Sort of Dead

73 - See See

Soon, however, worry settles in, almost as smoothly as snow in Canada – and buries us six feet underfoot.

'What now?’ I ask. ‘How about Marra and Mr. Om?’

‘And Rasthrum,' adds Bee.

‘I don’t wike him,' chirps Es.

‘I’m with Es on this one,' I say. ‘But yeah. Him too. What do we do?’

‘The more pressing concern,' Bee points out, 'is that the witches might see us. They do come to check in every few hours, see if Goof here is doing her job well.’

The giant monster who seems to have fallen positively in love with Es – and vice versa (I wonder how our Marra would feel about that) – flutters her wings excitedly. I don’t look over. I don’t want to throw up and end up with an empty belly all over again.

‘Es?’ Bee offers. ‘Any ideas?’

The spirit looks dumbfounded. I guess I kind of understand why Marra likes her so much. (Please, please don’t tell him I said that; he’ll kill me before the Coven ever gets a chance.) ‘I dunno,' she finally says. ‘I guess Goofy-doofy could show us to Marry-wee-wee, couldn’t you?’

The giant, pink monster of an insect zips, pumped. God, I’m never getting used to this. Not am I getting the image outside of my head.

(Might just as well faint again.)

'No,' Bee quickly replies. 'Goof's going to be way too obvious, flying around like that. No.'

There’s a long, awkward pause, where none of us say anything. It’s a hollow space of a few seconds, and I do not wike it (wow, Es is growing on me).

Then Bee's bulb shines. Surprise, surprise, the genius has an idea.

She doesn’t say it, doesn’t tell me the idea, not at first. She just moves aside so that I can see See (that’s double jeopardy; 'see See') munching down on the gruel hungrily.

I frown, not understanding what the cowardly dog could do to help us. Bee smiles. After a span of – let’s say – thirty seconds, I realize what the plan is. And it is incredibly doltish.

I smile too.