The Valley and the Flood by Rebecca Mahoney (i wanna iguana read aloud TXT) 📕

anything, but there’s no proof that’s gonna happen except for Cassie’s prophecy. No offense.”

“None taken,” Cassie says.

“And your being here isn’t all bad.” Loreen smirks at me. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen Williams so pissed.”

I smile for real this time. “I’m surprised she didn’t come tell me so.”

“Not her style,” Loreen says. “She’ll go after you tonight, with all her cronies behind her. And until then, she’s gonna let you look twice around every corner.”

They say it casually, but there’s a grim set to their mouth.

Maybe that’s why Cassie asks.

“Do you really think her abilities are gone?” she says.

Loreen considers us for a moment. Then defiantly, they lift their chin.

“She says she can’t do it at all anymore. I think that’s probably bullshit,” Loreen says. “But one thing’s true either way. Even if she can look, she won’t.”

“So you think—” I start.

“Yup.” Loreen grins humorlessly. “We’re on our own.”

—

SANDY ALVAREZ, CHRISTIE’S wife, is a five-foot Cuban woman with tight curls and a round, welcoming face. Our detour to her home isn’t planned, and yet when we walk in, she’s already making pastelitos. Which I guess proves that you don’t have to be Cassie to see the future.

“Guava and cream cheese,” she says, handing me one. “It’s a shame I couldn’t make my chicken version. Cassie doesn’t eat cilantro.”

“It tastes like soap,” Cassie says. Sandy shoots a long-suffering look my way.

It’s midafternoon, and we’ve crossed off all but one place from our list. But we’ve got an hour to kill before the last item: Lotus Valley Central Caverns, three p.m. Our appointment with the Mockingbird.

And so Felix, with a pointed look at Alex’s slumped shoulders, suggested we catch our breath. We’ve been at the table for about ten minutes before I notice Alex sunken into the living room couch, head tipped back, eyes closed. So his plan to “just sit down for a minute” is going great.

Sandy ducks out after ten minutes to finish packing the evacuation bag, and Cassie hesitates, then trails after her. Leaving Felix and me to load up on a new round of pastelitos at the kitchen table.

“Tired?” he asks.

“Nah,” I say, which is a blatant lie. “You?”

“Aces,” he says.

I snort into my hands.

After a beat, Felix frowns. “Nothing from the boss yet,” he says, looking down at his blank phone screen. “You think she’s right about Cassie’s parents?”

“I only know what Cassie thinks. Which is no.” I’m more worried about what’s in front of us now: the pages of notes each of us took today. “And if it’s not . . . what do we do with all this?”

“Not for us to figure out,” Felix says with a shrug. “Not for me, anyway. My internship’s over in less than a year. And until then, my only job is to do what Jones tells me to do.”

I watch him across the table. “You don’t like her, do you?”

“I like her just fine. It’s just . . .” He sighs. “Did she tell you she was at design school, before Rudy?”

“No,” I say. “But that doesn’t sound like any of my business.”

“I mean, it was . . . a bad time from what I know,” he says. “But it’s not like you have to give up on something you want because something bad happened to you.”

“Or her priorities changed?” I say, completely perplexed. “It seems like this job matters to her.”

Felix struggles with his words for a moment. And finally, he mutters, “I know. I just don’t know if Alex knows that.”

And just like that, the conversation changes to a language I can understand.

“He doesn’t need to go today,” Felix says. “He won’t admit it, but the Mockingbird tormented him, when he was a kid. He shouldn’t—”

“You don’t think this matters to him, too?” I say. “He knows what happened before wasn’t his fault. And he’s good at this job.”

“Well, of course he’s good at it,” Felix blusters. “But there’s other things he’d be good at. There are safer things he’d be good at.”

“Listen,” I say flatly. “There’s nothing less cute than a guy who thinks he knows what’s best for you. If you really like him, you should think about trusting him first.”

Felix’s eyes go wide. Then wider. I can see the blood creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. And I realize my mistake.

“Oh.” I laugh nervously. “You never actually—I assumed—”

He shoots me a long, tortured stare.

I venture quietly, “Was it a secret?”

“Oh,” Felix says. “Oh no, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“No!” I say quickly.

“Do you think he can tell?” he hisses.

“I don’t really . . .” I make a vague gesture. “You know, my best friend used to call this my soap opera senses?” He doesn’t seem to find that as charming as Gaby did. “He probably can’t tell. I don’t think so? I’m not sure.”

“Those were three different answers!” Felix’s eyes go saucer-wide. “Please don’t tell him.”

“I won’t, I swear,” I say.

“It’ll make things weird,” he says. “I mean, he wouldn’t make it weird, I’d make it weird—”

“Felix.” My hand hovers over his arm, careful not to crowd him. “I’m not going to say anything.”

He takes a breath and looks me dead in the eye. “Promise anyway. Please. I just—I don’t want him to feel like he has to—”

I hold his gaze until I hope he can see that I’m serious. “Not a word. I promise.”

Cassie ducks into the living room, snatches a roll of packing tape, and vanishes back into the master bedroom. And the movement draws my eye just past Felix, to the edge of the kitchen counter. Where a paring knife sits balanced on the edge.

A wave of cold washes over me. It’s possible that was there before, and I just didn’t notice. Or the Flood is reminding me that we’re not here to sit around and eat pastelitos.

When Gaby and I were thirteen, she dragged me door to door with her, handing out flyers for her babysitting business. You look trustworthy, Gaby had said, laughing. I don’t.

I forgot for a few hours, didn’t I? I’d started thinking like it