Charlie Anders - All the Birds in the Sky

“That’s a funny name,” said Skrrrrtk. “Can I call you Prrkt?”

“Sure,” said Prrkt. She wanted to fly some more — she wanted to fly all night — but she also wanted to find a nice tree and nest until the sun came up. She was already forgetting about all that nonsense that Patricia had been upset by — Prrkt wouldn’t have to worry about any of that. She had her whole life ahead of her, including unlimited suet. This was excellent.

Prrkt flew one last time, just for the thrill. She beat her wings until she had the whole town to look down at, all at once. All of those lights, all of those houses and cars and schools, all of that drama over nothing.

She was about to swoop back down to where Skrrrrtk was waiting, but she saw a strange light shining upwards from a mile or two away. It pierced the sky and refracted yellow and purple. She had to take a closer look, it was too fascinating to ignore. She arced down.

The light came from a meadow, from a device in the hand of a tall human. Some avian instinct told Prrkt to flee, to get out of there, because this was trouble. But another part made her get closer. She flew toward the light.

“Uh, hello there,” said the man holding the light. “Patricia, right? I was starting to wonder if you were going to make it. Well, you’d better resume your true form. I brought some clothes.”

And just like that, Patricia was a naked person on the frosty ground — like she’d been tossed into an icy bath. The man flung a bundle of clothes at her and turned while she got dressed. The clothing all fit perfectly: a pair of cheap imitation Reeboks, fuzzy white sweatpants, a T-shirt for a classic rock station, and a Red Sox jacket.

“Excellent,” the man said. “My car is nearby. Let’s get you warmed up.”

The stranger wore a checkered hunter cap and almost-Lennon sunglasses, and he had unruly gray hair and sideburns, and his skin was a deep brown. He had a big longshoreman coat that he wore like a cloak. The light that had so entranced the bird version of Patricia turned out to be a Black & Decker flashlight, but maybe the man had done something magical to it.

“Come along now,” he said, with a slight midsouthern accent, like Carolina or Tennessee.

“Wait a minute,” Patricia said. It felt weird to be speaking English again, but she didn’t have time to worry about that. “Who are you? And where are you taking me?”

The man sighed, like a thousand valves opening to release a million years of pent-up exasperation. “Could we do this in the car, perhaps? I can take you to a drive-thru for some grub. My treat.”

“No thanks,” said Patricia. “I ate a lot of suet. I’m good.” She had a moment of remembering how she’d snarfed the pearly fat, and felt revolted.

“Very well.” The man shrugged, causing his big coat to elevate and subside. “You may call me Kanot.” He pronounced his name somewhere between “cannot” and “connote.” “I’m here to summon you to a special school, for people with your particular talents. A secret academy staffed by the greatest witches alive, where you can be taught to use your powers responsibly, and well. We heard whispers about you, and tonight you demonstrated an extraordinary aptitude. This is an honor, the start of a wondrous journey, et cetera et cetera. Or you can stay here and eat suet.”

“Wow.” Patricia wanted to jump and shout for happiness, but she felt too stunned to move. Plus she was still freezing, even with the Red Sox jacket. “You want to take me to the special magic school? Now?”

“Yes.”

“That is the coolest thing that has ever happened to anyone. I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. I’d almost given up hope.” Then Patricia remembered and fell back on her heels. “Only, I can’t go with you. Not yet, anyway.”

“It’s now or never.”

Patricia could tell this was not how these conversations usually went. The tall man, Kanot, looked pissed.

Patricia pulled the Red Sox jacket tighter around herself and looked down at her tight fists. “I want to go with you. More than anything. It’s just that I have this friend. My only friend. And he’s in trouble. He’s Laurence. He’s talented, too, only in a different way.”

“You cannot help him. You have to let go of all your old attachments if you want to study at Eltisley Maze.”

Patricia felt the suet churn inside her. She wanted so badly to say that Laurence could fend for himself, so she could go to the magical academy. If the positions were reversed, Laurence would probably ditch her, right? But he was still her only friend, and she couldn’t just up and leave him. She looked at the man’s car, a rented Ford Explorer parked in a turnaround, and stammered, “I … You have to believe that I want to go with you. More than anything. But I can’t. I can’t turn my back on my friend. And if your fancy witch teachers don’t believe in loyalty and helping people in trouble, then I guess I don’t want to learn what they have to teach anyway.”

Patricia looked up, into the man’s skewed sunglasses. He was studying her or maybe preparing to give up on her.

“Listen,” Patricia said. “Just give me a day. Twenty-four hours. I just need to make sure Laurence is okay, and then I promise I’ll go with you. Okay?”

“Let’s say I give you twenty-four hours to help your friend.” The man sighed. “Will you agree to owe me a favor later?”

Patricia almost said, “Sure, yeah, whatever.” But so soon after all her dealings with Mr. Rose, this question seemed like it could be another trap. Or maybe a test.

“No. But I’ll be the best student you’ve ever seen,” she said instead. “I will pull all-nighters every night. I will do all the extra-credit assignments. Starting twenty-four hours from now, I will be a study-maniac. Just please. Let me do this one thing first.”

The man flicked his Black & Decker on and off in irritation. “Very well,” he said at last. “You have one day. Free and clear.”

“Awesome. Now can you please give me a ride?”

Kanot gave Patricia a look that said he was seriously considering turning her back into a blue jay.

THE BLACK-LIGHT ANGELS were fading at last from the center of Laurence’s vision, but he still felt concussed. He shivered, and not just because they’d locked him in an equipment closet stark naked. How many times had they dropped him on his head? He couldn’t think — his head was full of iron filings, but also the panic overtook him every time he tried to pull back and look at the outlines of his situation instead of the details. This closet had a dead bulb, and he kept thinking he heard someone creeping up behind him in the dark. Every time he shifted position, his balls touched the icy floor.

Today was supposed to be the day that Laurence’s “trial visit” ended and he went back home. But Commandant Peterbitter had called him into his office and said that in light of some unpleasantness at Canterbury Academy — Laurence’s “girlfriend” had done a Satanic ritual and threatened a teacher — everybody thought it might be best if Laurence just stayed on indefinitely at Coldwater. Forever.

Someone fumbled with the door handle outside, and Laurence instinctively curled into a lump, protecting his head. He wasn’t ready for the next thing yet.

“Laurence?” A girl’s voice. Laurence looked up and saw Patricia in the open doorway, along with an older African-American man in a deerstalker hat. “Crud. You’re naked.”

“Patricia! How did you find me?” As he stumbled to his feet and tried to cover up, he felt a flicker of relief at seeing her silhouette, and gratitude that she had come all this way, before the dread came crashing back in. They couldn’t see her here, or he’d just get punished worse.