A shrill scream jolted me from my sleep. My half-asleep brain struggled with panic for a moment, before realizing that it wasn't a scream at all—just my phone beside my head, its sharp hysteric tone blending with the last remnants of my nightmare. 

Rolling over onto my back and I reached for the still-shrieking phone. I held it overhead—keeping a good grip on it, so it didn't land on my face—and squinted at the Caller ID through my bleary, sleep-clogged eyes still slightly swollen from crying the night before. I rubbed at them to clear them, then lunged forward in bed.

A familiar name blazed across the screen: Polly. Polly was calling.

I fumbled with the phone in my hurry to answer it. "Hello?" I gasped, my voice raspy. I cleared my throat. "Polly? Is that really you?"

"Who else would it be?" came that familiar husky voice. "It's not like I changed my number."

"I know, but it's been, like, forever since you called..."

"Oh, come on now, it's only been... It's been..." There was a pause, and I pictured Polly staring up at the sky, tallying up the days—weeks—in her head. "Okay, yeah, it's been a while. Sorry, I've just been really busy."

"It's okay, I understand," I insisted, stifling a sudden yawn. "How is your search going?"

"It's fine."

"Fine?" I said, raising an eyebrow that she couldn't see. "Just fine? What've you been doing?"

"It's a long story... Actually, Rachel, I'm more interested in how you're doing."

"How I'm doing?" I echoed back. "Why—wait..." My brain was still in the process waking up, so it took a moment before something clicked. "Luc called you, didn't he?"

There was another pause before Polly answered, "Yeah, he did."

"Goddammit," I muttered under my breath. For some reason, I felt like a child who had been tattled on.

"He was worried about you, Rach. And it's not like you called to tell me or anything..."

"Only because you've already got more than enough to worry about." Usually I waited for Polly to text or cal first, because I knew how busy she was. I was already enough of a burden...

Polly gave a half-laugh. "You're already on my list of things to worry about."

Throwing off the covers, I swung my legs out of bed, and headed for the ensuite bathroom. "Gee, thanks."

"I don't mean it like that," Polly said. "I meant that you are my friend and I care about you. Ugh, I can't believe you made me say that. I hate getting touchy-feely."

"Well, thank you for braving the daunting valley of emotion for me," I said as stopped in front of the sink. I poured myself a drink of water and quickly chugged it back to wash away the sour taste of morning breath. I wanted to brush my teeth, but I'd have to wait until I was off the phone. "And I know you and Luc mean well," I said, after I was done. "It's just... It's just that I wish you guys didn't have to worry about me. Not like this, at least."

"Rachel," she began, drawing out each syllable of my name. "It's okay to ask for help if you need it. And I am more than happy to help. You know that, right?"

My eyes prickled with tears. I blinked them back and cleared my throat again to fight off the lump that was forming. "I know," I said, my voice still shaking slightly.

"Good," Polly replied, and her voice seemed a little thicker too. "Now, have you considered maybe talking to a... specialist?"

I cringed. What Polly meant was therapy. Despite Polly's best intentions, it didn't stop a flare of anger from rising in me. Luc had suggested the same thing last night, but... "There's no way I can afford talking to a professional right now."

"You don't need to worry about affording it, I can pay—"

"Polly, I couldn't accept that. You've already done more than enough for me. I mean, I'm living in your house, driving your car, and I am literally wearing your pants right now." I looked down at the old pair of her leggings that I usually wore as pajamas. They were loose in the hips, more used to hugging curves more generous than my own. "And even if I could afford it, it's not like I could even tell them the truth. Who'd believe anything I told them about what happened? I'd get locked up for sure."

"Well, maybe Luc knows somebody," she offered. "Someone who is 'in the know' that you could talk openly with."

"He doesn't," I said, thinking of the conversation we had last night, when we had discussed how to deal with my 'visions'. "But he said he'd ask around."

"Well, hopefully he finds someone soon," she said, attempting to sound hopeful, but it came out flat. "And if—when—he does, please, please consider letting me pay for it."

