Black Bird of the Gallows

“Like what?” I’m breathless, damn him. My words are barely audible.

  His lashes fan low over his eyes. The narrow space between us crackles with tension. “Oh Angie, you don’t want to know.”

  It’s exciting, frustrating, and exhausting, this coded language we speak. Worse, I may be the only one speaking it, and it’s hard to keep my thoughts coherent when he stands so close. The boy is overloading to the senses, but maybe that’s his intention—to get me so flustered I can’t ask the questions I want. Of course, I really can’t ask many questions, since Angie Dovage wasn’t in the parking lot behind The Strip Mall on Friday night. That was Sparo, who is cool and arty and free of the baggage that Angie carries around. Sparo, whom he finds attractive. Sparo, whom I want to claim so badly, I have to clamp my lips together to keep from blurting out my secret.

  “Reece!” Fiona calls out. “Roger pooped on the patio!”

  He steps away from me slowly, hands spread. Cold air replaces the zinging warmth on my face. “Duty calls,” he says, backing away.

  “This isn’t over,” I hiss, to remind him that his charm hasn’t zapped all my wits. If anything, I’m more determined than ever to figure out what his deal is.

  “Yes, it is.” His voice is low and edged with frustration.

  I whistle and Roger runs from the back of the house toward me. Except, he doesn’t come to me, he goes to Reece, bumps his head into the boy’s hand. Reece pets him, scratching behind one floppy ear. He considers me. I know my jaw is jutting, my expression mulish.

  “Leave it alone, Angie. I don’t want to see anyone get hurt when it can be avoided.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “No.” His eyes widen in surprise. “It’s… I just want you to stay safe.”

  “I see.” I run my tongue over my teeth. “Message received.” But I’m not leaving this alone. I feel like I’ve stumbled into an altered world, and I won’t spend the rest of my life wondering what I saw, what I know I saw.

  10- the stalking experiment

  This is lunacy. It is six something on a school night. I should be locked in my basement music studio or doing homework.

  But no. I’m following Reece Fernandez. If my strategically timed walk with Roger yesterday was a little questionable, this surely qualifies as stalking. It is shameful, and by far the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. My heart pounds. My hands shake from an overdose of adrenaline. When I got it into my head to see where he went after school, I didn’t think it would involve slinking around Cadence’s east side.

  After going home, I employed Dad’s binoculars again. Pathetic, yes, but I was able to see when Cody Knox—one of Reece’s new hockey buds—came by and picked him up. I had just enough time to grab my keys and purse and jump into my car to follow them. Reece had not yet seen my car. What a perfect disguise it was. Reece and Cody stopped at Shopmart, after which they exchanged friendly good-byes. Cody left in his car and Reece started off on foot.

  So did I. I was feeling pretty proud of myself. He couldn’t know I was following him. I’m good at disguises. I wore a boxy black coat, loose jeans, and I tucked my hair up under a short-brimmed wool hat. The idea was to disguise my gender somewhat. If, at quick glance, I could look like a boy, he’d be less likely to recognize me. It was possible. I gave him a decent lead.

  It was all going just fine. Until it became evident where he was walking to.

  Cadence, which sits in a wide valley, is a decent-sized town. Certainly big enough for no one to know everyone. It also didn’t entirely bounce back after the mines were closed, so there exists the east end of Cadence, which is a small, downtown section, not-so-affectionately nicknamed The Dredge, named after its main drag of Dredge Street. Every effort to “revitalize” The Dredge has failed. It remains one of the only areas of Cadence that doesn’t sport pretty coffee shops and boutiques with water bowls set out for dogs. However, if you’re looking to purchase an illegal substance or sell something you shouldn’t have, The Dredge is your go-to. The few remaining open storefronts are pawnshops and seedy bars.

  It’s getting dark. The shadows are making it harder to see Reece, dressed in dark jeans and a gray coat. At first, I think he’s going back to The Strip Mall, which is a few blocks away on the outskirts of town, but he doesn’t. He seems a little aimless. Maybe he’s supposed to meet someone. Is he here to buy drugs? My stomach sinks at the thought.

