Black Feathers: Dark Avian Tales: An Anthology(50)

I shoved the door open with my shoulder, the gun directly up in front of my face. Instead of being met by the fierceness of the Beast on the other side of the door, I was confronted by a spiral stairway that led up and up. I took the stairs as quickly as I could for an old man, huffing and wheezing as I climbed, leaping two steps at a time when my knees would allow. There were flimsy banisters to either side, something of a comfort as heights frightened me. The creature was strong and had no difficulty on the ascent, but it was dragging Meralee, which slowed it down just enough that with my best effort, I was able to catch up. They were two turns ahead of me and at times I could clearly see them. At other points the construction of the steps obscured them. I surmised that we were heading to the bell tower, and I was unsure if I was trapping the Beast or she was drawing me in. As I came around another twist of the stairs, I saw an open shot at the flank of the creature and was fairly assured I had little chance of hitting the girl. I took it.

Just before the thing darted around another turn, I saw a burst of red against the white hair. I heard an animal screech and then the screech of Meralee. The Beast had dropped her and she came sliding down the stairs. I lunged ahead and caught her by the calf just before she slipped out beneath the bannister and fell to the stone floor below. I laid the gun on the next step and used two hands to pull her out of harm’s way and set her upright. She was breathing heavily and in shock. I made her sit and leaned her back against the step. Lifting my pistol, I told her, “Wait till you can breathe and your head is clear and then run to the station house.” She nodded. I started up the stairs again. She tried to hold me back by wrapping her arms around my leg, but I disengaged myself and continued.

There was a doorway at the top of the steps that I guessed led into the belfry. I was terrified, but I so badly wanted to squeeze off the rest of the pistol rounds into the damnable creature that I charged in. As soon as the door opened, I realized the area I’d just entered was open to the weather. It was freezing and the floor was slippery with snow due to the two wide-open sides to the left and right. There were no railings. I lost my footing and went down, sliding toward one of the open sides till my head and shoulders were leaning out into the air above the courtyard. I’d managed to hold onto the gun, though, expecting an attack from the Beast. The white hair appeared above me. I fired and heard the bullet ricochet off the bell. In the next instant the serrated blade lacerated my hand with a deft slice and the pistol went flying out over the side and to the roof of the cathedral’s dome. A set of claws came down from above and ripped through my face on one side. I screamed as the agony nearly made me pass out. Warm blood seeped everywhere.

Through the blur of red on that bad side and my one clear eye, I saw the Beast rise up above me, lifting the knife to plunge into my chest and cut through my stomach. It was Tessa Van Drome. I could make her out behind the deformities and the catlike monstrosity she’d become. The look of fierce desire on her face shocked me, and I couldn’t move. At first I thought it was that the wind had increased and the snowflakes had grown enormous and black. They came with such rushing force that they pushed the Beast back away from me. As I watched the dark storm pound against the white monster, I realized it wasn’t the weather. It was a swarm of starlings. Their familiar chirps and warbles and high-pitched chatter became clear to me. Tessa was forced backward to the opening on the other side of the belfry and then the murmuration became a hand that gave her a fateful push into nothing. I heard her hiss and wail as she descended through the snow.

The birds as quickly disappeared, and I heard the tramping of footsteps ascending the spiral staircase. Meralee was to rescue me again. Still, when they were only halfway to me, I noticed something quietly move out of the shadows in the corner. It was thin and frail and the same color as the heart of the night. Vienna Von Drome covered in indigo feathers, with a nose and mouth that had become a beak and feet like talons. Her wings lifted in the back. She leaned over and gently touched my forehead. Then with one graceful move she stepped out into thin air, flapped her wings, and climbed toward the clouds. She moved with such grace, it soothed the mess that had been made of the side of my face. When Meralee and the constables finally reached the belfry, Vienna could still barely be seen, disappearing into the falling snow, followed by Mortimer. I said nothing and did nothing to point her out. The killer had been stopped, and the city that did not want me had lost something wonderful.





Blyth’s Secret

MIKE O’DRISCOLL



In the winter of 1995, six weeks after I turned nine, I discovered the partially devoured body of my mother in Glasfynydd Forest. She’d vanished one month after my birthday. Three days passed before my father, Wyn Blevins, reported her missing. It wasn’t her first disappearance, but after three days, it was the longest she’d been gone without contacting us. Father said she’d been suffering one of her “episodes” and had probably gone to spend some time with her sister. I didn’t understand the nature of these episodes, other than that they induced in my mother periods of frantic industry or of prolonged silence when she could scarcely bring herself to step foot outside the house.

I have only a vague memory of the days between her disappearance and my discovery. Police came and spoke to my father. He mentioned words like depression and bipolar, strange words then, and all too familiar now. A policewoman spoke to Sara and me, asking what kind of woman mother was and if we’d noticed anything different in her behavior. Aunt Mary came to stay. We went to school and in the evenings I played with the pair of red canaries Mother had given me for my birthday. I’d named them Mickey and Icarus and taught them to leave their cage and alight on my fingers, where I’d feed them little tidbits. Over dinner Father would do his best to distract us, asking about our day and how was school, all the time seeming more distracted than either Sara or me. Some evenings, he’d sit me in his lap and ask me to read to him. While I read he’d stare at nothing at all. If the phone rang I’d feel his body stiffen. He’d wait for Aunt Mary to answer it. While she listened, I’d feel his heart beating like a canary’s, loud and fast. And only after she’d let him know there was no news would I feel the agitation flow from his body.