"I'll consider it," I lied, just to get her to drop it. "Now, can we talk about something else? Tell me how the search is actually going."

"Well, there's not much to report, hence my lack of calls," Polly admitted with a sigh. "Everything has been a complete dead end, honestly. I've talked with everybody on my list—her university friends, the people Luc put me in contact with—and no one knows anything about what happened to her in those last few months. It's like we're talking about two completely different people." Another sigh. "If things continue like this, I might just come home."

Hope rose inside me—a selfish, unkind hope. I knew Polly would be upset if she had to come home empty handed, but to be honest, it was hard to wish otherwise. I missed her, and if she was here, maybe I wouldn't feel so lonely... Selfish selfish selfish. "That sucks," I offered, not sure what else to say.

"Yeah, it does," Polly said with another sigh. "But hope's not lost just yet. There's one last lead I need to check out, and if it turns out to be nothing, then that's it. I'm throwing in the towel."

"What's the lead?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

"Well..." Polly paused. "Okay, it's a long shot, I admit, but I can't help but feel that I need to check it out. You remember all that weird poetry from her diaries?"

I did. I hadn't read them myself, but the snippets that Polly had shared over the phone hadn't been very illuminating. They had turned out to be just bland, generic accounts of her day-to-day: what classes she had, the calories in her lunch, who she had talked to... Certainly not any clues into the mind of a disturbed witch. 

The poetry was the only thing that seemed a little out of place, and even then there had only been a few lines, here and there, crammed into the margins or at the end of entries.

"Well, one of her friends mentioned that one of the last times they had seen her was when she was taking the bus to visit someone on Yew street, and that reminded me of something. One of her poems had mentioned a yew tree, the one that said... That said..." I heard papers rustling in the background. "Here it is. 'Four hundred and three, little birds in a yew tree, for all the time you've given me'."

"Okay..." I wondered where she was going with that.

"So—and this is what I mean by a long shot—I wondered if that had something to do with Yew street. So on a hunch, I looked up the street address 403 on Yew. It exists, which isn't so surprising. It's an apartment building, right on the corner. But do you know what was really strange?"

"What?"

"The cross street at the corner is Sparrow Avenue. 403 is at the corner of Sparrow and Yew. 'Four hundred and three, little birds in a yew tree'. That's strange, right?"

A unexpected chill ran over my skin. I pulled an old hoodie of Polly's off the back of the bathroom door and shrugged it on. "That is strange. So now what? Are you going to go check it out?" I said as I stepped out into the hall and headed for the stairs. I needed coffee.

Polly gave a strange humourless laugh, like a dull bell. "Actually... I'm already here."

"Wait, what?" I stopped, mid-stair. My heart seized. "You're already at—"

"The apartment building, yes," Polly finished cooly.

"But..." I blinked at nothing, trying to put the panic that was now racing through my mind into perspective. "You know nothing about this place! What if it's dangerous? What if... whatever happened to your sister... What if it all started there?"

"Whoa, whoa, calm down, Rach... It's a long shot that this even means something. I'm following a hunch and a messed-up line of poetry. It could be nothing." There was a lull; I could hear passing cars in the background. "But if it does mean something... Then that's good. I want to know. I need to know what happened to her."

I started down the stairs again, now with purpose. "But if it's dangerous..." Where was Luc? I wondered. He should know about what Polly was going to do. Maybe he could talk her out of it, or at least tell her how to protect herself.

"I'll be careful, Rachel. I promise. I'm not exactly planning on going in there, guns blazing, demanding answers." She laughed again, the same empty laugh.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, buying myself some time as I looked for Luc. As I reached the main floor, I heard voices coming from the kitchen, so I followed after them.

"Just show her picture around, ask if anyone recognized her," Polly explained. "But the buzzer is broken, so I'm lurking outside, waiting for someone to enter or leave so that I can talk to them. Maybe they'll let me in to talk to the other tenants."

"Right," I muttered, focussing on finding Luc. He was, like expected, in the kitchen, seated at the island counter, drinking coffee and reading the paper. But he wasn't alone; Tory was beside him, busy shovelling toaster waffles—my toaster waffles—in his mouth, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Had he slept here?

