Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [28]
“Um . . . ”Adelaide turned to Hazel. “Can you think of anyone?”
Hazel’s heart stirred. Here was her chance. She might not be fascinating, her feet might be wary and slow, but maybe she could at least be useful. That would be something.
And then something whispered in one distant corner of her brain, and a picture of Mrs. Jacobs at the overhead flashed behind her eyes. “I know!” she said, jumping from first to third position. “There’s a guy. Snowflake Something. He was a scientist who took pictures of—”
“No!” came a voice from the kitchen. “No, no, no!”
Adelaide and Hazel exchanged a glance. “Uncle Martin,” Adelaide mouthed.
Her uncle burst into the room, emphatically waving a pen. “Snowflake Bentley was not a scientist. Who said that?”
“I did,” Hazel said in a small voice.
He smiled brightly. “Oh, hi, Hazel, it’s nice to see you.”
“Uncle Martin,” Adelaide said, “I’m supposed to tell you when you’re being weird.”
“But this is a bridge too far! She’s spreading lies!” He pointed dramatically at Hazel, and then shot her a wink.
“Wait,” Hazel protested, “my teacher said—”
“Your teacher is wrong. Snowflake Bentley was not a scientist. He was a farmer. He looked at snowflakes under a microscope and realized that they were each unique. ‘Miracles of beauty,’ he called them. And he thought it was a tragedy that these tiny miracles would disappear. So he figured out how to take pictures of them. He wanted them to live forever.” Martin turned dramatically to Jeremy. “Snowflake Bentley. Look him up on your precious Internet. Now!”
The boy turned and started to type, his finger hunting out each letter. Martin went over to him and leaned over his shoulder. “Here! ‘When a snowflake melted,’ he said, ‘that design was forever lost. Just that much beauty was gone.’ He was no scientist. He was a poet! How’s that for your biography, Jeremy?”
The boy slumped in his chair. “I’d rather have Spider-man.”
Martin flung his hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll go where I’m appreciated. Nice to see you, Hazel.” He turned toward the kitchen.
“Wait!” Hazel said. Uncle Martin turned, and Adelaide looked at Hazel in surprise. Hazel had surprised herself, too.
“Can I ask you something?” The words stuck in her throat.
Uncle Martin was the sort of person who understood things. He knew about the things that lived just beyond the boundary of what you could see. Hazel’s wings twitched.
“Of course you may.”
“Um . . .” Hazel shot a glance at Adelaide, who was giving her a curious look. She took a deep breath. “. . . Can you think of any reasons someone would . . . change overnight?”
He tilted his head. “Change how?”
“I mean,” she said, as her heart jumped up in her throat and settled there, “they just don’t act like themselves anymore? That they were nice and then suddenly they aren’t anymore?”
Martin nodded slowly. “So, you mean a complete personality change.”
“Yes.”
“And might I guess that you are looking for reasons that aren’t . . . natural?”
She exhaled. She wouldn’t have said it out loud. “That’s right.”
“Well”—he rubbed his hands together—“let’s see. There are a few options here. Possession is one. Maybe not by a demon, but by something a little more harmless, like a goblin or imp.”
“Or a troll!” Jeremy exclaimed.
“Trolls don’t possess people,” Adelaide said, rolling her eyes at her brother.
“Or an evil corporate disembodied brain thing,” Martin continued. “Or there could be some sort of enchantment. By a witch or wizard. Or by a magical item, something that was given to them, or something they acquired, maybe by accident. Or something that’s infected them that causes them to see the world in a skewed way.”
“A poison apple,” said Adelaide.
“A magic potion,” said Hazel.
“Yes. Precisely. Or someone could have some kind of magical hold on this person, like spiritual blackmail. Or maybe they’re in the process of transforming into something else.”
“A turtle!” said Jeremy.
“He means a werewolf,” said Adelaide.
“Either way. Does that help?” Martin asked.
Hazel nodded, heart pounding. She took