by Meg Kassel
“You know exactly what you want to be, always have.” Her eye goes steely on mine. “You came from shit, you know, just like me. You think I work at Reilly’s for fun? Watching you fancy people up there in the ‘Estates’ gas up your Beemers…” She trails off with a hiss. “Anyway, you’re doing what you love. What took you so long to reveal yourself, anyway? Never mind, don’t answer that. I don’t really care.” She releases her tooth and delicately touches her fingertips to her swollen eye, pretending not to notice my flinch.
“And you’re good. That makes it worse. Now I’m going to be the girl who was mean to the super-talented musician who’s going to go and be famous.” There’s a compliment buried in there, and clearly it cost her.
“Who cares?” I ask. “It’s high school. Four years that are almost over, thank God.”
“Yeah well, I get full-time shifts at Reilly’s after graduation. What will you be doing?” She holds out a hand when I start to say something. “No. Stop. You are so lucky, you don’t even know.”
“I’m not lucky. I lived with a mother who—” I shake my head. “I am not lucky.” I say it again because she’s made me realize that she is right. All I have to do is think of my dad to realize just how fortunate I am. I admit, I know nothing about Kiera’s life. If she’s dealt with anything near to what I did with my mom, I truly feel awful for her. It doesn’t make her bad treatment of me okay, but there’s comfort in knowing the origin of her bitterness. I got out of my bad situation and was dropped in the arms of a wealthy, adoring father. She didn’t.
A tap at the window snaps our heads to the sound. A black crow flutters against the glass. He gains footing on the sill and tosses his beak in impatience.
Kiera squeals and shrinks into the couch. “Oh no, not again! Get it away.”
Reece. It’s got to be him this time. Both wings are jet black—no white feather marking it as Hank. I bite my lip to keep from grinning and stuff two water bottles in my bag. “Okay, I’m going,” I say to Kiera. “You’ll be safe here.”
Kiera sits upright. “You’re leaving?”
I nod. “I’m sure the National Guard or someone is checking the area for survivors. Sit tight until they find you. If I see any rescue personnel, I’ll tell them where to find you.” I pause, as she’s staring at me like I’ve just sprouted wings. “There’s food, three bottles of water, and well, there’s beer in the fridge if you want it. You probably do.”
“You’re leaving with that bird out there? We just watched them peck a guy’s face off.”
“I know, right? Well, I am a freak, after all.” I sling the bag over my shoulder with a smile. On my way out, I glance back at her. “By the way, Kiera, some luck is the type we make ourselves. So don’t write yourself off yet, okay?”
And that’s all the goodwill I have for her. I open the door and head outside, leaving Kiera glowering after me.
Outside, I tilt back my head and smile. An ink-black wing brushes my cheek in a feathery caress. Talons gently pluck at my hair, and I laugh in delight. The crow lands on it, then hops down to my shoulder.
“Hi there,” I say.
The crow nuzzles my cheek with his beak. He’s clean and smooth. Gone is any gory evidence that he helped kill the man who tried to attack Kiera and me.
Reece leaves my shoulder and flies ahead, landing farther up the street. He lets out a low caw and hops impatiently. He wants me to follow him, but the road is an uphill one. It also leads someplace wonderful—home.
“Okay,” I say with sudden enthusiasm. I’d forgotten that we have a generator. Water. Lights. Clean clothes. Such luxuries. “Let’s go home.”
32- home
Reece stays ahead of me, sometimes moving from tree to tree, sometimes circling above, but never straying far. I eat most of the food on the way. It’s total crap—chips and various puffed things—but it fills the void in my belly and keeps the feet moving. My stomach is a churning, greasy mess by the time I reach my driveway, thanks in part to partially hydrogenated soybean oil and pure, giddy relief.
Reece stays in a tree as I dig out the key hidden under a solar light and open my front door. I’m greeted by an eager wet nose shoving through the opening. Roger. His whole body wiggles in welcome. I drop to my knees and bury my face in his coarse fur.
