Free The Tricking of Freya by Christina Sunley Page B

you could think of telling me these
things first? Because I don't know you, Freya. I've only known you a week.
So help me out here. Don't keep secrets." Her words had sharp edges, like
broken pieces of china and glass. I wanted to plug my ears but I couldn't
because I had to hold on. I gripped the silver chain around Birdie's neck.
Freyja had worn a necklace too. The Brising necklace.

    "Let go," Birdie demanded as we climbed up the stairs to the front door
of the house. "You're choking me!" Sigga's car was back in the driveway.
Even though Birdie admitted nothing, I knew she was scared of what Sigga
would do when she saw me. Where my chest pressed against Birdie's back
I could feel her body trembling against mine.
    Sigga dunked me in a tub full of water so cold I shrieked. I tried to squirm
out, but she held me down, one broad wrinkled hand covering half my
skinny chest. My chest and stomach were the only white parts. The rest of
my skin was as red as a brand-new pair of Keds. "We have to break the
fever, elskan," Sigga said calmly. I stopped resisting then and lay my head
back in an icy float. Think air. Then I was standing on the bath mat while
she blotted me gently dry. She took Noxzema from the top shelf of the medicine cabinet. The jar was blue like the glass of the lake and the cream inside was white as cloud. She slathered it onto my body with long strokes
until the fumes of menthol seared my nostrils.
    Once during the night I woke to the sound of Birdie and Sigga arguing in
hushed Icelandic whispers outside my door. The only word I understood was
my name, repeated over and over. Then I heard a clatter of footsteps on the
stairs, a slam of the front door, a few revs of the engine on her old VW Beetle, and Birdie was gone. When Sigga opened the door to my room I pretended to be asleep, but all night long I lay awake waiting for the sound of
Birdie's footsteps on the stairs. Instead she arrived at dawn outside my window trailing a cloak of feathers. She gathered me up in her arms, still naked
and covered in white cream, and flew me out the window and over the lake,
holding me in front of her like an offering. Yet she seemed not even to be
touching me, her palms barely making contact with my back, and then we
were floating, up and away into the lightening sky, the feathers of her cloak
soothing the burned surface of my skin.

     

6
    The next morning Birdie was gone still. The sun shone onto her empty bed,
unmade from the day before. Birdie didn't believe in the daily making of
beds. But her desk she had cleared before she left. All the piles of paper
her Word Meadow-gone. Maybe she'd packed it into her suitcase. I stood
in front of her full-length mirror in my nightie. Red face, neck, arms, legs
against white cotton, a burning hot, striped candy cane. I heard a noise
downstairs and my heart leapt-maybe Birdie had never left? Maybe she'd
spent the night on the couch. But it was only Sigga alone in the kitchen
making breakfast. The stove glistened silver, the sink gleamed white again,
the cups and dishes that Birdie had piled up were now returned to their
proper places.
    "Good morning, elskan." The morning seemed anything but good. Behind her round glasses, Sigga's gray-blue eyes seemed like snowballs, hardpacked and icy. She set a bowl of oatmeal onto the table for me, thick with
raisins and topped in brown sugar and cream. I leaned over to take a bite
and yelped: the rising steam stung my sunburned cheeks. I began to cry.
    "Whatever is the matter?" Sigga asked.
    "Where did Birdie go?"
    Sigga was silent a moment, lips taut. "Birdie took a little vacation."
    Wasn't Gimli already a vacation? Why would Birdie need to go anywhere else? I suspected Sigga of not telling me the truth. Was that the same as lying? Or maybe it was more like a game of pretend, a game I could
play along with. "When is she coming back from her vacation?"

    "Any day now." For an instant Sigga's eyes softened and I