*duet project
The air had yellowed for days. Not just the sky, not just the fog spinning up in snow, thunder, lit by lightning after dark. The air between ash and snowflake yellowed. The part of it warm breath cut through on its way from part of the mammalian whole to consolidated vapor to molecules loose shaking far flinging. The parts of it that filled the space between chimney and sealed flue. No use fighting fire with fire. Sybil had changed the filters on the air purifiers twice. She’d dialed the ultraviolet light from auto to boost. The alarms went off four times during the day, four times at night. When the three o’clock howled, Duck emerged from the office into the otherwise hush-quiet living room that should’ve been golden (not yellowed) with late winter sunshine.
Shift change. Here came Mal, Daisy Fleabane, and Lenny up the dim drive. Between Daisy and Lenny, a slight and stiff fourth figure slowed their progress.
“They’ve got another one,” Duck’s back was to Sybil, shoulders knit between a violet sweater weaved from seaweed, a vegan silk.
“She’s been up close,” Sybil agreed.
Gear dropped, the children entered, Mal mid-sentence, “like you’re breathing bleach, and you basically are.” Mal, more pink than peach, wet behind and in front of the ears, paused, posing a question Sybil was already answering.
“Here.” A deep, armchair upholstered in recycled kantha quilts, sea foam, glacier, deep nocturne blue. Lenny and Daisy folded their comrade into the chair.
“Cate.” Mal said. “Pulled me back from a broil.”
“Cate knows what started it,” Daisy added, “knows who started it.”
Lenny nodded.
The knot in Sybil’s stomach froze. Who.