Gabriel and the Swallows (The Volatile Duology #1) Read Online Free Page B

sent chills up my spine. “Maybe she has been a devil all of this time.” A strange light entered Mamma’s eyes, and she appeared as in a trance. “I let the devil inside me,” she whispered.
    “Do you know what I see?” interrupted Papa. We all looked up at him then, for his next statement was to be vital: it was to seal our fate and the way we regarded the creature forever. “I see just a little girl. A little girl who happens to have swallow’s wings.”
    I nodded slowly, and much to our relief, Mamma did too. Soon we all felt hungry and chattered about food.
    “If I cooked us all omelets, would she eat one?”
    “She probably came from an egg, Mamma, she’s not a cannibal!”
    “What do swallows eat?”
    “She’s not a swallow. But seeds perhaps?”
    “Swallows eat the insects before the insects eat our grain,” interjected Papa wisely.
    Mamma: “I could empty out the bug catcher.”
    Me: “We could make her a bug sandwich.”
    “Why not try people food?” reasoned Papa.
    Mamma:  “Look! She’s moving!
    Me:  “She’s turning over!”
    Silent and in-awe speculation. Finally…
    Mamma: “Is that a tail ?”
    Me:  “I think it is! I think it is!
    Mamma: “My God! This is just like those two-headed babies one reads about in the paper. Or that fifteen-toed Indian child!”
    Me: (beginning an enthusiastic jig) “Yeah! A freak!”
    Mamma:  “I do not like this, Celso. I don’t like it at all.” And her eyes became round and wary, and as her heavy head swiveled slowly on her shoulders, fear descended over the three of us that it was going to happen all over again.
    But Papa leaned over the cradle to observe the creature. The blue forked swallow’s tail, with its white underside, did not protrude from her bottom. Instead, just inches below where the scapular wing feathers met in the middle of her shoulder blades, glided the graceful tail, centered in the small of her back. The overall effect was not remotely gruesome or freakish, to my disappointment.
    “Of course she has a tail,” remarked my father like it was the most natural thing in the world. “How else do you suppose she could fly?”
    At that, Mamma seemed to disregard any previous doubts and launched straight into motherhood. “She’s naked !” she shrieked, realizing for the first time. “Oh, you useless men !” And Papa and I exchanged bashful glances, high color spreading over both our faces. “Where’s your decency?” she demanded, and began rummaging through my chest of drawers, pulling out a t-shirt far too small for me, which I had saved because it had frogs on it, and I dearly loved frogs.
    “Not that one, Mamma, not that one,” I begged.
    “Too bad!” sang my mother, and with a pair of scissors, sliced a large square in the back to accommodate the roots of the bird-girl’s three feathery appendages.
    And she returned to the chest of drawers and found my rocket ship underpants, also too small yet saved for love of the print, sniffed them, and convinced of their cleanliness, brought them over to the girl. “Come here, Celso,” she commanded, “hold her up.”
    My eyes widened at the spectacle of dressing this strange creature in my human clothes. “Close your eyes!” demanded my mother. “And go to your room!”
    I sat on the bed and sulked, and came out again when I heard the sizzle of the frying pan. To my great surprise, the bird-girl was sitting upright, my frog shirt hanging down to her thighs, the healthy wing protruding easily from my mother’s hole, the wounded one hanging pitifully at her side. I could even make out the forked tail that curled around where she sat. She looked so perfectly normal, like a baby sister even, that I couldn’t help but stare. What made it stranger was that she munched heartily on buttered toast.
    My mother deposited pastrami and fresh bread rolls on the table, as well as a chunk of ewe’s cheese, pecorino . “I wonder if Lulu is a carnivore,” muttered Mamma.
    “