“Are you kidding me?” I push a dangling bloom out of my face, slide off the bed and stomp to the window. Before I reach it, the wind pushes it shut.
That’s weird. Wind doesn’t typically blow from inside a house. I recall the wind and the strange occurrences last night—before I got roared at.
“It’s not magic. There’s a perfectly logical explanation.”
My closet door flies open and a dress comes fluttering out. It hangs in the air like someone’s holding it, but no one is there.
I can’t shut my gaping mouth. “How—”
The gown shakes, twirls around, and drapes itself across the bed. A gust of wind rushes around my room, making my bed, straightening the crooked quilt, dusting off my dresser. It even lifts my boots into the air, whips around them in a mini tornado, and sets them down, perfectly polished.
My knees give out and I sag back down onto my neatly made bed.
Apparently, I did get another souvenir from my wasted trip to see the king: my own personal poltergeist.
“Okay. I'm sure there’s an explanation for this,” I repeat.
The wind ruffles my skirts, reassuringly.
I run a hand over my head and wince. I didn’t wrap my hair last night and my braids are worse for wear. My fingertips catch on something and I pluck it out: a piece of vine with a moonflower bud.
“Can you do something about this?” I wave a hand over my head.
The wind gusts and swirls around me.
My braids unravel and then reform in a second. I touch my head. The rows are perfect. My only issue with it is the flower that got tucked behind my ear. I pull it out and shake it in the air. “No more of these.”
The wind whips around the room, gathering all the vines and flowers. The window blows open long enough for the bundle to be tossed out the window.
In three seconds, my bedroom is clear of all plant life.
“All right. Okay. As long as there are no dancing mice.”
A sound outside my bedroom makes me freeze.
Someone’s moving around downstairs.
An intruder?
Floorboards creak, and dishes clatter. And someone is humming; they sound like—
“Ma,” I whisper, and hurry out of my room.
Ma is settling into her usual chair with her tea as I race down the stairs. “You’re awake!”
“Of course, I am, child. Unlike some, I prefer to be up with the dawn.” She lifts her tea to her face but her mouth is curving so wide, the cup can’t hide her smile.
“But… how?”
She nods to the table. “I awoke with my window open, and this potion within reach.”
The little wind ruffles the mini-scroll attached to the bottle with golden thread. The alien lettering is neatly scripted but I can’t make out a word. My translation chip only works on sound. I’m stuck on a planet where I can no longer read. Not that Ma or anyone in the village has many books.
“I can’t read what it says,” I say, trying to hide my frustration. “My chip doesn’t work on the written word.”
“It’s from the king.” She reaches for it, and I hand it to her. “‘If you are touched by the Red Death,” she reads, “take three drops of this potion once a day until the rash has disappeared. Every house has received a bottle. If you are feeling well, please give your dose to someone who needs it. Blessings be upon you all.”
“He did it,” I whisper.
