Breadcrumbs - Anne Ursu [61]
She could not think. Her mind was too soft and thick, and not suited for things like thinking anymore.
“I think I’d like to go to sleep now,” she said.
“Don’t you want to see the garden?” Lucas asked.
“She can see it tomorrow,” Nina said. “She should sleep. It’s better.” She helped Hazel out of her chair, handed her her backpack, and led her out of the kitchen. The birdsong wafted out of the main room. Hazel stopped. It sounded familiar somehow.
“Is there a bird in here?”
“Let me show you,” Nina said.
She led her to the front room. There was a fire in the fireplace, shelves upon shelves of books, and two side-by-side reading chairs. And across the room on a little silver perch was a mechanical bird.
Hazel took a step closer. The bird looked like it was made out of the same colors as the flowers in front, with a rich purple body, a yellow mask, and a bright red belly. It looked like a robin that had rolled around in jewel-tinged paint. Its head moved jerkily around, and it lifted its wings and then dropped them again in a steady rhythm.
“Wow,” Hazel said. “Did someone make that?”
“Lucas is a bit of an inventor,” Nina said.
It sang again, lifting its head to the ceiling.
“It sounds so real.”
“We had a real one once, but . . .” She shook her head. “It got away. This one is much more reliable.”
“It reminds me of a bird I saw,” Hazel said. She didn’t realize it until the words were out of her mouth, but the song reminded her of Ben’s bird sister a little.
“Really?” asked Nina. “Where?”
Hazel opened her mouth, but somewhere in the fog of her mind she remembered her promise to Ben. “Oh, you know. Wisconsin.”
“Oh,” Nina said. “Well, this one is marvelous. You can take it apart and see how it works. And it’s never going to go away.”
Hazel nodded. Yes. It was pretty. But she was very tired. And the song of the bird made her sad, somehow. So Nina led her into a small back room.
“I’m afraid it’s a bit of a mess,” she said.
It was. It was a small workroom. There were shelves lined with small, inscrutable tools and pieces of clockwork. On the table was scattered a number of small animal figurines made of pieces of brass. They were in various states of completion. Hazel’s eyes fell on a figure with the shape of a cat. The face was off, revealing innards made of gears.
A small mattress and a thick white comforter lay in the corner of the room. They called to Hazel and she answered.
Hazel put her backpack down and crawled in, and the bed embraced her. Nina lifted the white comforter over her and gave her a smile.
“What happened to your face?” she asked gently.
“Oh. There was a witch. She scratched me.”
“I’m sorry. That’s the sort of thing that happens here. I think I can fix it. Tomorrow.”
“That would be nice,” Hazel said. What a wonderful thing to be able to take away a scar, just like that. “Are you from here?”
Nina smiled. “No one here is from here, not to begin with,” she said. “Are you going to be all right?”
Her eyes were full of such tenderness, as if they had all the time in the world for her.
Hazel nodded. It was strange to wander into the fairy-tale woods and come upon a place that felt so real. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Go to sleep, Rose. We’ll talk in the morning. I’m so glad you’ve come.”
“Me, too,” said Hazel.
Chapter Nineteen
Rose
Honey coursed through Hazel’s body as she slept, running through her veins and into her heart. Her dreams were thick with it. Jack was there, climbing onto the counter and taking the jar off the top shelf where his mother thought it could not be reached. Hazel liked to use a spoon but Jack just stuck his finger in, because he was a boy.
Once Hazel skinned her knee jousting on scooters, and Jack’s mom cleaned it up, wincing the whole way. Hazel was young and had the taste of stolen honey in her mouth, but she still wanted to tell Mrs. Campbell that it was going to be okay.
They used to do things like jousting. And pirates. They had the grandest adventures.