Black Bird of the Gallows(88)

Rafette says, “Ah, there it is,” and squeezes something deep in the side of my neck.

I never get the scream out. Time stops. The world goes black.





39-the bitter sting


I open my eyes to a colorful honeycomb grid set against a blue sky.

A puffy cloud in the shape of a penguin reshapes into an elephant.

And then a dog. And then…

Despair.

Rafette brought me here, which means I’m going to die soon. I may already be dying. I should be more upset about this, but whatever Rafette did to my neck has given me the mother of all headaches and a weird tickling all over my skin. I couldn’t run now if I wanted to. Just turning my head is a chore, as if my spine has rusted solid.

I recognize my viewpoint from the underside of the monkey bars dome in the playground of Cadence Elementary School.

The cloud turns into a leering clown face.

I sense someone to my left and spot Rafette. He sits on the ground, knees up, back resting on the metal bars. “You can sit up, if you like.” His shaky voice is gentle. “But do it slowly. You don’t want to make them nervous.”

Make who nervous? I roll to my side and prop myself on an elbow. Then I see them.

Bees. Dozens of them. No, hundreds.

And they are silent. They crawl along my arms and legs. That explains the itching sensation. I feel them now—in my hair, between my fingers, crawling around under my pant legs. A whimper slips from my lips. I make my body go still. I’m afraid to open my mouth, in case a bee should crawl inside. I’m afraid to do anything.

“You have been stung only once.” He touches a fingertip to my right wrist. “Here. But they will deliver more stings if you move suddenly.”

Stung? I convulse at his words. My mind feels intact, but the sting is fresh. All I feel is bone deep weariness and a sickening dip in my stomach. I’ve been stung, like my mother. I can’t even process the sharp, profound sadness rolling through me. It leadens my limbs and fills my eyes with tears. I let out a sob and the bees buzz nervously.

“Relax, please,” Rafette urges. “They can sense your agitation.”

Relax? Is he on crack? There’s no way to be not agitated in this situation. “So I’m doomed, then?” I rasp out. My mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton balls.

“No.” Rafette rests his forearms on his knees. “Your harbinger may choose to save you. He may choose to let the venom destroy you. It’s up to him, really. Personally, I am hoping he chooses to save you. My bees don’t want to sting you. They sense, as do I, that your mind is strong. We don’t like to hurt strong people.”

“He won’t.” My voice is slurred. “You’re wasting your time.”

“I don’t think so.” A bee spirals from Rafette’s mouth and lands on his eyebrow. He closes one eye as it crawls over the lid and down his cheek. “You know, I learned something from what happened with the last harbinger. You sting the loved one before asking them to take the curse. The motivation is so much greater that way.”

I shudder at sudden stabbing pain behind my eyes. My mother had headaches. So it begins: the breakdown of my mind. “You’re sick. Cruel. Hideous. Sadistic. Disgusting.”

“I know,” he says. “Can you now see why I am so eager to be rid of this curse?” He looks…tired. The features of his face shift sluggishly. His shoulders hunch. It’s hard to imagine this creature is exhausted, but he appears to be. “Centuries ago, you would not have called me hideous. I had a beautiful face,” he says. “I was more beautiful than your harbinger. Everything I once was became swallowed up by all this.” He gestures harshly to his face. “If you were me, would you not do anything to end it?”

“Not like this.” But I have no idea what centuries of living like this would do to me. Maybe I would be that desperate, but it doesn’t matter. I’m on the wrong side of this equation.

He sighs again, rubs the back of his neck in a very human gesture. “If your harbinger accepts my queen bee, all those who have been stung will be released from the effects of the venom. You and your friend will be saved.”

Saved? Am I hallucinating? A bee wanders over the curve of my ear. I stifle another whimper. “How is that?”

“I have it on good authority that the magic in the bees dies with me. Anyone stung would be restored to normal.” He closes his eyes—pale green with red lashes—and bares his teeth in a terrible smile. He turns slowly, hearing something behind him. “Ah, it appears your hero has arrived to rescue you.” His faces shift furiously, changing so fast they blur together. The bees on me suddenly beat their tiny wings and let out an angry hum. It’s a terrifying sound. Like imminent agony and inevitable death.

Reece stalks across the playground, all fury and clenched fists. A crow keeps pace above him, flying in agitated circles as if trying to make him turn back. It lets out distressed squawks, plucks at his shirt with those sharp talons. It’s him—Hank. I can just make out his white feather.

Reece waves a hand, brushing off the bird, and pins hot, red-black eyes on my captor. “Rafette.” His voice is menacing.

“So nice to see you, harbinger.” Rafette folds his arms. “You are late.”

“Let her go,” Reece snarls.