I’ve never been so happy to see him. He’s never seemed so happy to see me. “Hey there, boy,” I croon. His fur is warm and smells wonderfully familiar. I rest my cheek on his neck and hug him tighter than he’d like, taking his enthusiastic kisses square on the face without even a wince. If I have to endure his slobber, he has to endure my vulnerable moment. “I wasn’t sure I’d see you again, handsome.”
Someone “shushes” from the direction of the kitchen. I freeze. Someone’s here? My body goes tense, but Roger doesn’t seem concerned. “Hello? Who’s there?” I call.
Two heads poke around the corner. “Angie?”
Who? Oh, that’s me. And that’s… “Lacey? Deno?”
Maybe it’s the surprise of seeing them. Maybe I just used up all my mental energy on Kiera. Spots of black appear at my peripheral vision. I sway, dropping my bag.
Lacey and Deno jump forward. Deno grabs me and lowers me to the floor. “Angie, are you okay?”
I sag against him, vaguely wondering why he’s clutching one of my dad’s fancy carving knives. “Yeah, I’m…” I feel my brows knit. “How did you get in here?”
“You gave me a key and the security code. It was a few months ago when you and your dad went to visit your grandparents and I watched Roger. Remember?”
I do remember, but I can’t organize a response. I just sort of stare up at him. His brows draw together in sudden concern. “Did you hit your head?”
“I hit just about everything.” Relief and joy and something akin to love move through me. I’m really, really happy to see them. I’m so glad they thought to come here. I could kiss both of them. I grin at Deno. “You look different.”
His eyes are hard, haunted. Thick hair mats around his face, which is dirty and sports a bruise on his forehead. His clothes are…my dad’s, except for his haggard-looking army jacket hanging from his shoulders. It’s strange to see Deno in this package.
“Yeah, well, you look like an extra from The Walking Dead.” He winces. “Smell pretty bad, too.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Not good,” he says, half carrying me to the living room. “We didn’t shower because we didn’t want to use up all the propane in the generator, but maybe you should make an exception.”
He eases me to a couch. Roger trots over and heaves himself practically on my lap. Lacey hands me a half-filled cup of tea. I accept it with a grateful sigh. Ah, something warm.
Lacey sits on the cushion next to me and tosses back her long hair. Long, clean hair. She doesn’t have any visible bruises. She’s wearing my clothes and looks better in them than I do. “How the hell do you look so good after surviving a landslide and a flood?” I ask her.
She flashes a smile and a sly shrug. “I look where I’m going.”
Deno snorts, and I burst into giggles. It’s better than crying, which is the release my emotions are pushing for.
“Oh Angie, we were so worried about you.” Lacey pauses, then speaks gently. “Do you know what happened to Reece? He carried you off…that’s the last we saw of either of you.”
Oh man, how do I explain this? “Reece and I…got separated. He’s okay, I think.”
Well, considering he’s outside right now, I’m sure. There’ve got to be times the boy is thankful he can turn into a bird. I only wish he’d utilize his one and only superpower and get himself to safety.
“I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you both.” I set aside the empty cup of tea with a sigh. “But what are you two doing here? I thought you’d be evacuated. There were helicopters everywhere.”
Lacey and Deno exchange a tense look.
My hands, stroking Roger’s silky ears, go still. “What’s going on, g
uys?”
“We didn’t get on the rescue helicopter.” Lacey’s lips compress to a line. “There wasn’t room for everyone, and there were people who needed to get to a hospital worse than us. And then we ran.”
“What?” I ask. “Why not wait for the next one?”
“The next helicopter wasn’t coming for another hour.” Deno scrapes his hands through his grimy hair. “There were bees. A lot of bees.”
“I have a hunch,” Lacey says in a quiet voice, “that they are not normal bees at all.”
33- the birds and the bees
“We headed for your place. It was the only safe place we could think of. It’s high and dry, and you have a generator.” He glances at me sheepishly. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Are you kidding? Of course I don’t mind.” I’m so glad they came, it’s all I can do to not sit here and cry at them.
