No one knew why they were where they were that night.
Marigold didn't know why she was in her room, listening to her record player as worried tears trailed down her face when she still had three oil changes to finish by tomorrow.
Ophelia didn't know why she went and spilled everything to her mother--about Gwydyr, about Marshall, about everything--and was now crying in her lap.
For Birdie, she didn't know why she wasn't at home with them.
Usually, she wouldn't want to be anywhere else but her own living room with her parents and her sisters.
But for some reason, it felt suffocating tonight.
She couldn't comfort her sisters because none of them could say what they were all thinking because none of them knew what they were thinking.
Were they supposed to believe that it was truly Wyatt Best buried in that ancient cathedral? It was laughable.
Almost.
It was laughable if it weren't for the mysteries of the forest. If it weren't for the darkness that lurked there. If it weren't for the cruel irony of fate making it look so laughable that it wasn't laughable at all. It was terrifying.
Birdie sat in the armchair beside Evelyn Best's bed. The electric heater rattled in the corner, doing its best to ward off the chill that seeped up through the floorboards.
She didn't know why she was there.
Maybe some sixth sense had told her that Wyatt would go into the forest, leaving Evelyn alone for the night. Maybe she'd just needed to get out and her steps led her somewhere familiar.
Either way, caring for someone else helped Birdie get her mind off of things.
"The other blanket," Evelyn said, tossing her current quilt onto the floor disdainfully.
It took Birdie a moment to shuffle through the closet to pull out another blanket, which looked almost exactly like the quilt but was yellow instead of blue.
This seemed to be more to Evelyn's taste.
"Are you comfortable, Mrs. Best?" Birdie asked, adjusting the pillow behind Evelyn's head. Birdie had given her hair a wash, and it sprawled out in curly gray tendrils across the faded material.
"I'm alright. You do it better than that boy." She caught herself thoughtfully. "No--no, he's a good boy."
Her wrinkled mouth formed a line that matched the crease between her eyebrows. "Wyatt," she said slowly as if saying his name for the first time.
"Wyatt," Birdie agreed, tucking her in. The name was unfamiliar on her tongue as if she were saying it for the first time as well.
Birdie dimmed the lantern beside the bed--an old kerosine lamp that Evelyn had insisted on using.
"Tell me something interesting," Evelyn said, staring up at the ceiling like a child waiting for the hushed tones of a story.
Birdie swallowed. If only Evelyn knew how many interesting things she could tell her. But the only one that came to mind was how her son was somehow an ancient king, buried in the ruins of a forest.
It didn't seem like the best thing to put her to sleep.
So, Birdie said, "Why don't you tell me a story instead?"
Evelyn shifted her eyes over to where Birdie sat. She had a protest on her lips, but she closed her mouth and grew thoughtful.
The sound of the grandfather clock downstairs chiming filled the space in-between.
"I met my husband when I was only sixteen," she said at length. "We got married when he was eighteen. Too young, mind. But we were...we were happy, I think."
Her voice quieted as she got lost in her own memories. "But then we came across some money. Well, a lot of money. And we moved to...to..."
"California?" Birdie prompted.
"That's it. California. And we had a son--no--" she touched a finger to her lips, "We already had a son. In Holland. His name was Howard, but we called him Hal. He was a terrible boy, really. He got a girl pregnant in school and then wouldn't have a thing to do with us. We offered to help, but he was too prideful. The last I heard from him...oh, I don't know. He said he and his wife had a baby and that they would raise him better than we raised him."
Birdie watched as a resigned sort of sadness crossed over her expression.
"I don't know what happened to him through the war," she admitted. "I hope he's alright. I hope he did raise that baby okay."
Birdie's heart squeezed painfully. Perhaps Evelyn didn't know what happened to her firstborn, but Birdie did.
He barely survived the war.
And then he found Gwydyr.
He didn't raise the baby okay, he killed him to gain Gwydyr's magic. His wife killed him in turn.
But Birdie said none of this.
"Anyway," Evelyn said, "California..."
