“It’s not a joke.”
He folded his page and set the book aside. Then, he pushed up from the squeaking mattress and sighed, “I know it’s not a joke.” Brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, he asked, “Are you ready to go downstairs? We’ve hidden up here long enough.”
My shoulders tensed.
Sensing my hesitation, he gave me a pointed, chastising look. “Mavis, it’s her name-day. She’ll want you there.”
We stared at each other for a few moments in a quiet battle of wills. Seconds of squinting through prolonged eye contact passed before I finally let out a sigh of defeat. He won.
He smiled in victory and placed a quick kiss on my lips. Lacing his fingers with mine, he tugged me toward the door.
I grunted. Crowds made my skin itch. I felt every stare as if I were naked, every accidental brush of skin as if it were a burn.
We descended the staircase together, the chatter and clink of glasses growing louder with each step. Candles flickered in metal sconces, scattering light across the oak floor.
Grandmother Alma stood in the corner of the dining area, muttering to herself and looking worriedly out the window. I squeezed Kaven’s hand with a pleading look.
Kaven glanced at Grandmother Alma and back at me. He rolled his eyes. I smiled and pushed at his chest—but he didn’t budge. He groaned, mouthing, “Five minutes.”
I nodded, and he bent down to press one more kiss on my cheek. He passed through the archway, leading to the sitting room, while I made my way to Grandmother Alma. Upon hearing my footsteps, she twisted toward me. Her gaze relaxed as it met mine.
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
Her frown tilted upward into a wavering smile.
“Oh, I’m alright, dear.”
There was a slight tremor in her voice. Her eyes wandered back to the window, glinting with interest. Did she share the same ill sensation I did?
Without looking back, she asked, “What can you feel?”
I searched the storm’s chaos for words to capture exactly how I felt. There were none.
“The wind is fierce tonight, and it’s blowing from an odd direction,” I said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
A moment of silence passed. I put a hand to my stomach and pressed my fingers inward, as if I could dig out the discomfort. Nausea threatened to overwhelm me as bitterness coated my mouth. It was acrid, reminding me of ash on my tongue.
“There’s something in that breeze that doesn’t sit right in the pit of my stomach.”
“Good.”
I furrowed my brow. “How is that good?”
“It means you are no fool. You see this storm for what it is.”
“And what is it?”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “A warning.”
My chest grew tight, and my breathing turned into short pants.
“Can you sense omens, Grandmother Alma?”
“Elders have always had a knack for sensing the weather, but omens are a different beast.” She hesitated. “Not everyone shares the beliefs I do. Whether it be salt on the front stoop to ward off evil, or the chirping of crickets signaling good fortune. But I know this wind carries an off-putting scent in the air. I can smell it—something wicked.”
I fidgeted with the hem of my tunic as she studied me, forehead wrinkling.
