The loop part might not be entirely accurate. Some characters may be out-of-character. I apologize for any mistakes I may have made; please send me a PM if you notice any mistakes, and thanks to Gene Marie 85 for helping me correct the date of Miss Avocet's loop.
That girl knows more, I just know it. She can turn into a bird, just like me, and she disappeared into thin air when I showed her what more I can do. Not without dropping a gold pocket watch.
It says French Railway in fancy calligraphy letters on the back. The chain swings against my left leg. I open the clasp, struggling with it for an instant. The watch pops open and a sepia picture flutters out.
In the bottom left, a solemn woman stares at the camera. Another woman sits next to her. There is a gaggle of children around them, but my eyes are riveted on the girl, who looks so sad. I turn it over and on the back of the picture is inscribed in spidery copperplate, Miss Avocet's loop.
I gather that one of the two women must be Miss Avocet. What kind of strange thing is a "loop"? Maybe all the children in the picture are like me and that girl. A chilly wind starts blowing, and the picture is whipped out of my hand, cartwheeling on the ground as I chase after it.
And then, in the blink of an eye, the garden is gone and I'm standing on the stoop of a blue-painted Victorian with a walnut door. Tentatively stretching my hand out, I take hold of the bird-headed iron knocker and it thuds onto the door with all the authority of a death knell. My facade of cockiness is gone.
Slowly, the door opens. And the girl with the green eyes is staring at me with shocked eyes. "Who are you? Really?" I say, holding the watch and the picture out to her. She grabs my arm without a word and hauls me up the cold marble stairs, past a pile of wilting greenery, and into a room I assume is hers.
She closes the door as I massage my aching arm. God, she's strong for such a delicate looking girl. "How did you get here?" Her voice is icy, with a slight quaver of anxiety. "I asked first." I say bluntly. She cocks her head to the side like some bird of prey, or a falcon, but as she opens her mouth to answer me a bird flies through the window, or tries to.
A handsome slate grey peregrine with a creamy underbelly slams into the previously open window as the girl shuts the window. It slides down the frosted window to the ground as she shoves me into a small and dingy closet on the left side of her room. I barely have time to protest until I hear a taunting voice.
"Come on Alma. Your leg is perfectly fine..despite what the old cow says. Come on; you know you want to." I hear the self-controlled facade beginning to crack; she gives a little cry of fear. "No." she defiantly says. "Go away, Jack."
A slap reverberates throughout the room, like a whip crack, but she doesn't make a sound. "You think you're better than everyone else, huh? You and all the other Ymbrynes?" That cruel, cold voice is more than I can bear. How can you treat someone else like that? Like they're an animal?
It reminded me of my drunkard father. Opening the closet just a crack, I see an older boy with dark hair kicking the side of the girl whose arms are spread-eagled on the floor.
I take a handful of seeds and gently scatter them on the floor. Slowly the bean plants creep around his ankles and hobble him. The girl, or Alma, notices and turns to the closet, her eyes wide and mouth open. The boy gives a roar of anger, shouting something unintelligible. Byron or something?
He flies out the window, transforming so fast I barely have time to blink.