For the next half hour, Evelyn detailed every room in their mansion, each designer outfit she owned, and how many maids she went through in a year.
It was funny the things she remembered, but could barely even recall her sons' names.
After a while, however, her eyes blinked slowly until her sentences trailed off and so did she.
Birdie moved the space heater closer to the bed and turned out the lamp. She'd be okay until Wyatt got home.
Birdie was closing the blinds when she heard footsteps coming up the stairs.
She went out into the hall and leaned against the doorframe to see Wyatt holding onto the banister of the stairs, frozen in place dazedly.
She didn't know why, but the sight of him in the darkness, illuminated only by moonlight, made her want to cry. To let out these emotions she'd been ignoring all day.
She was glad to see him, to know that he was still safe, but part of her wished she hadn't because seeing him made things real.
"Wyatt?" she said quietly.
Wyatt startled at her voice, but relaxed when he saw it was her.
His eyes were bleary and his face was gaunt, made more so in the bluish hue from the window at the end of the hall.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, but not unkindly. His voice was raw like he'd been yelling for a long time. Maybe, Birdie thought, he had been.
"I just came to be with Evelyn while you were...out." Birdie cast her eyes to the floor as Wyatt closed the gap between them.
He peered into Evelyn's room with a heavy expression.
When he looked back at Birdie, they were only a few inches apart.
She met his gaze and held it.
You're going to be okay, was what she was going to say. What she actually said was, in a tiny, broken voice, "Please be okay."
Something shattered in Wyatt's expression and he pulled Birdie into a tight hug.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding him as if he'd disappear if she let go. She buried her face in his shoulder, holding her tears in until it built up in her chest and released as a single sob.
Wyatt placed his hand on the back of her head. "Don't," he said gently. "Please don't."
Birdie squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm sorry."
She wasn't sure who was comforting who, exactly, but she knew that as long as Wyatt was here in his ridiculous sweater vest and corduroy jacket, he wasn't buried beneath that wretched cathedral.
"I know how to fix it," Wyatt said.
"What? How?"
"If we can awaken the sleepers, they'll help us."
Birdie allowed her arms to fall away from his waist and she stepped back.
It was a small comfort to Wyatt to see a familiar expression creep across her face. One of slight horror that clearly stated, how stupid are you?
"What sleepers?" she asked. "What are you talking about?"
"I don't know," he said, "yet. But I will."
"Is it some sort of secret?" she asked with a nervous laugh.
Wyatt nodded somberly, his mouth forming a thin line.
Once she realized he was serious, Birdie's face grew concerned. "Why can't you tell me?"
"Because fate has to figure out itself first."
Birdie's frown deepened. "Those aren't your words."
"No," Wyatt admitted.
Birdie waited for a few heartbeats, hoping he'd say something, anything more.
When he didn't, she nodded to herself, pressing her back against the doorframe dejectedly.
"Are you angry?" Wyatt asked.
"Yes," Birdie replied. "But not at you."
"Then why?"
"Because I wish that forest had never shown up." Her stare drilled holes into the floorboards. "I wish we'd never summoned it at all. I wish we hadn't been born with these abilities. I wish Hal hadn't killed Silas. " She closed her eyes again to fend off the tears that came anyway, showing up in her voice that was filled with resentment. "I wish my family was happy and I wish you were happy. I wish you'd never gone on that stupid date with Marigold because I wish...God, I wish..."
She sniffed and gulped down her last sentence.
Wyatt grew very still in front of her.
She straightened, her gaze carrying enough ferocity to tear the forest itself down. Even in the darkness, her brown eyes glinted with steel.
She leaned forward, a mere breath away from Wyatt.
She was either going to kiss him or slap him or yell at him.
Wyatt wasn't sure which one he feared more.
"Don't. You. Die." she warned.
She moved past him and walked down the hallway, not sparing a glance behind her as she disappeared down the stairs.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hope you guys have a good weekend ^_^
~What'd you think of Birdie and Wyatt's interaction?
~General emotions so far?
~General thoughts?
Thanks so much for reading, don't forget to comment, vote, and share!