Black Bird of the Gallows(75)

“How come?” Lacey asks. “And why you?”

I open my mouth, then close it. She always asks the squirmiest questions. My hand stroking Reece goes still. We’re getting to questions I don’t want to answer—not sure I can answer. As if sensing my dread, Reece shakes his feathers and hops into the living room. Black mist curls around him. My nostrils flare at the acrid bite of a blacksmith’s shop.

“What’s it doing?” Lacey asks.

I think I know. We can still see him—he’s just on the other side of the archway—but far enough away that anyone who might be afraid won’t feel too threatened by what they’re about to witness. Reece tucks his head low and goes very still. More ribbons of black vapor pull from his feathers. His body expands.

“Oh.” I breathe in awe and dread and fascination. “Well, he can show you himself.”

My friends stare, open-mouthed as bird legs stretch and thicken into human legs. Wings morph into arms. Bird features soften, transform into a familiar human boy’s face.

The black mist looks sinister, evil. I would like to know why he smells of smelting metal. The mist snakes around Reece’s body, then gathers in a dark rope and forces itself down his throat.

Reece is on his knees, arms braced on the floor. Naked and sweating and choking in deep, shuddering breaths. He keeps his gaze to the floor. His eyes are shielded by a damp curtain of his hair. “Please don’t be afraid,” he gasps, eyes wide. “I’m not going to hurt you.”





34-the beekeepers


Deno backs up slowly. His back hits the wall hard, and he sinks into a crouch, brow shiny with sweat. “This is not happening,” he says. “This is not fucking happening.”

Lacey stares, too, but she does not seem frightened to see the crow recently hopping around the foyer transform into my boyfriend. Her face is oddly relieved, as if finally, it all makes sense to her. All she says is, “Deno, your language has been coarse lately. It’s making you sound ignorant.”

For the first time in recorded history, Deno doesn’t have a smart retort. Ironic, because now would be a perfectly appropriate time to use coarse language.

“I apologize,” he says quietly, not taking his eyes off Reece.

I cross to Reece, snagging a throw blanket off the back of a chair—a brightly colored number knitted by my grandmother. He tucks it around his waist like a kilt. I doubt Grams envisioned this use for her handiwork.

Reece heaves himself upright and leans close to me. “How are my eyes?” he murmurs. “I don’t want to scare them.”

A smile curves my lips. “If they’re still standing after your little Crow-to-Boy Transformation Show, I think you’re okay.”

Reece winces. “I guess so, but…”

I brush the hair out of his eyes and gaze into black irises and white whites. My own relief must be palpable. I’m happy to see Reece looking like Reece again. “You look like you.”

He lets out a breath. His expression is still worried. “For now, at least. I don’t have full control. It was so hard to take this form.”

“It’s okay,” I say with a pang. Just another reminder of his impending departure. “Thank you. Thank you for staying. It’s selfish of me to say that, but I’m glad. You should have left. The unselfish part of me wishes you did.”

He leans in to my palm. I feel his cheek fold into a smile.

“I told you I wouldn’t,” he says, tilting my chin up. His head bows. Warm lips brush mine.

“Um. Oh dear. We’re still here,” says an awkward voice from the doorway.

We turn, remembering Lacey and Deno. I don’t know what’s more shocking—that Reece turned from crow to boy in front of my friends and I’m standing here kissing him moments later, or the fact that they’re composed about it. A normal person would be climbing the walls. “Oh. Very sorry about that.” A blush heats my cheeks. “I don’t even know where to start explaining all…this.” I gesture to Reece, who rolls his shoulders.

Lacey shifts her gaze from Reece to me. “A portion of our town is destroyed. There are creatures running around with bees in their mouths, stinging people and infecting them with some sort of psychosis-inducing venom. Speaking for myself…” She points to Reece. “This is the least of my worries.”

Deno narrows one eye. “Aside from my coarse language.”

“I always worry about you, Deno.” She gives him a blinding smile. “Or I should say, Daniel.”

Deno blinks at her as if she just said all that in a foreign language. “What’s with you?”

“My God, you cannot be that dense.” Reece rakes a hand through his damp hair. “She likes you, and if you have half a brain, you’ll like her back and do your best to not screw it up. Later, though. Let’s survive the night first.”

Lacey’s cheeks pinken, but she appears pleased with Reece’s assessment. Deno still looks vaguely confused.

Reece reinforces the throw blanket around his waist and stretches. His spine pops and crunches with each bend and twist. He groans, with pain or relief, I can’t tell. His grimace could mean either.

“Easy does it, man.” Deno’s pained gaze swings from Lacey to Reece. “Does it hurt when you…do that?”