The Chronicles of a Public Bus (part 2.02)

Thursday, 7:00, route 31

Divinity finds herself fidgeting nonstop, distraught by the absence of reading material. Someone else has already claimed the bus copy of the newspaper, and its crinkling teases her from a few seats away. To make matters worse, her phone sits on her desk at home, forlorn and fully charged.

Since stretching her arms and kicking her legs back and forth are out of the question in the crowded bus, Divinity settles for people-watching. She shoves her backpack under the seat and folds her hands, prim and proper, in her lap before lifting her chin and putting on an air of indifference. People are less likely to think she’s staring if she makes it difficult for them to see her eyes.

Divinity’s first target is the obvious couple huddled over her newspaper. They lean into each other, laughing over the comics page, and Divinity wonders if they even noticed the sour portrait of Mr. Talisman on the front page, or if they bothered to look.

She picks out more subjects at random, occasionally letting a grin touch her lips if she spots something particularly funny, like the three middle school children pointing out public displays of affection and cackling at everything that moves. Then Divinity catches sight of platinum blonde hair and snaps her attention towards the owner.

She’s seen that girl. It’s not the hair, since there are too many blondes waiting to get run over for that to be a defining feature, but the sharp nose and eyes make Divinity think of an interview she read in the school paper. She squints and licks her lips, combing through her brain for information.

“Aha,” she whispers to herself, “that’s the exchange student from Austria, Marie.” Divinity smiles, closes her eyes, and leans back so no one will know she was staring before digging through her head again.

Marie Schuhmacher is famous at school, so famous that out of the ten exchange students in Franklin High, she’s the only one so far to earn an article focused solely on her. Her voice is charming, and last summer she attended an international camp for teens aspiring to sing opera, which must have been the topic of the article.

Divinity opens her eyes and brightens in pride. Six months and her memory of the article is still tip-top. She ought to brag about it to Willow.

The bus drags to a stop, and a stream of kids piles into the narrow aisle between the seats, squishing everyone backwards. Marie shuffles along with the rest of the crowd, but she can only push back as far as Divinity’s spot. When someone slips into a gap behind her, Marie stumbles forward, and her long shins knock against Divinity’s knees.

“Oh! Tut mir—I mean, I’m sorry.”

Divinity squints. Marie’s voice really is as lovely as they say; she sounds like a mix of seven parts Julie Andrews and three parts air.

“No problem,” Divinity says, shrugging. She pretends to study Marie for a moment before asking, despite already knowing the answer, if the girl is the exchange student from Austria.

Marie covers her mouth and lets out a melodious giggle. “I am the exchange student from Austria, yes. My name is Marie.”

Naturally, Divinity knows this already, but since Marie is not Willow or Drake, the conversation demands a polite reply. “That’s a pretty name. I’m Divinity. It’s nice to meet you.”

As Marie opens her mouth to reply, she suddenly gags and points out the window by Divinity’s seat. Her mouth twists in alarm, and with her other hand, she clutches her bag so tightly that her already pale knuckles turn even paler. “W-what is that?”

Divinity cranes her neck to look past her seatmate. “What is what?” she says, but then she notices the translucent, snowy shadow of a gigantic wing. Pitch black stick legs fold up and down, propelling a huge, white body down the road.

“Holy moly,” Divinity breathes. “That’s like, a snowy egret’s ghost times a hundred.”

Marie makes no reply, and the two girls watch the bird flap alongside them until finally, the bus squeals to a stop at an intersection. The bird halts as well, and it leans down to stare through the very window Divinity and Marie are using. Its black marble eyes gleam with hunger, and its white crest spikes in dangerous peaks. Its coal beak snaps open, revealing a pink throat swirling with wispy, half-digested spirits.

“Why is the rabbit not here?” the bird croaks.

Divinity snaps her mouth shut with a loud, hollow clack and hopes the bird is talking to itself and not someone on the bus.

Like a charmed snake, the bird’s head sways and rolls. “Strong spirits are like fish. They stink so much that I cannot seek them out accurately, only lie in wait someplace where the scent is concentrated. Mayhaps there is a more fortuitous location than this roaming box.”

The bus spurts forward a tad faster than it probably should, and the white bird leaps into the air. Marie taps Divinity’s shoulder, and Divinity jumps in her seat.

“I thought there were not any of the more dangerous powerful folk in this area,” Marie whispers. “That is why I came here for my exchange.”

As she pulls her gaze from the window, Divinity makes a mental note to warn Willow about the bird. “There shouldn’t be spirits like that around here,” Divinity says. “There hasn’t been a problem with anything powerful folk-related since the twenties.” A thought tugs at Divinity’s mind as she mentions the date, some trivia recently gleaned from the newspaper.

She glances at the couple trying to return to the comics in the paper and lets her eyes rest on Mr. Talisman’s frumpy face. His family bought their estate in the twenties. Divinity is almost sure of it.