He swallows hard. “I’ll never look at a bee the same way. They seemed to go after certain people. And people were acting sick, breaking things, attacking for no reason. It was like a horror movie.”
“You must have been really scared.” I work to keep my voice even. “This is a long way from town. Five miles or so.”
He feels the bump on his forehead, winces. “I don’t know how to explain it. You probably think we overreacted.”
“I totally don’t. At all. I agree with you about the bees,” I reply.
“I was probably being paranoid,” Lacey says, “But I wanted to get away from there as fast as I could. They got my mom on the helicopter. My two little brothers, too.”
“Good. You’re not being paranoid.” Eyes on floor. I’m so bad at deception. “You did the right thing.”
“Uh-huh.” Deno’s eyes narrow. “What are you not telling us?”
I slowly get to my feet. “I need some water.”
They watch me hobble to the kitchen in silence. I check on Roger’s food and water, even though I know they took care of him already. At the sink, I pour a large glass of water and force myself to drink it slowly. How much should I tell my friends? I could answer all their questions, but telling them anything opens me up to the whopper of how I know about all this stuff, and that’s not my story to tell. They already know I know more than I’m saying. They already know there’s something abnormal with the bees.
There’s a shout at the front door. A thud and some cursing. I drop my cup and hurry to the foyer, where I heard the sounds. Deno and Lacey are backing away from the closed front door. There’s a commotion on the other side in the form of scratching and squawking.
Deno points. “I think it’s a bird,” he says, eyes wide. “One of those crows.”
It’s Reece. I don’t think about it. I ease past them and open it.
“Ack! No! What are you doing?” Deno holds out his hands, stumbling backward.
The crow hops inside and delivers Deno a loud, offended squawk. Long black claws click delicately on the marble floor.
Deno sputters at the bird. “What the hell, Angie?”
“Close the door, will you?” I ask, ignoring him. “You’re letting in the chill.”
Lacey squats down and studies the crow as if he were a rat with an ear growing on his back. She doesn’t appear to share Deno’s fear or repulsion. “What are you, you interesting little guy?”
“That’s a good question.” Deno pins me with a hard look, fury blazing in his eyes. “What is it? What the hell is going on around here?”
Reece jumps, flaps his wings, and alights on my shoulder.
“You made friends with a crow?” Lacey raises her brows. “That’s so cool. How did you do that?”
I smile weakly. “He’s not exactly a normal crow.”
Deno rubs his hands over his face. “You think?” He stares at me with a blanched face and bugged-out eyes. There’s a weird, unstable look to him. It sets me on edge.
“Angie. I’m at the end of my rope.” He presses his fists to his temples and squeezes his eyes shut. “I need a rational explanation, because I can’t take any more weird shit. I really can’t.”
Reece sinks low against my shoulder and lets out a low growl.
I try, but I can’t find any decent words. Yeah, I get how not normal this looks. Deno must be feeling kind of like how I felt that first day at the bus stop with Reece. The day my life changed. Deno may never look at me the same. I suppose that’s okay, because I’m not the same. And neither is he.
“Just calm down.” I say to him, wincing at the dig of talons in my shoulder.
Lacey’s brows knit in a rare scowl. “Angie, we deserve to know why there is a crow on your shoulder.”
“All right.” They do. Plus, I simply lack the energy to pick and choose truths and lies that I’ll have to recall and repeat later. I sit down, rest my back against the wall. Reece hops off my shoulder and settles down next to my knee.
“We’re listening.” Deno says when I hesitate to say more.
I give him a hard look. “Are you sure you want to know? The things I tell you are going to sound insane.”
His gaze slides to the dark bird sitting beside me. “Seriously, nothing you say could shock me right now.”
“I doubt that, but…” I shrug and tell them the facts I know about the Beekeepers. I tell them about my first encounter with Rafette in The Strip Mall’s parking lot and his many shifting faces. Deno and Lacey listen in silence, growing stiller with each word I utter.
