Jessica
A crow flying south means good fortune is about.
A crow flying north means trouble comes forth.
Goody Fletcher, Book of Useful Household Tips
“I don’t understand it,” Esther said. “I’ve never been able to do that before. Not like that.”
“It’s because of her,” Derrick said.
It was a minute or so before I realized he was talking about me. Both he and Esther were staring in my direction.
“Me?” I shook my head. “Oh, no. I had nothing to do with this.”
I looked down at the bits of shattered gourd on the cold, hard ground. There were pumpkin seeds everywhere. It was going to be impossible to clean up. I hoped Farmer Frank wouldn’t mind the mess we’d made. Maybe crows liked pumpkin guts?
“You have everything to do with this,” Derrick said. His voice sounded unnaturally loud, but only because it had grown quiet in the field. The crows had stopped their outraged shrieking and, strangely, there were no other birds flying overhead. Even the wind seemed to have died down. “‘When the Bringer of Light is joined by the Chosen One, her power will increase tenfold.’”
I glanced at Esther to see what she thought of this, and saw that an enormous grin had broken out across the girl’s face.
“Cool,” she said. “Let’s do it again!”
And so she did.
With the exception of Rosalie Hopkins, I’d never seen anyone with powers as strong as Esther’s.
But she was so casual about it. Just a wave of her hand, then boom! A flash, and a pumpkin exploded to bits.
“Was that okay?” she’d ask. “How was that? Want me to do another one?”
Boom! There went another one.
When Derrick asked her to levitate a pumpkin instead, no problem. Suddenly one of the pumpkins was floating across the field, three feet in the air, seemingly without any effort on Esther’s part at all. It was a good thing Farmer Frank didn’t choose that moment to wander over to see what we were up to, since what Esther was up to might have blown his middle-aged, firmly-rooted-in-reality mind.
What Esther couldn’t seem to do, however, was concentrate on what she was doing for very long. The second her cell phone chirped—which it did constantly, because though the Internet was down, there was nothing wrong with the local cell towers—she pulled it from her pocket to look at the screen. While I didn’t exactly blame her—I was getting constant calls from Becca since we couldn’t do any credit card transactions at Enchantments—this did cause anything Esther was levitating to fall to the hard ground with a splat, or nearly collide with my new car.
Most of the time, the texts she was getting were from Gabby, asking Esther if she liked Gabby’s hair, her spray tan, her makeup, her nails, all sent with accompanying photos that Esther was required to scroll through and like or otherwise express an opinion on. Everything we were doing in the field had to shut down until these replies were made.
“Can’t you do anything to stop this?” Derrick whispered to me when Esther began recording herself telling Gabby about how gorgeous she looked in the dress I’d dropped by for her that morning.
“Stop what?” I was texting my brother a photo of my new car.
“The chitchatting about the hair and clothes and makeup. What we’re doing here is actually important.”
“Um, excuse me, what those two are doing is actually important, too. First of all, they’re a couple. People who love each other share things. And secondly, people are always trying to brush off the things that women love, like fashion and makeup, as superficial or frivolous. But they’re not, because for some people, those things are armor they put on to feel more confident in a world that can sometimes feel cruel. They’re transformative and empowering.”
Derrick’s eyebrows were as furrowed as the field we were standing in. “I’m sorry. I get it now. But can you not see that maybe right now isn’t the best time for those discussions? In a day or two, all of this land will most likely be underwater. And then it isn’t going to matter what color Gabby’s hair is.”
“Um.” I lowered my phone. “Good point. Esther?”
She looked up from her screen. “Yeah?”
“We need to concentrate on doing magic stuff right now.”
“Sorry.” Esther slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Gabby has an anxiety disorder. Sometimes she freaks out if I don’t respond right away.”
“It’s fine for you to call your friend,” Derrick said. I could tell from his conciliatory tone that he felt bad for his earlier complaint about their chitchatting and was trying to make amends. It was so cute. “But we need to know that if things go to hell—and I mean that literally—in the next forty-eight hours, you’ll be able to defend yourself.”
Esther’s face puckered with worry. “Why? Where are you going to be?” She was looking straight at me.
“I’ll be around,” I said quickly. “Of course. But I’m not the Bringer of Light. You are.”
“You’re the one they’re going to come after, Esther,” Derrick said. I noticed how tactfully he avoided explaining who they were. Demons? Or Rosalie and her friends? I still tended to favor Rosalie, despite her generous gift from this morning. “So we need to know you can protect yourself.”
“Oh, I can protect myself, all right,” Esther said, her worried look suddenly replaced with a confident grin. She nodded at a stray pumpkin that had fallen dangerously close to my new car as she’d been levitating it. “See that right there?”
“Esther.” The pumpkin was also dangerously close to me. Derrick flung a protective arm around me. “Don’t—”
“Get ready,” she said. “Get set . . .”
“Wait, Esther!” I cried.
“Go!”
I didn’t see what happened next, because the flash of light was so bright, it seemed to fill the entire field. Plus, Derrick had thrown both arms around me, blocking my view. For a second, all I could see was the interior lining of his jacket, and all I could smell was leather . . . and burnt pumpkin.
When he finally dropped his arms and straightened, the light was gone . . . and so was the gourd. All that was left was a small gaping hole in Farmer Frank’s field, with a stream of smoke rising from it. There wasn’t even a single seed to be found.
My new car was fine, though, and so was I. And so was Esther, who was grinning ear to ear at her accomplishment.
“Okay,” Derrick said, looking resigned. “I think it’s time to call it quits for the day.”
Esther was already sliding her phone back into her pocket. “Good,” she said. “Because I need to get home and change. Gabby’s parents reserved a table for tonight at the Yacht Club. I’m supposed go with them to be at this selection thing and support her, since there’s no way she’s gonna get picked. Then hopefully this whole Harvest Princess thing will be over, and stuff can go back to normal.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Derrick was staring at the horizon. When I followed the direction of his gaze, I saw that he was looking toward the treetops. Almost all of the bright red and yellow leaves had been stripped away by the cold ocean breeze.
In their place sat hundreds—maybe thousands—of crows. Their black feathers hunched against the wind, they clung to the naked branches, peering down . . . at us.
“Why are there so many of them?” Esther whispered—although neither of us had told her to lower her voice. “What are they doing up there?”
“Waiting,” Derrick said.
“For what?”
“Crows are scavengers.” He put out both his arms and began slowly inching Esther and me toward the car. “They’ll eat just about anything. But their favorite food is carrion.”
Esther wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”
“Decaying flesh.”
I swallowed nervously. “So they think there’s going to be a lot of that lying around West Harbor soon?”
“In my experience?” Derrick nodded somberly. “Yes, they do.”