How could she be talking to Marika the way they had at fifteen, without feeling that awful fifteen-year-old feeling again?
And how could the engine choose that moment to make an awful choking noise that demanded any decent captain’s attention?
By the time the engine stops hacking, it’s dinner time. The director wants to talk to Marika over dinner about how skin-birds cope with the conditions that drive real birds astray, which leads to a discussion of how many skins are rejecting the idea that non-changing animals are more real than they are, which leads to talk about Marika’s book, which leads to a short interview on the stern while the sun is setting. Meanwhile, Faith looks at the weather radar, trying to find a pleasing storm to finish off the trip on a potential high note, and talks with Robert, her first mate, about the vacation time he want to take, and works on the blog, and drinks her Laphroig.
Marika disappears to her bed as soon as the interview is over. It must have been tiring, flying so far.
In the morning, Faith sits by the director at breakfast and discusses heading a bit south towards stormier weather, but his budget won’t accommodate more than one extra day. Then she goes to check on how the wire- and-duct-tape repairs to the engine are holding up—fine, as they should be. And then she takes a stroll around the lower deck, just to see how things are.
Marika turns out to be inside, talking to Chaz about Indian food. She wraps that up without seeming to, and follows Faith without seeming to out onto the bow.
“So, I didn’t ask you how your dad is doing, yesterday. So rude!” She’s still wearing the sunglasses and earrings, but she’s now in a pair of cargo pants and a green T-shirt. Where these changes of clothing come from is a mystery to Faith; it never occurred to her to ask her mother, until it was too late, and Vivian doesn’t ever want to talk about anything to do with having a skin, until this thing with Mark.
She doesn’t feel ready to ask Marika, either. “He’s still speaking to me. More’s the pity.”
“That implies that you’re still speaking to him.”
“Now you sound like Dr. Kravitz.”
“She was right sometimes.”
“It would upset Vivian if I just cut him out of my life.”
Marika nods and pushes her sunglasses up to perch on her head. “Vivian is still making your dad out to be the good guy.”
“In her mind it’s easy. One person ran away, and it wasn’t Dad. Plenty of people agree with her.”
“It’s the number one question I have to field at readings, you know. Your mom ran out on you. Tell us how mad you are at her, how much it fucked up your life.”
“Must make you crazy.”
“Nah, I was already crazy, just ask Dr. Kravitz.”
“Vivian’s getting married soon.”
“Yeah, I believe I may have heard a little something about that, when I stopped by to see her Monday night.” Fifteen-year-old Marika would have rolled her eyes, and fifteen-year-old Faith would have been mad at her for it, so maybe they have both grown up a little.
“Her fiance’s dad was a bull.”
“Heard that, too.”
“They have some kind of big plan where instead of her just giving him her skin, they’re going to swap.”
“Let me guess. Then they’re going to hyphenate their names.”
Faith sighs. “I just don’t see how it’s going to be any better. I mean, it is better. He didn’t outright steal her skin the way Dad stole Mom’s. But she’s still going to be trapped.”
Marika is silent for a moment, the wind ruffling her earrings. A drop of rain hits the upturned lens of her glasses. “And you ran away to sea.”
“That I did.”
“Are you looking for your mom?”
“No, Dr. Kravitz. Gannets live in the Atlantic Ocean.”
“And yet, here you are. In the blue Pacific.”
“I just like it out here.”
It’s raining for real, now, and they retreat inside by wordless mutual consent.
After dinner the rain tapers off. Out on deck, Marika is leaning carelessly against the rail, and Faith has an image of her sunglasses falling off and sinking through the cold water, tumbling, to end up miles below in the silt. Of course they don’t.
As she gets closer, she realises that Marika is muttering.
“…when my dimensions are as well compact, my mind as generous, and my form as true as honest madame’s issue?” She turns, and doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed by Faith’s presence. “One of the few good things about getting locked up in an all-girl’s boarding school at sixteen is that we got top play all the boys’ roles too.”
Faith looks at her, at the swing of her hair brushing her shoulder, at her earring.
“So I was Edmund in
Faith nods. The earring sways in the breeze.
“You know: ‘Thou, nature, are my goddess…’”
“Sounds cool. The only Shakespeare we ever did in high school was
“You never had
“I mostly took science classes.”
Marika shakes her head and chuckles. “All work and no play…”
“The ocean is play. The ocean is beautiful.”
Faith isn’t looking at Marika at all now, but she feels her moving in, feels the air get warmer and moister in the moment before they kiss.
In the morning, Marika isn’t in Faith’s cabin. Her skin is, though, neatly draped over the chair where Faith sits to write her blog posts, the only place in the room where something that size could be neatly draped, impossible to miss.
Faith hesitates for a moment before even picking it up. The feathers are warm, which doesn’t seem like it should be possible. They leave a fine powder on her fingers like a butterfly’s wings.
Marika didn’t leave it behind by mistake, that’s impossible. She must have wanted Faith to see it, to have the opportunity.
Faith folds it—her clumsy inexperienced fingers can only get it down to the size of a bath towel—and takes it to Marika’s cabin. No one is inside. She puts the skin on the bed and locks the door so that no one but Marika will find it. Hook evaded.
Maybe she should ask Vivian for a plus-one for the wedding. It would be nice to have someone there who understands.
But that’s months away. Today, they’ll have to head east.
CONTRIBUTORS
Holly Black is the bestselling author of the Spiderwick series. Her first book,
