Black Bird of the Gallows(24)

“The truth…” He runs his tongue over his teeth and turns his gaze to the cloth roof of the car. “Fine. Here’s the truth. The man you saw is a being called a Beekeeper. He’s many centuries old, and he goes around with a hive of bees in his chest. Yes, I know how made up that sounds, but those bees are deadly. Their sting infects a person with a venom that causes paranoia, delusions, and violent urges. It strips away reason and decency in favor of base impulses. Get stung by one of his bees and you’ll go dangerously insane.”

Okay. Deep breath, Angie. I gave my word. I said I could deal with whatever. This is a bit more than I’d bargained for, but then again, maybe it isn’t. Some part of me knew that the truth about the man with all the faces and the bees would be something outside the realm of the normal world. I’m also aware that of the sea of knowledge on this topic, Reece has offered me only a single drop.

I take another deep breath. I can do this—talk about the impossible. “So was that guy in the car…stung?”

“Maybe,” he replies. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see very much of him.”

A shiver slides down my spine. “That’s why you freaked when that bee was on my coat.”

“Yes.” He drops his forehead against mine. Soft hair fans my skin. His fingertips brush my cheek. “Angie, I wish you hadn’t followed me today.”

I swallow with effort, through the desert in my throat. “He called you a harbinger. What is that? Are you…like him?”

“We’re not the same, but we’re both cursed. What he is—what I am—is…” He leans back and rakes long fingers through his hair. “It’s really complicated.”

“We’re veering back to evasion here,” I say in a warning tone. “What about my mom?”

“I don’t know what to say about that.” Reece’s voice drops low. “Each feature that appears on his face belonged to a person who died with Beekeeper venom in them. There’s no surviving a Beekeeper sting. You’ll kill yourself, or someone else will take you down. Did your mother go on a shooting rampage in a shopping mall? Did she ever try to kill you or anyone else?”

“No…” She died a sad death under a highway overpass after years of drug abuse.

“Then you couldn’t have seen her features on the Beekeeper. You saw someone who looked like her.”

“No. It was her. I know what I saw.” Without photographic evidence, which I’m not getting, he won’t believe me. “Whatever. Forget it.”

He rests a hand on my shoulder. “Facing a Beekeeper in true form is terrifying. Why wouldn’t you see a familiar face in all that madness?”

He makes it sound so reasonable. So excusable. “Reece, what were you doing here tonight?” I ask. “I want the truth.”

“The truth,” he says again, drawing it out as if saying it for the first time. “You won’t like it.”

“Tell me anyway.”

He stares blankly out the windshield. “I went there because I knew someone was going to die there and I—”

A rap on my window makes us both jump. A frowning police officer shines a light inside. He makes a rolling motion with his finger. Oh great.

I turn on the car to lower the window. “Good evening, officer.”

He gives me a quick survey. No clothes out of place. No stink of alcohol or glassy eyes. No heavy breathing—well, maybe a little. “What are you kids doing out here?”

Reece leans over and nods at the officer. “Just talking, sir.”

“Uh-huh.” He narrows an eye. “Windows are steamed up. You two aware this is a public parking lot?”

“Yes sir,” I say with my best smile. “We were just about to head home.”

“And where’s that?”

“Mount Franklin Estates.” Reece’s tone borders on pompous, as if declaring our neighborhood excuses us. “It’s a little after seven p.m. Have we violated any laws?”

We haven’t, and the officer knows it. He grunts something about know-it-all rich kids and backs up. “Get going, then. Do your ‘talking’ at home. And be careful,” he adds. “The drunks are out tonight.”

“Yes sir. We’re going,” I say with an earnest nod. “And thank you.”

My fingers can’t put the car in gear fast enough. I pull away with a little wave and hope he doesn’t follow us home. He doesn’t. I merge into the light town traffic, jaw clenched and hands tense around the steering wheel.

Reece’s face is turned away. All I glimpse is the illuminated line of his cheek and the curve of an eye. He stares out his window like a passenger on a bus. The policeman snapped him out of his open, sharing mood. I’m sure he thinks he came to his senses, but… “You were saying you came out to The Dredge because you knew someone was going to die?” I ask.

“Yes. My kind are drawn to death, but you already know that,” he replies coolly. “Just ask me already. Get it over with.”

His kind. That’s pretty much the answer right there. “You’re a…harbinger of death?” I ask it anyway, hardly believing I’m saying the words out loud.

He nods slowly, holding my gaze. My heart beats in the palms of my hands, the soles of my feet. My suspicions are finally confirmed. My stomach twists into knots. I would rather the first boy who makes my heart beat like this, who makes my senses come alive, be a normal, human one, but I shouldn’t be surprised. “Normal” hasn’t exactly defined much of my life.