,” another volleys.

“Familiar.”

“With.”

“The.”

“Entity.”

“That.”

“Was.”

“Born.”

“Here.”

I’m not saying this in front of the Mockingbird, but they’re my favorites.

“Yes, Ms. Colter,” the mayor says through her teeth. “What insight can you share with us?”

I could almost thank her. The quick jolt of anger is what I need to get started.

“Not much more than you could, maybe,” I say. “But I’ve spoken to them.”

Another rush of murmurs from the crowd. “And?” Theresa speaks this time, arms still folded.

When I hesitate, a quivering hand goes up toward the back. “Are they good?” a woman asks quietly. “Or bad?”

“I don’t think it’s like that,” I say. “I think they’re too different from us to say what they are. It’s like having a feeling you can’t describe to begin with, and then trying to describe it in another language. They told me they would destroy this place. But I think they’ve been trying to tell me why. And if I can figure it out, then maybe I can convince them to stop.”

Another round of murmurs. I can feel the Mockingbird nod approvingly at me.

“Why do you think they’re doing it?” Ace says. It’s not accusatory. Just curious.

“The Mockingbird said something changed them,” I say. “That they believed they couldn’t come back to this place without becoming the ocean they once were. I think they saw terrible things out there. And maybe now they can’t see anything else. I know you’re all scared. I can’t imagine how it feels, knowing that you might lose your homes. But this town was built on something bigger than fear. I don’t know if Rudy can stop this tomorrow. But there’s something you all owe the Flood first. Something every citizen of Lotus Valley was promised.”

“Which is what?” Theresa says.

“Hospitality,” I say. “A home for living things that can’t be home anywhere else. And more than anyone else here, this is the Flood’s home.”

There’s a near-unnatural stillness. It’s the mayor who finally breaks it.

“And do you think it’s fair,” she says, “that you’re both gambling with our homes?”

I open my mouth to answer. But I don’t get a chance. The overhead lights brighten, flooding the auditorium. And the scene changes.

Not now, I think. But then I realize that, once again, the memory we’re in isn’t mine.

The light lingers, spreading across the room, spilling from sconces and table lamps and floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s a cabinet of fine china on one side, and on the other, a painting of boats at sea. And behind me, two blonde women, talking in heated whispers.

“Please.” The older woman raises her hands placatingly. “Just one prophecy. Even a little one. They came all this way—”

“I don’t want to.” The woman opposite her is nearly identical— same sweater set, same shade of lipstick. But the outfit and the makeup create an illusion of someone older. She’s my age. “I don’t want any more customers. I don’t want to see another future, ever.”

“You don’t mean that, Mags.” The older woman smiles. Her hard, pleading eyes don’t smile with her. “This is the most important thing you’ll ever do.”

I can see it the second it happens—the girl’s spine stiffening. Calcifying.

“If I could stop it right now,” she says quietly, “I would.”

The lights dim, and the house dissipates back into a stage. The girl lingers in my