Thief Eyes - Janni Lee Simner [46]
“The Westfjords.” Ari nodded, as if he knew where we were. “That’s not so far.”
The building—Hotel Laugarholl, the bright red words painted on it said—didn’t seem damaged, even with its large windows. Maybe it hadn’t been a very large quake—or maybe the hotel got lucky, the way houses did in wildfires, when the flames spared some homes but not others. A half dozen people stood around in pajamas and jackets on the building’s yellow lawn. A few rumpled blankets lay on the ground. In spite of not being cleared to go inside, a couple of men were bringing out food and piling it onto a table.
Ari walked up to one of the men. “Excuse me, could we borrow your phone?” he asked in Icelandic. The man didn’t look at him, just set down a tray of sliced meat and headed back toward the door. Ari followed, repeating the question in English, but the man didn’t turn around.
Two women in jackets and jeans headed for the table, talking quietly in what sounded like German. Ari followed them. “Guten Tag, haben Sie ein Handy?” His German was more hesitant than his English. The women walked right by, as if they didn’t see him.
An uneasy feeling crawled down my spine. I thought of how that emergency vehicle had driven right past us. Of how no one had answered by the farmhouse we’d stopped at.
The other guests—two older couples—got into line behind the Germans. They were debating in English whether to still go on a hike they’d planned. I tapped one of the women on the shoulder. She drew her arms around herself but didn’t turn around.
Ari stepped right in front of a man carrying a couple of pitchers. The man kept walking, stumbling as he bumped into Ari. Thick milk sloshed over one of the pitchers. The man cursed himself for his clumsiness as Ari stepped out of his way.
They couldn’t see us. They really couldn’t. Just like—
A cloud drifted past the sun. Ari returned to my side.
“‘None shall remember you, beyond these stones.’” My voice sounded unnaturally loud. “‘None shall see you, comfort you, aid you. I leave you alone, alone, alone.’”
Ari’s eyes went wide. “We are like ghosts to them.”
“That’s impossible.” Even more impossible than everything else that had happened since I came to Iceland.
Ari began cursing in English and Icelandic both. I stared at the people piling food onto their plates. I didn’t feel like a ghost. How could anyone make the entire world forget us?
Ari stopped cursing and laughed a little. “At least if we do anything stupid now,” he said in Icelandic, “no one will know, right?”
In the distance, a gull cried out. Even if we made it back to Dad and Katrin, what if they couldn’t see us, either? What if they couldn’t remember us? What if no one could, not Jared or any of my friends at school or my grandparents or cousins? Panic rose in me. It made no difference how long we’d been gone if no one remembered us—knew us. “What are we supposed to do now?”
Ari shrugged uneasily. “Eat breakfast? I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And, well, we should eat while we can.”
I forced the panic down. Sweat beaded on my skin. My stomach rumbled, louder than before. When had I last had anything but stale jerky and chocolate malt balls? “Can ghosts even eat?” I followed Ari as he got into line behind the hikers.
Ari lifted a slice of meat off the table and tasted it. “Yeah. They can.” He grabbed a plate and bowl and piled them high.
So did I. I wondered if the dishes looked to everyone else like they were flying through the air or if maybe they disappeared when we touched them—but when I glanced around to see how people were reacting, they all just happened to be looking in other directions.
The guests found spots to eat on the blankets on the ground. So did we. “Like a picnic, yeah?” Ari said.
“A freaky little invisible earthquake picnic, sure.” I tried to laugh,