42

42

F lora's eczema has spread. It rears its angry scales up from her hand all the way to her shoulder. The exact trail of fire brought on by the Night Hag's visit last night. Her skin is red, so red. Connor is shocked when he sees it, but she assures him she is used to it. She dealt with skin issues all the time as a kid. Of course, she does not tell him this is much, much worse.

Iris is particularly fussy after waking, and Flora soon realizes it's because she has her first cold. Green mucus leaks from her tiny nostrils and even the inner corners of her eyes. The small nasal cavity is so backed up that the gunk is forced to ooze out elsewhere.

Flora can't help but worry that this sudden illness is connected to last night's events. If so, she fears she is officially out of time.

Mercifully, the pediatrician is able to see Iris at midday. Flora convinces Connor to take the baby, claiming she will use the time to nap after a rough night of sleep—but, of course, she has other plans.

Together, they get Iris ready for her appointment. Flora snaps the baby into a soft pair of corduroy overalls as her husband bends down to retrieve something he dropped under the crib.

When he reappears, his face is white. "What the fuck is this?" he asks.

Flora turns to find her husband holding the birth tusk.

"Where was that?" she asks, grabbing it from him, turning it over in her hands to confirm it is real.

"Taped to the underside of Iris's crib. What the hell is it?"

Her mind races. How did it get there? When?

another Dark Spot

"A what? What dark spot?" he asks.

She looks at him, confused. Did she say that out loud?

Her fingers graze the carvings, including the hippo-goddess Taweret. A flash of the woman's shadow figure on the wall of her bedroom plays behind her eyes.

"My dad bought this after I was born," she tells him.

"Okay," Connor says dubiously. "But what is it? And why did you tape it to Iris's crib?"

"I didn't," she says. "I didn't put it there."

Connor frowns and raises an eyebrow. "Flo," he says, "who else would have put it there? Don't lie to me. Just tell me what it is."

"I…" She doesn't know where to begin. "It's just a good-luck charm, kinda. Like a rabbit's foot or four-leaf clover."

Suddenly, she has the urge to replace it under the crib. Maybe it was the tusk that prevented Iris from suffocating on the lovey. Maybe the tusk deterred the Night Hag from entering Iris's room. Maybe it has kept her safe this whole time.

Flora shakes her head. That's not right. Isn't it the birth tusk that brought her mother here and put them in danger to begin with? But then her mother tried to destroy it and it burned her feet… Flora is so confused.

"This thing is creepy," Connor says, grabbing the tusk out of Flora's grip. "I don't want it under Iris's crib. I don't even think we should have it in the house."

Hours ago, she would have agreed with him. But now she doesn't know. The events of the past few weeks swim in her brain. She no longer understands what is bad and what is good.

Connor continues. "A guy in the field had a bunch of weird shit like this, and he had something going on up there, you know? Something not right about him."

Flora nods, her mouth slightly open. She wonders if it was that guy's "weird shit" that kept the soldiers safe. But she does not say this out loud, because Connor will think she is sick in the head, too.

they want to take your baby away

Flora gently retrieves the tusk from Connor's grasp. "I'll give it back to Dad, okay?"

Her husband eyes her closely, and she wants to smack his gaze away.

"You should get going to Iris's appointment," she says.

After they have left, Flora wraps the birth tusk in a pair of socks and hides it in the back of a drawer. She spends some time pacing the perimeter of the house, roaming the halls like a ghost.

Hot water heats on the stove. Flora gathers Iris's bottles and pacifiers, compelled to sanitize them all in the wake of the baby's runny nose, perhaps afraid that her own sickness is spreading to Iris. When bubbles spring to the surface of the pot, Flora carefully places the items inside and watches as they bob around.

The boiling water emits a hissss sound that bores into Flora's temples. She steps away, but the sound only gets louder. Maybe it isn't coming from the pot, after all. She squints, as if that could somehow help her hear better, and walks toward the front door.

The hissing is coming from upstairs. Running water. Did she leave on a faucet?

Her feet carry her up the steps. Steam escapes from under the bathroom door. When she opens it, she finds the shower running at full pressure. The room is like a sauna, warm and inviting. No hint of the terror that has plagued it since her mother left.

