Free Grave of Hummingbirds by Jennifer Skutelsky Page B

village was haunted, how else could he explain what he’d just seen? He knew what to expect from the high altitude, but this was too real to be something his own mind had made up.
    Finn and Sophie walked silently together along the packed stone road that branched off now and then into steep lanes, winding up to steps and doorways. Many cottages seemed to have been carved out of the huge moss-covered boulders that reared and loomed over the streets. They got to a busy crossroads, where people stood in chattering clusters or sat on the curb. A few chickens, feathers ruffling in the chill breeze, foraged for crumbs and crawling snacks, and two cows crossed the street on their way to somewhere. A lone pony, his coat thick and shaggy, nibbled on a patch of grass, his reins looped over a hitching rail, while two men lounged close by, drinking from a shared bottle. Children chased one another, shrieking, until they spotted Sophie and Finn. Like everyone else, they stilled and stared.
    Finn caught the bewildered expression his mother cast his way. When he shrugged, mystified, she straightened her back and walked on, dipping her head so that once again, her hair hid her face.
    Conversation resumed as soon as they moved on, but voices changed behind them—they were raised, arguing, urgent. Finn turned to glare at the people who watched, walking backward as Sophie hurried on until they came to an old stone church, built a long time ago in the northeast corner of the square.
    For a few moments, the church showed Finn its face—circular stained glass windows set like two eyes in a pale skull and a thick wooden door with its iron ring a gaping, hungry mouth. The sun shone bright in the afternoon sky, glinting off the fiery red glass, and in the thin high-altitude air, Finn felt as though the church were weighing him up. The door opened and stretched the mouth into a lopsided grin. A priest in a cassock stepped out as Sophie stopped at a small café with tables arranged on a patio. She looked up at a fat-bellied bird with tiny wings and a long beak painted on a wooden sign above the words “Los Colibríes.” She appeared spooked, even more so than Finn.
    “What’s wrong?” he said.
    She paused before shaking her head and picking out a place to sit. Here, too, people stared at them. Finn thought his mother might disappear under the table as she took ages to position her backpack on the floor and rummage in its pockets. Tired of standing beside her, he pulled up a chair.
    At last she straightened, her face pink.
    “Mom . . .”
    She frowned.
    “Maybe you should wait here while I go look for somewhere to stay?” he suggested.
    She looked around slowly, scanning the square for possibilities. “We may as well get something to eat. Like you said, we’ll figure it out.”
    A middle-aged man wearing a shirt tucked into an apron and khaki trousers came over to take their order. When he saw Sophie, his greeting trailed off and he drew in a loud breath, not quite a gasp but close enough.
    She ordered coffee and asked Finn what he wanted.
    “I’ll have a Coke, please,” he said in Spanish, but the man couldn’t care less what he wanted.
    The muscles around the server’s jaw had slackened like a basset hound’s. A stubby pencil quivered above his wire-bound notebook. He bowed a little as he backed away from their table, turned when he got to the patio doors, and hastened back into the restaurant.
    Finn watched his mother carefully. A half hour ago, Sophie had slipped from sight into the moss, lichen, pine needles, mile-high hanging vines, and wild creepers, and she was different when she returned. In the last few miles of their journey, he’d given up trying to find out why she seemed distracted, as every banal attempt he made at conversation belly flopped into silence. She’d stared out of the window, and eventually he’d resorted to playing with his phone, thankfully finding spotty reception.
    The server came back with their