"You okay, Rach?" Polly said. "You seem distracted."

"No, I'm fine. I mean, sorry, I'm just..." I waved frantically at Luc, trying to get him to notice me.

Tory noticed me first, a bit of waffle still sticking out of his mouth. He nudged Luc with his elbow, making Luc slop his coffee on the paper. His head snapped up, his mouth a thin line of annoyance until Tory nodded towards me, still lingering at the door. Luc smiled at first when he saw me, but his brow knotted together as I silently pointed to the phone at my ear.

"Rach?" Polly asked again. "You there?"

"I'm here! I'm just wondering if you've told Luc about your plan." I said the last part extra loud, so Luc would hear it, and hopefully get the idea.

Evidently he did, because he pushed back from the counter and headed over to me, his brow still pulled together.

"I talked to him last n—Wait. Oh shit, someone's going in. Gotta go!" I heard the squeak of a car door opening before the call cut off.

Luc was now looming over me. "Who was that?"

"Polly," I muttered, staring defeatedly at the phone's screen: Call Ended. I dismissed the message and went into my contacts to call her back. "She's following some weird hunch and I worried that it might be dangerous. I want you to talk to her." I mashed at her number, and held the phone back to my ear. Polly's phone rang and rang, but she didn't answer.

"Oh," Luc said, his brow easing. "That place on Yew Street?"

My head snapped up, my eyes meeting his. "You knew?"

"She told me about it last night, when I called her to..." He stopped short, then swallowed, his gaze suddenly diverting from mine. "To talk. We talked."

"You mean when you called to rat me out," I mumbled under my breath, then shot him a serious look. "But you sure it's safe, her wandering in there on her own?"

"Its perfectly fine," Luc said, pulling me in close and giving my shoulders a squeeze. "I did a tarot reading for her after our call and there was no sign of danger. In fact, it said that she might find something there."

Polly's phone switched over to her voicemail. "It's Polly, leave a message if you really want to, but just know that I don't—"

I ended the call. I'd call again later. Even if Luc said she'd be okay, I'd check in again, just to make sure.

"She'll be fine. She's smart, and she's tough, just like you," Luc said, placing a kiss on my forehead. "Now, are you hungry? Want some breakfast?"

"Sure," I said, letting him pull me towards the island counter. "I don't suppose there are any toaster waffles left." I levelled a glare at Tory, who quickly avoided my eye.

Luc gently pushed me into his chair, swept away the soggy paper, and headed to the fridge with a wry smile on his face. "I'll check."

I watched as Luc pulled the last two toaster waffles from the box—It was full yesterday, I thought with annoyance, giving Tory another sidelong glance—and plopped them in the toaster, then he filled a cup with coffee and mixed in milk and sugar.

"So," Luc said, a mischievous glint in his entrancing green eyes as he placed the mug in front of me. "What do you have planned for today, lovely?"

"Bathing," I said, wrapping my fingers around the mug, letting the warmth seep through them. I took a tentative sip; it was perfect, just the way I liked it.

Luc laughed. "And then what? Or do you intend to spend all day in the bath?"

"That'd be nice," I said, taking another long dink. "But I should probably hand out more resumés." The thought of it sapped the coffee's warmth from me, reminding me of yesterday's spectacular failure.

"Well, we're got an appointment in about an hour and a half," Luc began, a smile still playing with his full lips. "We can give you a ride downtown, if you like."

I narrowed my eyes at him, finally taking in his strangely jovial behaviour. What was he up to? "That would be helpful, thanks."

"And," Luc continued, "It's just the one appointment in the morning, so we could meet up after and spend the rest of the day together."

"Oh, really?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him. I've heard that before.

"Really," he said. He fought with his smile, chewing at his lip, like he was debating whether to share something. "Actually..." he began again, his smile winning out, the secret losing. "I have something to show you."

Even though I should've known better by now, I couldn't stop the rise of curiosity. "To show me? What is it?"

His impish smile pulled wider. "It's a surprise."

+ + +

What do you think Luc wants to show her?

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