Bond, Gwenda - Strange Alchemy by Bond Gwenda

Author:Bond, Gwenda
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: 9781630790769;fiction;Switch Press;romance/historical;romance/paranormal;historical/United States/19th Century
Publisher: Switch Press
Published: 2017-05-17T00:00:00+00:00

*

I thrash in my sleep. Sidekick’s periodic low whining makes for a restless night. Despite that, I’m tired enough to get some shut-eye, but not soundly. Instead I watch my dreams, nightmares really, play like movies I haven’t bought tickets for.

At first, the images are of the sinister black ship, sailing ever forward. But this dream takes place in a beachside clearing that I recognize as the settlement the theater set mimics. There is no ship, but there are people.

The dream settlers stand in rows facing the sound, packed sand beneath their feet. They wear clothes resembling costumes from the show — with one change. Long gray cloaks hang from their shoulders like so many pairs of broken wings. A storm has soaked the beach, and thick thunderheads above threaten its return.

The settlers chant words I can’t make out. As they raise their arms, their cloaks float in the air, broken wings straining to fly, and always, always, the settlers pass between them some object hidden from me by their bodies.

I wake as the last of them is about to turn, the secret about to be revealed.

Polly sits on the edge of the bed, looking at me.

Her expression is oddly serious, but other than that she appears normal. Prematurely gray hair, T-shirt with paint spatters, familiar brown eyes. A copy of a John White nature sketch hangs on the wall behind her like a floral crown.

Am I still asleep? Why hasn’t she said anything? I reach out and touch Polly’s arm.

No. She’s really here.

I scramble from beneath the covers. “You’re back,” I say. “How? Thank God. I’m sorry, I know it’s weird that I’m here, I didn’t know…”

“Your face is a welcome sight,” Polly says.

“When… where… what happened to you?” I force out.

Sidekick edges closer to lay his head flat on top of my feet. He isn’t growling or whining, but his furry eyebrows twitch up and down.

Polly gives me a strange look. “I’m not sure I can explain that to you.”

“You’re okay, though?” I can’t believe she’s here.

Polly inclines her chin. “Why are you in this house?”

I search for a place to start. My father’s death, a cute boy swooping in from the past, Roswell’s revelation about my ancestor…

“I’m sorry about taking your bed. It’s a long story. We didn’t know if you’d be back or when —”

“We?”

Grant. I hope he isn’t still being eaten alive by wild spirits. But somehow I don’t think that would matter to Polly. Polly, whose expression has yet to change. She’s as solemn as young Virginia Dare telling the audience the settlers will never return.

It’s weird. She’s being weird.

“Is it just you who’s back?” I ask.

“No,” Polly says, and her features shift into a frown. “I believe everyone managed to return.”

“Return from where?” I ask. Even if it’s negative, Polly showing any emotion is a small comfort. What has she been through?

Polly stands, ignoring my question. “The others have breakfast.”

I glimpse my reflection in a small round mirror on the wall. The snake crawls up my cheek, and I fight the urge to touch it.

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