69 Birdie
BIRDIE
I race down Main Street in one of Phoebe’s sundresses and a pair of her too-large shoes.
Since I took everything of mine out to Prescott House, her clothes were the only option .
. . unless I wanted to show up at the ferry looking like Carrie at the prom.
My hair is still wet from the fastest shower ever taken.
Not that it matters because it’s raining cats and freaking dogs.
Lightning splits the sky in great furious cracks as the thunder rolls.
I’m wet through before I’m even halfway down the sidewalk.
The street is empty, with everyone taking shelter.
The Cat’s Meow has never looked busier. Tourists crowd inside as I jog past.
Pausing at the end of the street, I look around, catching my breath with hands on my hips. The ferry from Winthrop is pulling up, nearly to the dock. I have no idea how this is supposed to work. Can I just walk on and get the Jeep? I need a ticket, right?
God, screw the rules! This is coven business.
Rather than follow the queue of people huddled in the rain under their umbrellas, lining up to walk on, I follow the road the vehicles take that leads right down to the end of the ferry slip. Three rows of vehicles wait their turn in the side lot, the drivers inside all warm and dry.
“Hey,” a guy in a yellow vest shouts. “No walkers past this point!”
Ignoring him, I keep running.
The ferry horn blows.
I run to the end of the slip and look back, sure I’m about to be tackled by the guy in the yellow vest. But there’s no one behind me. A sort of misty haze forms a wall. The man stands just beyond the haze, one hand raised as if he’s looking for me but can’t see me.
Oh shit. He can’t see me. Some magic is blocking him from seeing me. I glance around, noting the fact that I’m now fully on the slip, which overhangs past the shore out into the water. I’m off the island. And the rain has stopped.
This magic isn’t the coven’s.
Spinning around, I watch the ferry slowly creep to a halt at the end of the slip. There are no people standing along the rail. No screaming kids and barking dogs. No balloons. No strollers. Just quiet emptiness. And there’s only one car waiting to disembark the ferry. Lonely Peep, the Yellow Jeep.
Slowly, the ferry ramp lowers, docking with the slip. As it lowers, Basil Barnes strides forward. He looks like a runway model in his structured, high-waisted trousers and open billowing top. His silver hair is pulled back in a messy topknot.
He walks right to the edge of the ramp and stops. “Hello again, Virginia.”
“Dáinn’s gone,” I say in welcome.
He nods, pressing a hand to his chest. “I know. Which is why you’re going to invite me to the island.”
“What?” I take a step back. “I can’t.”
“You can,” he assures me. “According to the wards set down by the founders of Burr Island, magical creatures can only be invited to the island by a member of the coven.”
I shake my head, taking another step back. “But I have no power. I’m just a human.”
“Why don’t we test it and see? Invite me to the island, Virginia Rhodes.”
My heart races. This is stupid. Crazy, even. Baz is a sneaky, duplicitous mage. He can’t be trusted. I should definitely not be doing this.
We need Baz.
Dáinn’s voice fills my mind and my heart, centering me. We do need the mage. Frankie is the strongest witch in our coven, and she just took on Barsotti and lost. We need help. We need more magic, more allies, more support.
Standing tall, the mage spreads his arms wide. “Invite me to the island, Birdie. Invite me . . . and I’ll tell you what you are.”
Everything stops.
Swallowing my nerves, I narrow my gaze at him. “You know what I am?”
His smile widens. “Care to find out?”
Taking a deep breath, I let it out. We need this. For Jasper and his island. For Dáinn and his freedom. For me. For the questions I’ve always asked that never had an answer.
Slowly, I hold out my hand to the mage. “Basil Barnes, you are welcome to Burr Island.”
His lilac eyes flash brightest white. Slowly, he lifts a foot and takes a step off the end of the ferry ramp onto the slip. He takes another step. Then another. Then he’s standing right before me in all his magical brilliance.
“Brave little Birdie,” he taunts. “Now the real fun begins.”