Page 1 of Fumiko and the Finicky Nestmate
ONE
Squeaky Wheel
There was a trick to the box. Fumiko remembered that much.
Seated on the second-to-last step of a spiral staircase, she turned it this way and that, admiring the pearly luster of inset tiles. She’d always liked things made from seashells. They swirled with myriad colors in the sunlight angling from the lantern room above.
“A puzzle box,” she decided, running her fingers along each side, searching for seams. “Whose was it, again?”
Maybe it was hers? Everything here was, by default. But had it been hers from the beginning? It did seem old enough.
But no. As she explored its patterns and panels, flashes of memory stirred. Fumiko could see the box in the hands of a man with nimble brown fingers. Careful hands. Confident as they pressed and turned. He had known the trick to the box.
He was a good memory, warm with love and belonging. How had he been important?
A sibling?
A friend?
A husband?
A child?
Fumiko wasn’t sure anymore, but that didn’t bother her. Zuzu would remember.
Carrying the puzzle box to the wide bed with its drapery of netting and scarves, Fumiko nudged aside a green vase shaped like a fish and a striped tin filled with yellow crayons. If she also moved one of the book stacks to the floor, there was just enough space.
“I chose something, Zuzu,” she murmured. “Tonight, you can tell me its story.”
“Up here,” came her sister’s voice from overhead. “The hummingbirds are back, and they’ve brought friends.”
Fumiko’s chunky sandals rang on each metal step as she climbed to the lantern room, which was half-lost amidst her sister’s branches. Only for a handful of hours in the afternoon did sunbeams reach the gallery, which boasted a spectacular view of the Pacific.
Gulls whirled upward from the beach, raucous as they squabbled over some tidbit stolen from a tourist. Pelicans soared past in perfect formation, looking vaguely prehistoric and thoroughly dignified. To the south, kites danced and spun in the stiff breeze that tugged at Fumiko’s long, layered skirt and tangled her in a swirl of her own hair.
“Let me,” Zuzu offered warmly.
“Thank you.” Fumiko put her face to the wind and shook the mess from her eyes. Stupid hair, always growing, always getting in the way. She’d take a knife to it one of these days, just to get some relief.
“See them?” Zuzu’s hands were busy braiding, but she leaned over Fumiko’s shoulder, pressing their cheeks together to guide her line of sight. “They come to us because they don’t like winter.”
Although Portia’s wards were an impenetrable barrier to problems, big and small, she’d made allowances for many species, including migrating avians. Hummingbirds darted amidst the branches, which bore clusters of fragrant purple flowers all year round. Tiny birds, bright as jewels. Most people thought of them as the smallest of birdkind. But only because they’d never seen a nippet.
“Vert nippets.” Fumiko hadn’t seen one in a while.
“Here to cheer you up.” Zuzu’s arms twined and tugged. “See? You’re smiling.”
“I don’t need cheering.”
Fumiko wished people wouldn’t make such a fuss over every little thing. Didn’t everyone have moody phases? She supposed it came from living with too many preservationists. They obsessed over Zuzu’s pollen count in much the same way.
“I’ll always smile for you,” Fumiko said, lacing her fingers with Zuzu’s.
They didn’t look like sisters, let alone twins. But their bond was the truest thing in Fumiko’s life. Zuzu was her only constant, her lasting comfort. Sisterhood defined their entire existence.
Once upon a time, they’d lived on the far edge of a vast grove, the nearest tree-kin to the reavers who’d tended this very lighthouse. Now, Zuzu’s branches were strung with a thousand tiny chimes that were both remembrances and prayers for those lost.
Zuzu asked, “How long has it been since the last time?”