  I’m about to turn around and head back to my car when Reece veers into a parking lot. We’re at the Mountain View Gardens, an apartment complex that’s in the local news way too often, and never in a good way. The four-story structure looks more like a postapocalyptic ruin than a residence. There is a view of a mountain, but it’s hard to avoid them around here. Even the town dump has a mountain view.

  Reece stops at the curb, next to the dented guardrail dividing a mostly empty parking lot from the highway. He looks so casual, standing there.

  I flatten against the building, about thirty feet from him. I pull my scarf over my mouth to hide the white puffs of my breath. My heart beats, fast. Something about this feels off-kilter. I can’t place it, can’t define it. Time has sped up and slowed down at the same time.

  What are you doing here, Reece?

  And then—

  A set of wobbling headlights wrenches my attention from Reece. The sound of screaming tires makes me jump, and a brown sedan skids into the shoulder. It slams hard against the guardrail. Metal screeches, shooting sparks into the darkening evening. The tires catch, and the car flips. A scream lodges in my throat as it smashes upside down in the parking lot. One wheel spins like a rolling eye.

  I can’t move. I’m like a frozen computer—processing, processing. I feel like I’m choking on my own tongue. Sound won’t leave my mouth.

  Reece stands there. He just watches. Then, with the laze of a stretching cat, he pushes off the mangled guardrail and ambles toward the crashed car. It adds to the surreal quality of the moment. Makes me question what I’m look at with my own eyes.

  Forget it—I’m done stalking. My legs are shaking terribly, but I lurch forward, pointing at the car. Someone is in there. Someone is probably hurt. Terror coils in my gut at the prospect of what carnage lies inside the car, knowing I lack the skills to help, but I have to do something.

  Reece crouches down next to the smashed side window. He pulls out his cell phone and so help me, he had better be calling 911. He speaks rapidly, then places the phone on the ground. He tries to wrench open the driver’s side door, but it doesn’t budge. With a heavy sigh, he kicks broken window glass out of the way and reaches inside the car. Checking for a pulse?

  I jog up alongside him. “Reece.” My voice a strangled croak.

  His head snaps up. His eyes are wrong. They’re solid black, like empty sockets. I suck in a breath, and he ducks his head. Hair falls over his eyes, shielding them from view. The movement is immediate, like a reflex.

  Dawning horror slides over his features. Horror at seeing me—arguably the least horrible thing that he has witnessed in the last five minutes.

  “Angie?” His voice is incredulous, edged with anger.

  “Did you call 911?” I point to the phone on the ground.

  He nods. “Not that it matters for this guy. What are you doing here?”

  He frowns, squeezes his eyes shut, and when he looks up again, he looks normal—or did I imagine that? Maybe he’s in shock. That might explain why his reaction seems so wrong.

  I move closer, gulping air and steeling myself for what I’m about to see. He holds up a hand. His fingertips are dark with blood. “No, Angie,” he commands. “No closer.”

  Anger floods my head with a set of chemicals far different than the fear that had momentarily paralyzed me. “Let me help.” I come to his side and yank on the door handle without looking inside. “I want to help.” It’s immediately apparent that there’s no opening this door without special equipment. Still, I yank again, bracing my feet and pulling with all my strength. Reece is on his
knees next to me, silent and still.

  “Help me, damn it!” I shout at him, even though I know why he’s not helping. It is too quiet inside this car.

  “Angie, stop,” Reece says quietly. “Just…stop.”

  The high whine of a siren cuts through the crisp night air. It’s in the distance, but coming closer. Coming here.

  My hands unwind from the door handle. I look inside.

  I will forever wish I hadn’t. Some things, you just can’t unsee. The man inside the car is crumpled against the roof like a pile of laundry. Blood pools against the broken window and spills onto the pavement. The pungent smell of alcohol wafts from the car interior. It mixes with burned rubber and death for a stench I can’t describe.

  It will not take the police long to piece together why this man lost control of his car.

