Memory snatches them up. “So we need to pick out the photographs that best support our project theme, right?”
“Or just illustrate it.” I say. “I mean, it’s kind of hard to ‘compare and contrast the significance of crows’ in photographs. I tagged the ones I thought were the most relevant. Or had birds in them. Most are of the chapel, but I took some shots of other buildings to compare, too. None of them have the really old doors, though.”
“That isn’t a crow, it’s a rooster.” Memory points to the weather vane, but Faye is staring at a picture of one of the chapel doorways, the one that had her bird nest in it.
“Look,” she breathes. “Perth.” She points to the door. The flash has heightened the contrast, and a symbol shows up in faint relief on the surface, at the top. “I didn’t see it, when we were there.”
“It’s not in this one,” Memory says, pointing to the shot with natural light. “Are you sure it’s not just a weird shadow?”
“Isn’t that a Greek letter?” I ask “Like the ones over the fraternity dorms? Sigma or something.”
Both girls shake their heads. “Sigma looks like this,” Memory says, sketching a symbol that’s crooked in a different way.
“It’s a rune. Perth,” Faye says. “Or pertho, or perthro, depending on where you are from and when and what futhark you are using.”
“What does it mean?” I ask, despite myself. The stone she gave me is still in my pocket.
“Magic. The feminine mystique. Sometimes luck or secrets. Do all the doors have these?” She rifles through the photos, but only the one has the mark. “Can I keep this?”
“Sure,” I tell her. “Keep them all.”
“Are we finished?” Memory asks. She covers a yawn with her hand.
Faye half raises her hand. “I have one thing.”
“What’s up?” I ask.
“Yesterday, when I went to the library so early, it was to gather information about psychic connections. Our revelations the other day sparked my interest, and I’d never given it much thought, other than your basic paranormal theories, but the fact we had this similar connection—a bridge almost, between ourselves and the birds, I wondered if we were missing something.”
“Did you find anything?” I ask.
Cherry folds her arms across her chest, glances at the ceiling.
“The amount of information out there is endless—” Faye begins again.
“Yeah, and my brother and I have read all of it,” Memory says. She drums her fingernails on the tabletop.
“I guess the tricky part is separating fact from fiction, and there is no real way to measure or qualify that. I focused on shared and co-dreaming. Julian gave me some pointers on what to look for.”
“He was there?” Cherry drops the attitude.
“Yes. He helped me rule out astral projection. I did gather information on interpretations of dreaming about crows, meaning—”
“Crows represent death. And darkness.” Memory interrupts. “Or maybe annoying habits. We know all this, Faye. How did my brother look? Did he say anything about me? Was he still mad?”
“He was fine.” The tiny girl pouts. “And I wasn’t saying you haven’t looked, I just thought, maybe that I could find something different, a new angle.”
“Julian and I have researched the hell out of this topic. There is no stone unturned. We’re freaks. Twin freaks that must have had some kind of damaging occurrence in the womb. Maybe our mother drank the wrong kind of tea or took too many vitamins. Maybe she ran over a crow and it’s our curse. There’s nothing you can find that we haven’t already combed through.”
Faye shakes her head. “There has to be more. I refuse to believe this is a coincidence.”
“Drop it, Faye!” Memory’s tired eyes snap with irritation.
I watch the girls; I’ve seen them both pissed off, and I’d take even bets if it came to an all-out cat fight. Might be fun to see. But because I’m the kind of fool who fights a six-foot-twelve guy named Bruno over the last non-pink shirt in the laundry room—some gangbanger drops a red bandanna in the whites at least once a week—I suggest to the girls who are glaring across the table, “Maybe we should call it a day. Cherry, you look like you need a nap. Faye, give her a little space.”
Memory responds with a long middle finger. Faye bursts into angry tears and mutters at me under her breath. Both leave the room scowling, but at least not at each other. The black looks of feminine death are focused in my direction now. I can admit I’m a little intimidated by Cherry, but Faye? That chick may hex me while I sleep.
18.