Black Bird of the Gallows(71)

“What are you, suicidal? Leave me and go,” she gasps, holding her face out of the water with trembling arms. This time, there’s nothing snide behind her words. She means it. The chase is over, and she knows it.

The truth is, even without her, I wouldn’t be able to outrun him. “When he reaches us, we fight,” I tell her. “Nail him in the crotch. I’ll go for his eyes.”

“Where you going, girlies?” the man gasps. He’s closer than I thought, closing the gap fast.

Kiera’s mouth opens in surprise, then firms. “Crotch. Got it.”

Suddenly, the sounds of flapping papery wings and feverish caws fill the street. A cloud of crows heads directly for our pursuer. The man flings his meaty arms wildly as the birds descend on him.

This scene is very different from the one at the bus stop when I met Reece, all those weeks ago. Different from the skirmish they just had with the Beekeeper swarm. This is a serious attack. This is mortouri. The harbingers of death are dealing it themselves this time, and although I know little about this magical system, I think this is probably against the rules. Either they know it and hope their dark watchers aren’t seeing this, or they know it and don’t care.

Unlike Rafette, this man is no match for a murder of supernatural crows. There are more of them this time—more than a dozen. The crows easily dodge his clumsy flailing. I flinch as their talons dig into exposed flesh, ripping, shredding. Their skilled beaks aim for eyes, the skin just below the ears. The man drops to his knees with a howl, hands covering the ruined remains of his face. Blood streams through his fingers, down his filthy T-shirt.

Kiera squeezes my arm as one of the crows breaks away from the rest and turns sharp red eyes on us.

Reece? I can’t tell. They all look the same. Its beak is shiny. Drops of red drip from the tip into the murky water. My throat goes dry. If this is Reece, I can’t imagine the boy on the other side of this gore-spattered bird. He hops forward and lets out a low caw.

Kiera moans, dragging her arms over her head.

“They won’t hurt us,” I murmur, but she’s crying so loudly she doesn’t hear.

The crows peck and dig until the man goes still. Until the water around him turns rust-colored.

Some of the crows perch in a gruesome row on the man’s body. Others fly to the gas pumps. They begin to run their beaks through glossy feathers. All except for the one standing on the curb, watching me. It dips its head and blinks at me. I mouth the words, thank you.

Satisfied, it hops back to the others, perched on the dead guy’s back. They shift to make room for it, and it lets out a long, mournful kraaaah before cleaning its feathers.

I turn away, feeling a little light-headed, and I climb to my feet. “Come on,” I croak, pulling Kiera upright. “Let’s break into that house.”

Kiera points and blubbers at the crows, but I tug her away. Together we limp to the closest house, a neat little yellow number with window boxes. They’re all abandoned around here, of course. Inconvenient. It would be so much easier if someone would just open their doors and let us in. Two beaten girls, filthy and drenched in foul water, hobbling across the street. Kiera might be in shock. She’s making weird little mewling sounds.

“Zip it, will you?” I mutter. “You’re creeping me out.”

She rolls that swollen eye my way. “I’m creeping you out? We just saw a man get pecked to death by crows. Crows, Angie, and you’re not even fazed.” She shakes her head. “You are a freak.”

I glance over at the blood-caked wreck of a girl next to me and grin. Yes, I grin, when just a few weeks ago, her words would have had me pushing back tears. When did this girl cease to have power over me? I wish I could pinpoint the precise moment. To feel the before and after and know if it happened because of something I did, or because of something that happened to me. My grin turns into a chuckle. “I actually feel sorry for you right now.”

Despite the bruises, Kiera’s face pulls in a well-worn expression of disdain. “Oh please. You are so full of it.”

I’m not interested in being her friend, but maybe there was a part of me that once did. Maybe that’s why it used to hurt when she was so cruel to me. “Yes, I am,” I say, “and maybe that’s the thing. You’re just…empty. Like, there’s nothing there. It’s like you’re waiting for a train or something. Being mean to kill the boredom.”

Kiera looks away with a faraway frown. The front door is locked, of course, so I leave Kiera on the front stoop and move to try the rest of the doors and windows. Her mouth moves like she wants to say something, but she closes it and turns away.

I shuffle off and try the other doors, but they’re also locked. Luckily, there’s an unlocked living room window. I open it and carefully hoist myself inside, being mindful of my ribs and ankle and, oh, everything. The only furniture is a leather couch, a large TV on the wall, and a game system sprawled on the floor. Games and their plastic boxes float in an inch of water on the floor. I’d bet money that a single guy lives here. Hopefully he won’t mind if we borrow his house for a bit. I lean out the window to Kiera. “Go around to the front door. I’ll unlock it.”

Kiera does as I say and limps through the front door. She collapses on the couch. I rifle through the homeowner’s kitchen for something to eat and drink. I know I’m desperate when the not-so-clear water on the floor is starting to look good. In the fridge, I find a six-pack of water bottles shoved behind a case of beer. The cabinet is stuffed with junk food. I return to the living room, hand Kiera a water and a tube of Pringles.