Page 4 of Daughters of Sea and Storm

I rolled over and spotted the birthday card my mom had put on my bedside table. I read it—it was cheesy, but sweet. There was no present, because she’d already done what I’d begged her to do and transferred some money into my savings account, currently nicknamed “Wren’s Car Fund.” Tossing the card aside, I stumbled out of bed, maneuvered through the curtain of streamers, and made my way into the bathroom. I showered, got dressed, and packed up my backpack before heading out toward the kitchen. The tantalizing smell of chocolate chip pancakes and bacon wafted down the hallway, and I walked in to find my mom at the stove, already in her scrubs, with her wet hair hoisted up into a bun. She turned and smiled at me.

“There she is! Happy birthday, honey!”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said as I flopped into one of the chairs. She plopped a plate of pancakes down in front of me and kissed me on the head.

“Do you want me to drive you this morning?” she asked as she sat down across from me, munching a piece of bacon. “I’ve got time if you—”

“No, no, that’s okay,” I said, looking out the window. “It looks nice. I’ll take my bike today so that I can get home after rehearsal.”

She frowned. “I’m so sorry I have to work. Are you sure you don’t mind me missing the performance tonight? Maybe I could get someone to cover the last hour for me.”

It took several seconds of chewing before I could answer. “Mom, stop. It’s fine, seriously. I’m not even onstage.”

“I know, but—”

I put up a hand. “Stop apologizing. It’s my birthday. I command it.”

My mom chuckled. “Okay, okay.” She got up to make herself a plate of pancakes. “Did you turn in your creative writing paper?”

I nodded. “I just have to get through my chem final this morning and the performance tonight, and I’m done.”

At that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket and I pulled it out. A text from my best friend, Poe Reyes, blinked up at me, full of party horn and heart emojis.

Happy birthday, bestie! See you at rehearsal later! Good luck with chem!

Thanks,I texted back.At least I can escape the embarrassing locker decorations and hallway singing this year.

Don’t be so sure about that,she replied with a string of winking emojis. Poe was one of those people who enjoyed other people’s birthdays even more than her own.

I smiled. My birthday always coincided with the end of the school year, but this was the first time it had fallen on the actual last day of classes. I was really looking forward to celebrating the start of summer, as well as my first taste of adulthood. Sixteen was a milestone birthday, after all. I was old enough to get a summer job and old enough to drive. Suddenly, my world seemed full of possibilities, and I was so excited about all the things that would be happening that I almost forgot about the thing that wouldn’t be happening.

No visit from Asteria. Again.

I tried not to let it bother me, but I couldn’t help it. The silence was always loudest on this day. Six years without a visit, a card, a letter. It was hard not to resent my mother over it, but I’d given up asking her for an explanation. The answer was always the same.

“Wren, I need you to trust me. This is best for everyone. Life with Asteria in it is too… too complicated.”

It wasn’t an answer; in fact, it was the opposite of an answer. But this year, at least, I could see a light at the end of the answerless tunnel. In a few short months, I would have my license. I was planning to save every penny of the money I made this summer scooping ice cream to put toward my own car. And once I had that, I was free—free to drive right to the tiny coastal town where Asteria lived, knock on the door, and reintroduce myself. Whatever reasons my mother had for keeping us apart, they wouldn’t matter anymore. I intended to see just how “complicated” life with Asteria could be, and there wasn’t a damn thing my mom could do about it. I wasn’t exactly a rebellious teenager, but this, I knew, would be one situation in which I intended to show her just how teenager-y I could be.

“What are you thinking about?” Mom asked, her brow furrowed, and I realized I’d been silent for too long. I mustered up a smile.

“Just finals today. But it’ll be fine. I studied.”

She looked at me hard, mouth half-open, like she wanted to say something. But then, a moment later, she closed it again, reached out, and mussed my hair.

“Of course it’ll be fine. It’s your birthday, after all.”

* * *

Three hours later, I arrived at the theater, happily allowing my brain to forget all the chemistry formulas I’d unceremoniously crammed into it over the last twenty-four hours. I’d finished early, and my teacher had allowed me to turn in my paper and leave. It was relatively quiet now, but in a few minutes, students would be thronging the halls, some celebrating loudly and throwing binders into garbage cans, others shouting their goodbyes and wishes for a great summer. I slipped into the cool, dark haven of the theater, let the door close behind me, and left them all behind.

A single bare bulb, glowing and white like a skull, hung suspended in the darkness. The halo of light it cast was barely enough to cut through the gloom, but it was a gloom I knew well. Anyone else would have stumbled or fallen over something, but not me. I could maneuver this space with my eyes closed—and they may as well have been. The light flickered once, twice. The only sound in the cavernous space was the quiet buzzing of the charge coursing through the filament.

I sighed contentedly. In the barely controlled chaos of high school, this was home.

My footsteps echoed hollowly as I crossed the floor toward the light. The floorboards beneath my feet were painted black and dotted with bits of brightly colored tape, which helped me avoid obstacles as I closed the last of the distance between myself and the light. I stared into it for a moment, hypnotized by the elongated shadows it cast around the space. As I watched, my own shadow twisted oddly, almost like it was peeling itself away from the wall. I gazed at it, fascinated for a moment. Then I reached behind the curtain, mashed my hand against the bank of switches, and the theater was flooded with light.

Ahead of me, out of the darkness reared row upon row of seats upholstered in faded red velvet. Above my head, drops and flats were suspended in shadowy relief in the flies. And on the stage floor, the formerly threatening shapes looming up around me resumed their true forms: several wooden cubes, painted black, and a battered old kitchen table and chairs rescued from the aisles of the local Goodwill. As I reached down to unplug and put away the ghost light at the edge of the stage, I heard the bell and then a great rumbling, like an earthquake, erupting from every side.

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