Since she’d been about twelve or so—the age at which her father started feeling safer about leaving her home alone in charge of Gemma—they’d come out to stay with Bernie less and less, but before that, it had been a home away from home.

Harper was certain that if she looked, she’d find the fort she and Gemma had built out of branches and old wood in the back, behind Bernie’s cabin. They’d secured it with nails and wood, and Bernie had promised to leave it for them always.

When they reached his cabin, she noted that it looked more worn than she remembered it, but it held up remarkably well for its age. Vines covered one side, with Bernie trimming them only around the windows.

As Bernie led them around to the back of the cabin, Harper finally discovered what the “big changes” were—he’d started a vegetable garden. A giant rosebush, covered in large violet blossoms, grew in the center. It was something his wife had planted just before she’d died, and until the vegetable garden, it was the only plant he really took care of.

“Wow, Bernie,” Brian said, a little stunned at the sheer numbers of tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers, carrots, radishes, and lettuce that Bernie had in his yard. The garden plot was nearly the size of his cabin.

“It’s a lot, isn’t it?” Bernie smiled proudly. “I sell them at the farmers’ market. It helps supplement the ol’ retirement. You know how extravagant my life can be.”

“It is impressive,” Brian admitted, “but if you’re strapped for cash, you know—”

Bernie held up his hand, stopping him before he could say more. “I know you’ve got two girls to take care of, and I’ve never taken charity a day in my life.”

“I know.” Brian nodded. “But if you do ever need anything, you can always come to me.”

“Bah.” Bernie shook his head, then stepped into his garden, rubbing his hands together. “How would you like a rutabaga?”

While Brian and Bernie discussed what kinds of vegetables Brian would want to take home, Harper headed out toward the trees, hoping to get a glimpse of her old fort. Coming out here was like stepping into Terabithia.

Some of her best childhood memories involved her and Gemma running through those trees, usually because they were being chased by one make-believe monster or another. Almost always Gemma would be the one who turned around and faced the monster.

Harper would be the one to invent the games, explaining to Gemma in vivid detail what the hideous ogre might look like, and that the ogre wanted two young girls to grind up to make his bread.

But Gemma would always be the one who defeated the ogre, either with a stick that was really a magic sword or by throwing stones at it. She would only run for so long before she would stop and fight back.

As Harper passed through the trees, a breeze picked up, mixing the scent of the ocean with the pines. It also blew up a feather that had been hidden among the trees. When it drifted by Harper, she bent over and picked it up.

The feather was astonishingly large—several inches in width and well over two feet in length. It was a deep black color straight through, even the rachis running down the center.

“Ah, you found a feather!” Bernie said from behind her, and she turned back to look at him.

“You know what this is from?” Harper asked, holding it up so he could better see the peculiar feather.

“From a bloody big bird.” Bernie carefully made his way through his garden over to her. “But I don’t know what kind of bird it is. It’s nothing like I’ve ever seen.”

“What does it look like?” Harper asked.

“I haven’t been able to get a real good look at it, but I can assure you, it’s huge.” He held his arms out as wide as he could to demonstrate. “The wingspan is twice as wide when I’ve seen it make a pass over the cabin. The sun was setting, and at first I thought it was plane, but the wings were flapping, and a feather came off.”

“I didn’t know we had birds that big out here,” Brian said, watching Bernie as he explained what he’d seen. “That sounds like a condor, maybe.”

“My eyesight’s not what it once was, I’ll admit that, but even the noises they make don’t sound right,” Bernie said. “I’ve heard them around the island, making all kinds of weird cackling sounds. At first I thought the seagulls had learned how to laugh, but then I realized that didn’t make much sense.”

“Maybe you’ve discovered some new species of bird,” Brian said with a smile. “They could name it Bernie’s Bird after you.”

“I dare to dream.” Bernie laughed.

He went back to picking vegetables in the garden, the feather forgotten, and Harper went over to help him. By the time they’d finished, Bernie’d had her fill a wheelbarrow full of produce he could take to the farmers’ market.

Brian and Harper stayed on a bit longer, sitting in the backyard and reminiscing about the past. Eventually, though, Bernie seemed to tire, so they excused themselves. Bernie walked them as far as the dock, and when they got on the boat, he stood waving at them for a long time after.

TWENTY-TWO

Confessions

As soon as Alex had told her that Luke was dead, Gemma had known the sirens had something to do with it. The first hour she’d spent with Alex after he’d told her, it had been hard for her to keep from vomiting. It had to have been Luke’s blood that she’d drunk, the blood of a mortal that Penn had used in the potion to turn Gemma into a siren.