by Devon Monk
The crowd clapped, then shifted and shuffled toward the pedestal. Myra took the horn and got them all lined up for the photo op.
I hadn’t seen it before, but the penguins were arranged to make a clear path to the pedestal and to create a sort of natural space in front of it for photos.
I’d known Crow all my life. I knew how he apologized. It wasn’t with a cute card or, heavens forbid, actual words.
No, Crow said he was sorry with action.
It wasn’t always an action you wanted or needed in your life, but he did something to apologize when he’d been wrong.
This was his apology to Mrs. Yates. This was him saying he was sorry he stole her limelight (although I doubted he was sorry he’d gotten some of the spotlight himself).
He was giving her back something photo worthy. Something newsworthy.
My phone vibrated.
You’re welcome too.
Crow.
I looked around for him, out in the crowd. I saw an arm raise, a hand open my way, and then a flash of a smile as my almost-uncle hopped down from the hood of someone’s car and sauntered off, disappearing into the crowd.
I texted: Perky Perk. Now.
Can’t. Busy.
I’ll close down the Nest. Fumigation. Terrible cockroach problem.
There was a pause. I couldn’t guess what he was thinking. Didn’t care.
I gave Myra the thumbs up signal and spun my finger in a circle, telling her I was headed out. She gave me a thumbs up, then strode over to meet with a reporter. The cameras were clicking, families were smiling, and little kids ran around like waist-high, bobble-antenna insects.
Behind them all, Mrs. Yates preened.
I made it to the Jeep and drove over to the Perky Perk.
The wind was nice, the sun warm, and it only took five minutes before Crow came strolling along, with a smile on his face like he’d been out sweet-talking the other kids into painting the fence.
“Delaney Reed,” he declared like we hadn’t seen each other in months. “How did the dinner go? Did your man love him some chicken?”
“He did.”
Crow slowed, dropped the hey-stranger act. He was suddenly my almost-uncle-god who had explained to the kids bullying me in kindergarten exactly what the insides of their bodies would look like on their outsides.
“Left arm or right?” He closed the distance with easy long strides.
“I— What?”
“Left arm or right?” He lifted each in turn, then stopped right in front of me. “Which one would you rather I break? On Ryder. Which of his arms?”
“You aren’t going to break either of his arms.”
“Legs? That’s a little hardcore. I mean it was good chicken, but I wouldn’t say it was the greatest ever made. Not worth two broken legs, but you’re the boss. I’ll do it near the hospital so the medics don’t have to go far to find him.”
“Don’t break my boyfriend. Any part of him. This isn’t going to get you out of being hauled in for that penguin debacle.”
“Me? I’m just a handsome, lonely artist—”
“Save it for Tinder. I know you dropped all those statues in her yard.”
“Do you have proof, NCIS?”
“I have a note in your handwriting left on her door.”
“Note?”
I opened it so he could read it. He leaned in, his hands behind his back. “That doesn’t look like my handwriting.”
I folded it back into my pocket. “All right. Let’s see your hands.”
“What?” He stuffed his hands in his jeans.
“Let me see your hands.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Hands. Now.”
He waited a moment longer, just to bother me, then held out his hands. His fingers were clean, scrubbed. When I’d seen him in the grocery store, there had been gray concrete-colored dust gathered around the nails.
“Did you pour them?”
“My hands?”
“Did you have molds? Flip them over.”
He flipped his hands. “Molds? What are you talking about?”
“I know you put all those penguins in Mrs. Yates’s yard. You had concrete dust on your nails yesterday. Were you taking them out of the molds then, or were you just moving them into whatever vehicle you rented?”
“I did not rent a vehicle. I didn’t do any of this. I mean, I think it’s funny, and I’m sure she’s happy with all the attention, but I’m innocent.”
I looked away from his hands and met his gaze. “Crow, you’ve never been innocent.”
His smile was beatific and so pure, angels would kill for it.
“Fair. But you don’t have enough evidence. A hand-written note won’t hold up in court.”
“It will hold you up in a cell. While I shut down your business so I can do a thorough search. I’m sure I won’t find anything in your back room. No empty concrete sacks, no trowels, no rags with cement on them, no cement dust in the corners.”
“Where would I store that many penguins? There must have been dozens.”
“I didn’t count.”
“Well, I did, when I was standing there enjoying the spectacle. So many people. And the reporter, she must have gotten a lucky tip.”
“You called it in, didn’t you?”
“I’m sure there’s no way to ever know.”
“They record their calls.”
“No way to ever know.”
He moved to stand beside me and leaned on the Jeep. “So what do you really want to talk to me about?”
“You putting penguins all over her yard. In the dead of night like some kind of midnight weirdo.”
“Sounds dramatic.”
We stared at each other for a minute. A seagull flew over, squawking loudly.
“Did she like it?” he asked.
“Mrs. Yates?”
He nodded.
I thought about cuffing him, but Mrs. Yates wasn’t going to leave her happy place—in front of any and every camera she could find—to come down to the station and actually charge him.