  I spread my hands on the pavement and swallow back a wave of nausea. I’ve witnessed many awful things, having lived with a drug-addicted mother. I have seen exactly two people die—this one makes three—and countless others who were already dead inside, but waiting for their bodies to catch up. It takes a piece of you, seeing death. Every time, it rips something away. I don’t want to lose any more of me. I’m terrified there isn’t much left to spare.

  Tears fill my eyes. I cover my mouth with the back of my hand. Suddenly, the origin of Reece’s sadness is obvious—this isn’t the first time he’s seen someone die.

  Reece’s hand touches my arm. “Are you…okay?”

  I jerk back and turn to him. He’s breathing hard, but his face is flushed to the point of glowing. A light sweat shines on his cheeks. A very weird reaction to what we just witnessed. He looks almost rapturous, as if…

  “Oh God.” I draw back in horror. “Are you enjoying this?”

  “No!” Grief twists his features. “No, it’s…” The fingers of his clean hand press to his temple. “I can’t explain this to you. You aren’t supposed to be here.”

  “What are you?” The question slips out—suddenly, vitally relevant.

  For a moment, we just stare at each other, our mingling breath making white puffs in the cold air. He drops his gaze. I know, then, the answer is horrible. He’s kept his secrets for a reason, and that reason may be as scarring as the scene before us.

  “Get out of here, Angie,” Reece grinds out. “Before the police come. We’ll talk. But not now.”

  “I witnessed this,” I say, waving to the car. “I have to stay.”

  He closes his eyes. “This wasn’t a crime.” He draws in a long breath through flared nostrils. “It’ll be better for you if you go. I’ll meet up with you.”

  “But…” The sirens are louder. If I stay, I’ll have to answer questions about why I—a girl from the fancy Estates—is down here in The Dredge. The assumption will be drugs. Not a stretch. I surely look strung out right now. “What about you?”

  “I’m new here.” His voice sounds sluggish, weary, even though he looks the opposite. “I wandered into a bad neighborhood. Got lost.”

  I get to my feet. “I’m parked on Second Street, in the Shopmart parking lot. Tan Civic. I’ll wait for you there.”

  His shoulders drop in resignation. There will be no avoiding my questions this time. He turns back to the dead man in the car. “Fine.”

  I walk back toward the street, away from this horror. Stalking Reece had been a bad idea. The worst. Only then do I see it—my crow. Its single white feather winks, nestled in its black plumage. A silent sentinel, perched atop a telephone pole. A dark shape against a dusky sky. It turns its head slowly, following my progress up the sidewalk. I tug my coat tight around me, but nothing can chase away this chill. The crow watches, holding something in its beak.

  11- the harbinger

  The moment I hit the sidewalk on Dredge Street, it’s a struggle not to break into a flat run. But that might draw unwanted attention. Every step puts distance between me and Reece. Me and answers.

  Me and the entrance to a rabbit hole I may not find my way out of.

  I let out a few ragged sobs once I’m back in the safety of my parked car. My forehead tips against the steering wheel as I pull in long, deep breaths. The familiar smells of Jolly Ranchers and the vinegar potato chips stuck between the seats unwind my nerves. My car. Safety.

  I should drive home right now. I shouldn’t be sitting here, waiting for Reece. Hell, he might not even show up.

  The minutes tick by and collect. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. I’m beginning to think he ditched me until the passenger door wrenches open, and he throws himself inside. He slams the door and turns to me with hot, furious eyes.

  “What the hell are you, a stalker?” he asks without preamble.

  Why, yes I am. “No, I just—”

  “What were you thinking, Angie?” he snaps. “You could have been killed tonight.”

  It takes me an extra second to respond because—whoa, he’s in my car. “What were you doing there? Don’t tell me you were sightseeing in The Dredge.”

  “Maybe I was. It’s none of your business.”

  “I’ll tell you what’s my business.” Fury curls through me like a ribbon of heat, squashing good sense like a bug. “Seeing my mother’s features on that-that thing’s face on Friday night. You know what he is.”

  There. Done and done.

  He draws back. “What did you say?”

