face, all the way back to the beginning. We don’t vary, except in age and personal grooming choices. We are, in many ways, a hive.
Cuckoos are pale. Cuckoos are black-haired and blue-eyed and delicate, with features some humans see as “doll-like,” and some see as “creepy.” The humans who find us unnerving are the lucky ones. They might walk the other way when they see us coming. They might get away. Not usually, though. We can pick up on feelings of unease, and too many of my relatives view those people as a challenge, something to be pursued and overcome.
The woman started to type. “Where are you heading today?”
“Portland. The one in Oregon, not the one in Maine.”
“That’s good—we don’t have any flights left to Maine today.” She frowned at something on her screen. “That’s odd. I don’t have you listed on the manifest. Are you flying stand-by again?”
Bridget, whoever she is, must be connected to the airline somehow. “I am,” I ventured.
“That explains it. These systems need an upgrade in the worst way.” She resumed typing, faster now, plugging in the details of my supposed ID without once asking to verify it. “All right, honey, I’ve got you back on the correct plane—and since first class didn’t check in full, I’ve managed to upgrade you a couple of levels.” Her printer spat out a boarding pass. She handed it to me, eyes twinkling, radiating satisfaction at having done a favor for a friend. “Now don’t lose this one, all right? I can only save your bacon so many times.”
“I won’t, I promise,” I said, taking the boarding pass and holding it close to my chest, like it was the most precious thing in the world—which, in many ways, it was. It was one more piece of proof that I was recovered enough to leave the safety of Ohio. All I needed to do after this was get on the plane and make it to Oregon without accidentally diverting us to Prague, and I’d be free.
The woman’s eyes widened. A moment later, she was offering me a tissue. “Honey, your nose is running.”
My nose . . . oh, no. I took the tissue with a mumbled, “Thank you,” and took off, not saying goodbye. Let the woman assume I was booking it for the bathroom because I was embarrassed to have been caught with a runny nose in public.
Human blood is red. Human nosebleeds are obvious.
Cuckoo blood is almost clear, made up of hemolymph and plasma. It looks, to human eyes, like slightly blue-tinged mucus. When set against something as pale as my skin, the blue blends into the background, and a nosebleed looks more like I need a good decongestant.
I waited until I was far enough from the desk to not be observed by anyone who might know “Bridget” before I ducked into the alcove next to a pair of vending machines and wiped my upper lip. A trace of blue shimmered on the tissue. I was bleeding. Damn. Damn, damn, damn.
I needed to call home. I needed to tell Mom I couldn’t do this yet and ask her to come get me. I needed—
I lowered my other hand and looked at the boarding pass I was still clutching. One first class ticket to Portland, Oregon, leaving in under an hour. They’d be boarding soon.
One tissue, lightly streaked with blue.
I had two choices, and I couldn’t make them both. Go home and keep hiding and hoping that one day I’d be exactly the girl I’d been before I hurt myself or get on that plane and go to where people who loved me were waiting for some sign that I was truly going to recover. Go where Artie was waiting. I hadn’t seen him in five years. I hadn’t touched his hand in five years. Would the telepathic channel we’d opened between ourselves even work anymore? I’d never gone that long without reinforcing it. Maybe we’d be strangers again.
Go home or keep going. I couldn’t have it both ways.
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath, before I crumpled the tissue and shoved it into my pocket. I had a plane to catch.
* * *
First class is nice. For one thing, there’s never any fighting over the overhead bins. For another, the seats are large enough that there’s no chance of accidental contact with the person next to you. I curled my legs underneath me, stockinged feet pressed against the hard side of the armrest—designed to maximize my personal