Flora disrobes and steps into the water, letting it pelt her back and arms. Drops stream down her body, tracing the lines of her flesh. She closes her eyes and feels the heat and sting and electricity through her muscles. Her rash lights a fire under her skin, but she welcomes the pain. After pain comes healing.

A small hand presses on her back. Before Flora even looks, she smiles, knowing that her friend has finally returned.

"Zephie," she says, relieved. "Where have you been?"

But when she looks at Zephie, the girl is not smiling.

"I'm sorry," Zephie says. "But this was the only way."

"What do you mean?" Flora asks.

"We have to keep Iris safe. I didn't want to hurt you, but it's the only way," the girl repeats.

"Hurt me how?"

"Maybe I am bad," Zephie says. "Maybe there is bad inside me."

"What are you talking about?" Flora asks.

But then she hears something. A siren? She grapples with the shower curtain and when it finally opens, she is accosted by high-pitched beeps. She winces and brings her hands to her ears.

Someone is there. Standing just on the other side of the tub. A man. A stranger. He wears a heavy coat, a large hat, and giant boots. The image is familiar.

"Ma'am?" he says. "Ma'am, we need to get you out of the house."

He hands her a towel and guides her out of the shower. She walks barefoot into the hallway and a foul smell hits her nostrils with an angry slap. Burning plastic.

the bottles boiling on the stove

but I only just left them only just got in the shower

The smoke is thick downstairs, and it coats her insides when she breathes.

Connor is outside talking to one of the firemen. When he sees Flora, he breaks down. "Oh, thank God," he says. "Thank God."

Didn't he just leave for Iris's appointment? Flora's brain is Swiss cheese. So many holes in her timeline.

She sits on the grass, naked under her towel. The firefighter tells Connor that they arrived before too much damage occurred. "It could have been much worse," the man says. His large mustache dances when he speaks. "You guys got very lucky today. Send that neighbor of yours a nice thank-you basket." He nods toward the street, where Wanda throws up a little wave.

fucking Wanda Jesus Christ

"She saw the smoke and called," Connor tells Flora. "Said she was worried after bumping into you the other day—"

"So you're saying— Wanda saved my life?" Flora laughs. She laughs and laughs until her left side cramps.

The fireman sees Connor's concerned expression. "Your wife is just in shock," the man assures him.

Later, when the house is properly quiet again, and the beeping machines have been silenced, and the red and blue lights have been extinguished, Connor comes to Flora, a ball of energy.

"What the hell happened?" he asks.

Flora squints. She hits the side of her head, like she's smacking a mosquito, but really she's trying to jostle the gears back in order.

"The bottles," she says. "I was sanitizing the bottles."

"Yeah, I get it," he says. "And I might even understand walking away and getting distracted. But the smoke! You didn't smell the smoke? You didn't hear the alarms? They must have been going off for… Jesus, I don't know, how long were you in that shower?"

"I'm not sure," Flora admits. Her skin is still pruned and raw from the pelting water. She remembers Zephie's hand on her back. The little girl's apology.

Zephie wanted to burn the house down

Zephie was trying to kill me

Connor sucks on the scar above his lip. Flora wonders, not for the first time, what trauma he endured in his mother's womb to warrant the lifetime tattoo.

"What if Iris had been home? What if—?" He can't bring himself to say more.

"That would never happen," she says. Zephie wouldn't have done it with Iris in the house. Zephie thinks Flora is the threat, so she was burning the house down to help Iris. To save her.

There it is again. That same refrain.

I wasn't trying to kill her I was trying to save her

"You shouldn't have moved the birth tusk," Flora says.

"Huh? What is going on with you?" he asks. "You have to get your shit together."

Flora does not like his tone of voice. This is not her husband. He does not speak to her like this. But then, maybe she has never seen him truly afraid.

"What can I do, Flo?" he asks, his voice softening but panicked. "I did the night feeds, I tried giving you breaks during the day. What else can I do? Tell me, really. Tell me, and I'll do it."

Her phone vibrates in her pocket. It's an unknown number, but she recognizes it immediately. This is bad timing. The worst timing. But she has to answer it. She holds up a finger to Connor's face and walks out the front door with her phone. Her feet carry her farther and farther from the house, despite her husband's frantic protests, which grow dimmer with each step.