Black Bird of the Gallows(90)

But still, he is doing this.

He looks at me, blinks, and a tear slips down his cheek. “I love you, Angie.” His voice sounds like broken glass.

And it cuts through me, shredding everything. I croak out a response. Maybe I tell him I love him. Maybe I babble nonsense. I’m not sure what I say with the venom starting to dig into my system and swell up my tongue. Every emotion I’ve ever known is struggling for supremacy within my overwhelmed mind.

Through the chaos, one thought holds, fixes in place:

I cannot allow Reece to take this curse. I hold on to this, my anchor in a sea of fracturing thoughts.

Reece parts his lips, and Rafette opens his mouth. He lets out a whimper of relief as a fat bee floats out. The queen. Her flight is clumsy, heavy.

I grab Reece’s arm. “You listen to me,” I grind out through my tears. “Do this and I will never forgive you.”

“But you will live,” he says. “You will live.” Reece firmly peels off my hand. His eyes stay glued to the bee, even as tears leak from the corners of them. His breathing goes rapid and short.

A shrieking caw snaps the air, followed by a cacophony of squawks. More crows darken the sky. Dozens of them swarm the playground, wings flapping, beaks snapping. They fly in agitated circles, then land on the metal rungs above us. It makes sense now, why Rafette chose this spot. Not easy maneuvering for a crow. But clearly, they aren’t pleased by what’s going on.

Hope expands in my chest. My ribs ache with it. Surely they will stop this. His family will show him how horrible a mistake this is.

But they don’t. They remain perched on the rungs, screaming their disapproval down upon us. The noise is maddening, but Reece doesn’t waver.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers to the crows, before squeezing his eyes shut to his fellow harbingers. The crows scream as if they are the ones who are dying.

“Open your mouth wide, harbinger,” whispers Rafette.

With a quiet sob, he opens his mouth. The meandering bee spots her destination and aims for his mouth. She’s fast. Faster than she appeared.

She’s an inch from Reece’s lips, and all I can think is, I cannot allow this to happen!

I reach out. My fist closes around the queen the second before she enters Reece’s mouth.

I don’t hesitate. I’m already ruined, after all.

Frantic wings beat against my palm. Delicate legs scramble at the seams between my fingers. The world looks featured, like stop-action frames. I see Reece’s shocked wide eyes, the “no” forming on his lips. The gasp of surprise from Rafette, who falls to the ground and convulses.

The queen stabs her stinger into my palm, and my vision turns spotless white. My hand feels like it’s been plunged into a bucket of acid. This is blinding, obscene pain, beyond description. Worse than anything I could have imagined. It is the type of pain that makes one wish for death.

Every instinct in my body wails at me to open my hand. To release her. Instead, I close my eyes and squeeze.

Reece’s voice cracks over a broken, “No!” He realizes what I’ve done. The queen’s venom is an instant death sentence.

She stings me again and again. But I keep squeezing until there is nothing left of her. I glance down at the sticky mess between my fingers and stiffen as pulsing waves of agony double me over. My hand is no longer my hand. It’s an appendage of indescribable burning.

I drop to the ground as a bitter taste erupts in my mouth. The crows fall silent.

The inexplicable scent of fresh hay mixing with rotting flesh fills my nostrils. A shadow falls over me, cooling my fevered skin, turning the color filtering through my closed eyelids from red to gray. There is a strange sound next to me, like straw snapping, then a sigh. I sense, in that moment, that someone else is at the playground with us. Someone ancient. Someone far more dangerous than Rafette. And a voice in my head that is not my own: Well done, child.

Then the presence is gone, and everything slows down. I feel the sharp prick of talons on my arms, the brush of feathers on my cheek, and then the wings are inside me, beating frantically under my ribs. It’s as if a bird is trapped there, scrabbling for escape. It must be my heart, throbbing unevenly, struggling to keep blood pumping. The erratic beat gets louder, bigger, thunderous, until it takes over all the sensations in my body.

Then, the fluttering rises up. I can almost feel dry feathers on the back of my throat, surging up and out of my mouth, taking all the air with it. My lungs gasp in a breath. My heart settles back into rhythm. Another breath. More beats. The pain returns, filling up my extremities like a bucket filling with water one spoonful at a time. I’m fearful of what I’ll have to endure next, before this misery ends, but I want to hold on to every moment I have left with Reece. I open my eyes and look.

Next to me sprawls a young man dressed like Rafette. His eyes are open, sightless in death. His head is turned toward me, one hand outstretched as if reaching in my direction. My vision doubles a bit, but even my addled, pain-eroded brain perceives the shocking beauty of him. To call him handsome would not do him justice. His face is one in a million. Impossible to look away from. A genetic lottery winner of strong, elegant, masculine bones, over fine golden skin. The man’s vacant gaze is frozen in what appears to be complete bliss.

The realization hits me—this is Rafette—the real Rafette before he was cursed—and for the first time in a millennia, his beautiful features don’t change. Thousands of dead bees carpet the ground around him, like a wreath. A burden of incalculable weight, finally set aside. I’ve experienced something I can’t fully understand—don’t want to fully understand.