As long as the statues disappeared—once they were no longer drawing a crowd—she’d probably forget the whole thing.
He nudged me with his elbow. “Well?”
“She didn’t like it. She was furious. Outraged.”
“Hmmm. And then?”
“And then there was a crowd of people, and her penguin wasn’t the center of attention, and she was out for your head.”
“Out for whoever left those statues in her yard’s head,” he corrected.
“She thinks it’s you.”
“Mmmm. Then what happened?”
“You were there. You saw.”
“Just at the end when the bumble bee antennas came out. Weird that she had so many of those on hand. So weird.”
“You left her those too, didn’t you? She didn’t mention that.”
“I’m sure she had them hanging around for some other occasion.”
“How many of them were there?”
“Three dozen.”
“Shall I point out that you shouldn’t know that?”
“No, you shall not.”
“I had to talk her into it, you know.”
“You’re good at that. Talking people into things. You always have been. Just really, really good at your job. Everyone loves you.”
“No need to butter the bread on both sides, Crow.”
He elbowed me gently again. “Did he even come home for dinner?”
“We’re doing dinner tonight. His idea.”
“All right.”
“He made reservations.”
“Somewhere fancy?”
“I guess. The Westwind.”
“Nice. What time?”
“You’re not invited.”
“Wouldn’t want to be there. So what time should I avoid?”
“Crow.”
“Just to make sure I won’t be there.”
“Six. Don’t be there at six
.”
He gave me a big wink. “Six o’clock. Got it.”
“No, you don’t got it. Don’t be there. At six.”
“Sure. Absolutely. I won’t be there. At the Westwind at six.”
“I will arrest you to keep you out of my private life.”
“You know,” he said, typing something on his phone, “if he wanted to be really romantic, he would have waited for the full moon.”
And for a moment, there was something I almost remembered. Something I knew I would be doing tonight, something about the moon, but it slipped from my reach, leaving a faint memory behind.
“New moon tonight, right?” I asked.
He was still typing. “Ask a Wolfe. They pay attention to things like that.” He swiped at the screen a couple times, then pocketed his phone.
“Do you know anything about the other robberies?”
“Now, now. You can’t accuse me of all the crimes in town. Well, you can, but it’s going to be difficult to live up to that kind of reputation.”
“That’s not a no.”
“What’s missing?”
“The Heartwood.”
“The pack’s heart?” He sounded startled.
“It was in their office at the quarry. Yesterday, or the night before, it was lifted. Since you’ve been out in the dead of night recently, did you see anyone or anything unusual?”
“Not saying I was, but if I were out, I didn’t see anyone stealing the Heartwood.”
“You did plant all those penguins, though.”
“That’s an awful lot for one man to do in one night, don’t you think?”
“Not a man like you.”
He touched two fingers to his forehead in a jaunty salute.
“Which is why I’ve decided you’re going to be the one to get rid of them at the end of the week. Every last penguin. Every last pebble. Shouldn’t be a problem for a man like you.” I smiled wide and batted my eyelashes at him.
He scoffed, but before he could say anything, I added. “Two robberies on my hands, remember? Plus the High Tea Tide, and suddenly, crowd control on an unplanned penguin event. You’re on clean up.”
He shut his mouth with a click. “What else was stolen?”
“Someone took Bertie’s Feather.”
He pulled up a bit and tipped his head to the side. That pose and look in his eyes was particularly crow-like.
“Her Feather.”
“Have you seen it?”
“Yes. But I’m…Valkyrie Feathers can’t be taken.”
“This one was.”
He shook his head. “No. You can’t steal them. I know—not because I’ve ever tried to steal a Valkyrie Feather.”
I gave him a hard look.
“Fine. I’ve never tried to steal a Valkyrie Feather while I’ve been in Ordinary.”
“When?”
“A long time ago. I was young. Nearly terminally curious.”
“Nearly?”
He laughed. “It was pretty close a couple times. One of those was when I tried to steal a Feather. They are almost impossible to pick up once they’ve been shed—and they are almost never shed. So just finding one took… Well, I spent a lot of years walking the worlds.”
I made a hurry up motion with my finger.
“The battlefield was still fresh. The war was still going on. And the Valkyries had descended.” He waved his hand through the air, as if wiping a screen clean so I could better see his memory. “That is a thing to see. The power of those women, those amazing warriors, screaming out of the sky and pulling the dead to their feet and up, up to Valhalla.” His voice was fond. “What a place. The movies have it all wrong. It’s more feet up on the table than polished marble floors. It’s a good place.”
“I’m surprised they let you in.”
“Well, let is a strong word.”
“You broke into Valhalla?”
“I didn’t break into anything. I snuck in like a gentleman. But that’s a different story. In what I thought was a random stroke of luck, I found the Feather on a battlefield. I had arrived at the end of the fight, Valkyries shattering the sky into fragments of gold, striding across the land, gathering the brave.
“One of the Valkyries spread her wings and blocked out the stars, her wings were so wide and bright. She was daylight in the darkness. Just…”
He shook his head. I had rarely heard the honest tone of wonder in his voice.