  My vision tints red. My stomach clenches to a tight knot. I hadn’t known I was going to show my hand like that—I hadn’t intended to—but there’s no walking it back. The truth is out, and I will find out very soon if the biggest risk I’ve taken in my teenage life will also turn out to be the biggest blunder. “You know very well that was me in the parking lot with the purple hair and the glasses. I’m Sparo. I’m the girl you ‘rescued’ Friday night from that guy with the-the…” I circle my hand impatiently. “Changing face and the bees.”

  The corners of his mouth lift. “Yeah, I knew that was you.”

  “You did?”

  He rolls his eyes. “How could I not?” He leans toward me, crowding my space. I press back into my seat. “I was this close to you, Angie. Makeup and wigs don’t change your face.”

  “Why the pretense, then? Why not just call me out on it?” Good grief, why does he have to be this close? “Why be all manipulative and fake about it?” I ask with full knowledge that this is not the question I should be asking right now, but my thoughts swirl like dry leaves in the wind. My cheeks burn at the thought of all the times we spoke and he knew the truth. He probably had a few good laughs over it.

  His gaze dips to my lips. “I was curious why you seemed so determined to hide such an amazing part of yourself.”

  “It’s none of your business,” I say, tossing his words back at him.

  “Touché.” He nods. “You’re amazing up there. Powerful. So beautiful it’s impossible to look away from you. So completely different from the quiet girl in school.” His thumb brushes my cheek, unleashing a spray of tingling nerves. “I wanted you to admit it was you,” he says quietly. “The only question is, why the disguise?”

  If he’s trying to distract me, he’s doing an epic job of it. “Sparo and I are separate.” For reasons too complicated and fragile to explain to you. “I want it to stay that way.”

  He frowns. “I have no choice but to keep a part of myself hidden, but I don’t understand why you do.”

  My defenses rise into full protection mode. Deno and Lacey—my dad, too—have asked me why. I’ve never said. “My music is separate. It has to be.” I say it again with finality. “Reece, who was that man?” I whisper. “And what is with the bees?”

  Reece lets out a long breath but doesn’t pull back. “Angie, that’s not an easy question. The answer is…”

  “What?” I counter. “Too much for me to handle? Me and my little, simple human mind can’t grasp it?”

  He blinks at me. “Angie, it’s a lot for any mind to grasp. That man you saw isn’t a human being—not anymore. Not for a very long t
ime.”

  My fingertips are ice cold. I curl them on my lap. “What do you mean, ‘not anymore’? How does someone stop being human, Reece?”

  “I mean, he was changed into what he is by powers in the world that are now dormant, but once wielded incredible destruction.” He watches my face closely, maybe to see how much I can grasp. “He’s one of the last remnants of a time when people lived under a very different set of rules. When certain people possessed powers that no one could comprehend now.”

  “What kind of…powers?”

  He sighs. “This was a bad idea.”

  I turn toward him in my seat. “Look, just give it to me straight. Don’t take it down to a kindergarten level or be all evasive. That makes it worse. Just…tell me. I promise, I can deal with whatever. I just want the truth.”

  “The truth…” He runs his tongue over his teeth and turns his gaze to the cloth roof of the car. “Fine. Here’s the truth. The man you saw is a being called a Beekeeper. He’s many centuries old, and he goes around with a hive of bees in his chest. Yes, I know how made up that sounds, but those bees are deadly. Their sting infects a person with a venom that causes paranoia, delusions, and violent urges. It strips away reason and decency in favor of base impulses. Get stung by one of his bees and you’ll go dangerously insane.”

  Okay. Deep breath, Angie. I gave my word. I said I could deal with whatever. This is a bit more than I’d bargained for, but then again, maybe it isn’t. Some part of me knew that the truth about the man with all the faces and the bees would be something outside the realm of the normal world. I’m also aware that of the sea of knowledge on this topic, Reece has offered me only a single drop.

  I take another deep breath. I can do this—talk about the impossible. “So was that guy in the car…stung?”

  “Maybe,” he replies. “I don’t know. I couldn’t see very much of him.”

  A shiver slides down my spine. “That’s why you freaked when that bee was on my coat.”

  “Yes.” He drops his forehead against mine. Soft hair fans my skin. His fingertips brush my cheek. “Angie, I wish you hadn’t followed me today.”