Free The Short Life of Sparrows by Emm Cole Page A

chair, swaying as she gets her balance. “Well, I think they are just lovely, Rowe. Calli is usually so easy to get along with. You just leave those flowers with me, and when she gets over whatever is ailing her, I’m sure she’ll be glad to see them.”
    He faces toward the window, perceiving Calli’s shadow dodging back away from view. “You tell her that if she was the all-seeing Seer she parades around as, she’d have seen that pink flowers were anything but simple for me to bring her today,” he yells. “And if you would, please, also tell her that if she felt like yellow, she should’ve just opened the door and said so.”
    He arches his hand, like he’s clawing at something invisible.
    “But,” Mildred mumbles, before pursing her lips shut.
    Rowe stares at me with a heated look, like his eyes are made of tempered metal. He twists his arm down, and a cracking sound splits through the wooden porch. Mildred knocks over her paint jars as she dodges the slithering vines. Yellow flowers slide over our feet, creeping up and around the posts. One snakes its way up the door, curling itself over the doorknob as the bud blooms. He rolls his shoulders back, chucking the pink flowers into the grass as he strides away. The door flies open, rattling on the hinges as Calli runs down the bowed stairs.
    “I do like pink,” Calli cries out, almost tripping over her green dress as she takes the battered bouquet up in the crook of her elbow. Rowe spins on his boots, a menacing edge to his smile. “How about the yellow ones though?”
    “They’re very pretty,” Calli says, her eyes slipping to her shoes. “I’m sorry for being so rude today. It’s my eighteenth year. I’m sure you’re aware us Seers can be emotional as we adjust to it.”
    He cradles her chin in his hand, and I nearly vomit from how arrogant his touching her is. “You dreamt about me, didn’t you? Why?”
    She hardens, folding her arms around herself. “You know I did. Don’t feign innocence about it. And you also know Lil would kill me if I did a spell to keep you out. So please don’t do it again. You should wait to be invited.”
    “Sure,” he says to her while glaring at me.
    I’d rather wrap up in a wet blanket than have any more stare-offs with this slick bastard . It’s not as if I have anything to do with his moody witch girl anyway. I pretend he’s already gone, picking up the pile of yarn on my knees. Mildred’s hands tremble as she takes my silent cue to ignore them. She winds her yarn with such force it breaks. Neither of us wants to watch him hover over her like a hawk who’s about to peck its prey to death.
    “I’ve got to go,” he says, swaggering away toward his horse.
    Calli waits there with the flowers in hand until he’s out of sight. “I can’t believe he did that,” she says, turning to Mildred. She drops the flowers, wiping her boots over the tops of them. Taking the shovel that is resting near the fence, Calli’s cheeks flush. She drags it behind her as she hurries from the yard.
    “Where are you going Calli?” Mildred shouts. “Don’t you go looking for it. It’s not your fault, do you hear me? Come back.”
    She looks at me, her mouth stricken open. “You’ve got to follow her. My knees are bad, and I won’t be able to catch up and stop her.”
    “What am I supposed to do?” I ask, unsure of what has happened. “What’s wrong?”
    Mildred rocks violently in her chair. She refuses to speak, and I realize she’s back in one of her dazed trances. She flags the air with her hands, humming and rocking faster. She has retreated from whatever it is worrying her .
    I tear off into the thick patch of woods. The heavy grating of the shovel being dragged gives her direction away. “Calli?” She sounds like she’s on a warpath, and she doesn’t stop to answer me. The bushes and trees swish as she stomps up ahead of me. I catch sight of her copper red hair in the shadows, but she keeps a maddening