I go quiet when I run out of things to share. I’m holding back, still reluctant to include my friends in Reece’s secret.
Lacey touches my knee. “What about the bird, Angie?”
I look down. “It’s not my secret to tell.”
“Is it evil?” Deno asks, but the heat is out of his voice. “Is it the same sort of creature as the Beekeepers you described?”
“No,” is my quick reply. “But they have similar origins.” Absently, I run a hand over Reece’s sleek back. He lifts his beak in the air and closes his little red eyes. “The crows are harbingers of death. They can tell where bad things are going to happen. They travel to these places, absorbing the energy of the dying and recently dead. They don’t cause the problems. It’s just how they survive.”
“Harbingers of death. Like the legends. But real.” Deno eyes Reece with less hostility. More curiosity. “And this one has befriended you?”
Um. “You could say that.”
“How come?” Lacey asks. “And why you?”
I open my mouth, then close it. She always asks the squirmiest questions. My hand stroking Reece goes still. We’re getting to questions I don’t want to answer—not sure I can answer. As if sensing my dread, Reece shakes his feathers and hops into the living room. Black mist curls around him. My nostrils flare at the acrid bite of a blacksmith’s shop.
“What’s it doing?” Lacey asks.
I think I know. We can still see him—he’s just on the other side of the archway—but far enough away that anyone who might be afraid won’t feel too threatened by what they’re about to witness. Reece tucks his head low and goes very still. More ribbons of black vapor pull from his feathers. His body expands.
“Oh.” I breathe in awe and dread and fascination. “Well, he can show you himself.”
My friends stare, open-mouthed as bird legs stretch and thicken into human legs. Wings morph into arms. Bird features soften, transform into a familiar human boy’s face.
The black mist looks sinister, evil. I would like to know why he smells of smelting metal. The mist snakes around Reece’s body, then gathers in a dark rope and forces itself down his throat.
Reece is on his knees, arms braced on the floor. Naked and sweating and choking in deep, shuddering breaths. He keeps his gaze to the floor. His eyes are shielded by a damp curtain of his hair. “Please don’t be afraid,” he gasps, eyes wide. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
34- the beekeepers
Deno backs up slowly. His back hits the wall hard, and he sinks into a crouch, brow shiny w
ith sweat. “This is not happening,” he says. “This is not fucking happening.”
Lacey stares, too, but she does not seem frightened to see the crow recently hopping around the foyer transform into my boyfriend. Her face is oddly relieved, as if finally, it all makes sense to her. All she says is, “Deno, your language has been coarse lately. It’s making you sound ignorant.”
For the first time in recorded history, Deno doesn’t have a smart retort. Ironic, because now would be a perfectly appropriate time to use coarse language.
“I apologize,” he says quietly, not taking his eyes off Reece.
I cross to Reece, snagging a throw blanket off the back of a chair—a brightly colored number knitted by my grandmother. He tucks it around his waist like a kilt. I doubt Grams envisioned this use for her handiwork.
Reece heaves himself upright and leans close to me. “How are my eyes?” he murmurs. “I don’t want to scare them.”
A smile curves my lips. “If they’re still standing after your little Crow-to-Boy Transformation Show, I think you’re okay.”
Reece winces. “I guess so, but…”
I brush the hair out of his eyes and gaze into black irises and white whites. My own relief must be palpable. I’m happy to see Reece looking like Reece again. “You look like you.”
He lets out a breath. His expression is still worried. “For now, at least. I don’t have full control. It was so hard to take this form.”
“It’s okay,” I say with a pang. Just another reminder of his impending departure. “Thank you. Thank you for staying. It’s selfish of me to say that, but I’m glad. You should have left. The unselfish part of me wishes you did.”
He leans in to my palm. I feel his cheek fold into a smile.
“I told you I wouldn’t,” he says, tilting my chin up. His head bows. Warm lips brush mine.
