Black Bird of the Gallows(44)

Every remaining bit of color drains from Reece’s face. His eyes take on a lost, hunted look. “I don’t want your form of ‘help.’”

The Beekeeper calmly holds Reece’s gaze. “You will.” His mouth opens wide. Bees crawl over his teeth and lips, just as they did that night in The Strip Mall’s parking lot. His tongue crawls black and yellow with them. I take back my previous assessment—he is much worse in daylight. I gasp and shift backward, bumping my calves against the Mustang’s bumper. Reece’s arm snakes around me. His body is tight as a bow.

“I will tell you a story, Angelina. It is a short story, for a life so long as mine.” Rafette’s words are clear despite the bees in his mouth. “In the old language, we were called the Mothe, which means maker of chaos. We were all young men, before we were captured, changed by sorcerers and their corrupt magic into this.” He gestures to his face. “Our queen wanted a creature engineered to enter enemy lands and weaken their defenses. When we were sent into service, we could fracture any army, shatter any siege, all with the power of our bees’ venom. We served our queen, because we had no other purpose. And when the great purge of magic happened, we—like the original group of harbingers—escaped annihilation in our animal forms. We no longer had purpose, but we were compelled to continue on, doing what we had been created to do. My curse is as endless as the Earth itself. It is an agony you cannot comprehend. It is unendurable in a way no living creature should ever know.”

His voice reveals his pain. It soaks through his words. This creature was not always evil and perhaps still isn’t. He is desperate, which makes him far more dangerous. The bees crawl back into his mouth and disappear. All but one. It buzzes a lazy, random path near Rafette. “I promise few things, Angelina, but I promise you this: you will be safe when death comes to this town. I will make certain of it.”

There is nothing reassuring about the Beekeeper’s promise. It fills my veins with cold dread.

Reece bares his teeth. “Nice story,” he says. “But Angie doesn’t need your assistance. She’s got my murder of crows watching over her.”

I startle at the use of the word, murder, used like that. His murder of crows. His group. There is no difference. Just a more accurate, and darker, way of saying it.

Gravel rumbles as a red pickup truck pulls into the parking spot next to us. Corey Anderson, neckless wonder of the wrestling team, spares us a brief, speculative glance. He grunts, sticks earbuds in his ears, and trudges across the rapidly filling parking lot.

I gape after him. “He really didn’t see…”

“It’s true—the Beekeepers’ curse keeps their true faces hidden,” Reece murmurs against my ear. “So they can move around without notice.”

Rafette flicks a finger and the bee meanders into the parking lot, toward school.

Reece yanks me behind him. “What are you doing?” he snarls at the Beekeeper. “You can’t do that here.”

Rafette’s eyes narrow. “Harbingers are not the Beekeepers’ masters.” Suddenly, the bee’s course turns deliberate. It bumbles a path toward Corey Anderson, who walks across the parking lot oblivious to the danger he’s in. Normal honeybees don’t target people to sting. This is no normal honeybee.

“No!” I gasp, as the bee disappears down the back of Corey’s jacket. I don’t like the kid—he’s a mean-spirited bully—but he doesn’t deserve whatever he’s about to get stung with. I lurch forward to help or something, but Reece holds me back, tucking me against his chest.

“Don’t,” he warns into my hair. “You will only make it worse.”

“Ow!” Corey slaps the back of his neck. He swipes the bee to the ground and stomps on it with a few foul words. And keeps walking.

We watch in silence until Corey disappears through the school doors.

“That’s it?” I turn to Rafette, but he’s gone. “Where did he go?”

“Gone,” Reece grinds out.

“Gone where?”

“Just gone. Beekeepers move differently than others,” Reese says roughly. He flattens his palms on the still-warm hood of the Mustang and drops his head between his arms. “One of their many interesting gifts.”

“What was he talking about, that I’m protected?”

“It means he won’t let you die.”

“I got that part,” I say. “But why? He wants something in return.”

“Of course he does.” Reece gazes over at me with hot, dark eyes. “He’ll take nothing less than my soul as payment.”

The gravity of his words drops on me like bricks.

Nothing less than my soul…

“That’s not going to happen,” I breathe.

He shakes his head, lips twisted in contempt. “You’re right. I’m already damned. Not going to make it worse by forfeiting my humanity. Besides that, it can’t happen. No one’s ever broken a curse. Or transferred it.” He taps the side of his head. “Rafette’s getting a little scrambled after being around for nearly a thousand years.”

I swallow through a tight throat, trying to swallow my unease. Reece may not believe Rafette could alter their curses, but the Beekeeper seemed very confident that he could. The parking lot is packed now, but the curious stares and fizzy voices barely register. Twenty minutes ago, I was breaking out in hives just thinking about walking into school with Reece. How trivial those worries are now. “What will happen to Corey?”