Black Feathers: Dark Avian Tales: An Anthology(49)
After that morning in my kitchen, I did three things—stopped drinking, bought a gun, and waited for October. At the end of the summer, I contacted Priscilla by mail and asked that she retrieve a daguerreotype of Tessa Von Drome from the apartment for me. She met me one day at the Coffee Exchange with an envelope and the picture I’d requested.
“I’d read that you were responsible for Jallico’s death,” she said.
I didn’t try to explain. All I responded was, “You can’t believe everything you hear.”
“His wife and children have returned to Answer Island, and she is certain you are a murderer. She’ll defame you in your village.”
I nodded and sighed. My hands were clasped on the tabletop and she covered them with her own. “I trust you,” she said.
“Tell me about the girl.”
“She’s hardly a girl anymore,” said Priscilla. “A young woman is more like it. She is somewhat more cognizant. I can get her attention and speak to her and she seems to understand, but . . .”
There was a pause. “But what . . . ?”
“She’s changing. There’s something about her. Her nose is becoming pointed and she’s become thinner, lighter, and always anxious. Meanwhile her shoulders appear more powerful. I never see her not bundled up in heavy shirts. The nails on her toes grow long and sharp. I find indigo feathers about the apartment that I know are not Mortimer’s. She must be keeping another pet a secret from me.”
I lifted the daguerreotype of Tessa Von Drome and compared it to my fleeting memory of the Beast as it lunged across the room at me in the house on Marfal Street. At one moment I could see her face amid the wild white hair of the creature, and in another it didn’t seem possible that this lovely woman could be the same animal/person. No matter how many times I looked, I just couldn’t decide. I gave the picture back to Priscilla and asked her to return it. After that we sat for a while and talked about the old days back home. She mentioned my little brother, who died of the fever when he was very young. “I thought of him just the other day,” she said. “He was such a mischievous little scamp.”
I nodded and smiled. “Jallico reminded me of him,” I said.
We both wiped tears from our eyes; so far away from home.
On October 15, I awoke early, made my way to the park, and took a seat on the bench that offered a view of the front of the carousel. I waited for hours, but then I caught sight of someone shuffling out of the woods. I’d not seen her in quite a while but was able to spot her due to Mortimer riding on her shoulder. Vienna had changed a great deal, as Priscilla had suggested. She sat down on her bench, and I eased back on mine. Some time passed but throughout it I was in a state of alertness. I relaxed finally when I saw Mortimer take off into the treetops of orange leaves alive with the chatter and whistle of starlings. When the murmuration began, I had tears in my eyes. The flock made beautiful designs in the air, as if they were making it special because it would be the last I’d see. At the end they created an image of the cathedral—the whole weighty edifice moving through the sky for several seconds before dispersing.
Mortimer returned to Vienna’s shoulder and she rose and started across the field in my direction. I didn’t move, and I didn’t pretend to be asleep. She passed and stared directly into my eyes. Her look was hypnotic at first, but when I heard that low trilling sound, I had to turn away. When I looked back she had passed on. I got up to return home and on my way found a beautiful indigo feather in my path. I picked it up and slipped it in my pocket.
It was a little early for snow, and the old women in the city square didn’t foresee it, but I paid no attention to them. Instead, I prepared my pistol and headed for the old town. It was still early in the day when I arrived. Mass was under way, so I sat in the back pew in the corner and watched the proceedings with a kind of dull awareness. When the prelate had droned his last invocation and the sacraments had been divvied out, the assembled rose and headed for the doors. As the great oaken panels swung open, a stiff wind blew up the aisle of the cathedral carrying with it a dusting of snow. The place cleared out quickly, and all that were left was myself and the two volunteers who cleaned out the pews. One of these, a girl caught my eye. She had red hair, and it only took me a minute to discern that it was Meralee. I didn’t bother her in her duties but stayed still. I don’t think either she or the young man who assisted her saw me there in the back corner.
I watched the two sweep and polish, and move up and down the aisles. Every now and then I looked to the three clear panels in the giant stained-glass window behind the altar and checked the increasing severity of the snowfall. It was still coming down, more rapidly now than before. It struck me then that I never got a grasp on why these killings only happened when it snowed. “Something to do with body temperature?” I wondered. It was beyond me. That and why Tessa might have killed her husband. Perhaps it was for what he’d turned her into. I closed my eyes and dozed.
I don’t know how long it was later, not more than an hour, that I was awoken by a scream. Groggy and off-kilter, I rose and stepped out into the main aisle between the sections of pews. I scanned the altar and the seats but saw no one. Lifting the gun, I bent as low as I could, ridiculously trying to conceal my presence, and moved toward the front of the area of worship. As I drew closer to the altar I saw out of the corner of my eye, Meralee, a white, clawed hand covering her mouth, being dragged by the Beast down a side hallway toward a door. She saw me and managed to free her mouth and cry out again. I leveled the gun, but the creature held her tightly as a shield. I wasn’t a good enough shot to guarantee I wouldn’t kill the girl. As the Beast dragged her and itself through the doorway, I saw that old, rusted serrated blade in its other hand. An instant later, the door slammed shut and they were gone.