“And the Feather fell. Not light, not floating. It was liquid, pouring downward, as if the air were thicker around it. As if the Feather cut through reality sharpened by different laws, something beyond…beyond.” He angled his hand downward, and the movement echoed something unearthly.
He seemed to notice what he was doing and cleared his throat, self-conscious.
“Tell me the rest. The Feather fell—or didn’t fall? It cut reality. Then what?”
“You won’t believe me.”
“I might believe you.”
“You didn’t believe me about the penguins.”
“That’s because you are lying about the penguins.”
He waggled his eyebrows.
“I’d like to know. About the Feather. Please?”
“You think it will help you solve the robbery?”
“No. Just…you make it sound like a wonder.”
He nodded. “It was. I had to have it. I waited for the Valkyrie to rise into the sky, two warriors in her arms. Then I waited longer.
“When I thought it was safe, I stepped out of hiding. The Feather, glittering with jewels I had never seen, stirred on that war-filled wind.” He glanced off in the distance, and I could almost hear the battle horns of his memory, could almost taste the heated air, the churned earth.
“I knelt. The Feather seemed so soft, so pliant. So easy for the taking. I wrapped my fingers around it and tugged.”
“It was heavy?”
“It was…gravity, stone, an anchor in the universe.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“I kid you not. It was connected to that battleground, immovable. Holding that place, bookmarking that point in time. It was a claim. And it was staying there until the Valkyrie came back for it.”
“You couldn’t move it?”
He put his hands on his hips and tipped his eyes to the horizon again, thinking. “She left it there to claim that space, that battlefield as her own. No one could move it.”
“So it stayed there? You left?”
“I hid. I wanted to see what would happen when she came back. It was the first Feather I’d ever found. I wanted a clue so I could steal another in the future.”
I raised my eyebrows, and he chuckled. “Your face. I didn’t steal Bertie’s Feather, because I can’t.”
“But why?”
“A day and a night and the heavens turned. No, don’t roll your eyes. That was damn poetic, thank you very much.”
“Leave poetry to the greeting cards.”
“A day and a night,” he repeated, “and the heavens turned. Then this man, just this ordinary mortal man comes walking up. He picked his way across the battlefield. Looking for something, for someone. A friend. A child. A father. A son. I finally decided he was looking for his father. It was his eyes. They were the very same shade of gray-brown as the warrior the Valkyrie had carried to the sky.
“He called a name. His father’s name. His dead father’s name. There was something about that young man, with eyes so gray and brown. Something about the arc of his cheek, the cut of his chin. And his hair, golden as wings. As Valkyrie wings.”
His gaze held mine, and there was truth there.
“You think he was her child? Her child and the child of the warrior she took to Valhalla?”
“I’ve thought back on it a thousand times. It would be…rare. But children have been born. Love can be found in the strangest of places. Can be planted and grown in so many hearts.”
“Poetry?” I asked, intrigued by the catch in his voice.
He cl
eared his throat and shrugged. “Just truth.”
“Is that what that was? I didn’t recognize it coming out of your mouth.”
He shook his head and made his eyes wide, like he was surprised.
“As I was saying, the man was their child. I thought so, anyway. Over the years I’ve wondered if I made that part up, if I saw something I wanted to see.
“But the thing that matters was that he was mortal. I followed him the rest of his life, looked in on him now and then. He lived a very ordinary life. Died a very ordinary death.
“But on that battlefield, he saw the Feather. The Valkyrie’s Feather that not even a god could lift.”
“Let me guess,” I said. “He lifted it. Because unlike you, he was worthy. Geez, Crow. I’ve heard this story. It’s like Thor’s hammer.”
He scowled. “It’s nothing like Thor’s hammer. It’s a Valkyrie’s Feather. Delaney, Valkyries don’t shed feathers. They are not birds. They don’t molt. Ask me how I know, and I’ll show you this scar I have right back here on my tight round—”
“—nope, not listening.”
“—calf. What did you think I was pointing at, Delaney? Oh, I see. You have a dirty mind, don’t you?”
“I get it,” I said. “Only worthy people can pick up Valkyrie Feathers.”
“No, only people Valkyries trust can pick up a Feather. The Feather is left to mark where it lands. Territory of death. Territory of life, maybe. Bertie’s Feather marks Ordinary as her own territory. Her own battlefield. She’d know if the Feather left Ordinary’s boundaries. And I’m pretty sure there are only a handful of people who could actually pick that Feather up and carry it around.”
“Which cuts down the list of possible suspects.”
He touched his nose with his pointer finger. “And good fucking luck to them. Having a Valkyrie on the hunt is a one-way ticket to the not-nice Valhalla, if you know what I mean.”
“Crap.”
“What?”
“I gotta go talk to Bertie.” I opened the driver’s door. “Before she decides to take justice into her own hands.”
“Thank you, Crow,” he said. “You just solved my case for me, Crow. I’m sure there’s a cash reward and you’ll be getting it as soon as I find the Feather and return it, Crow. I couldn’t have done this without you because you are brilliant and handsome and always funny.”
