The White Widow's Revenge

by Jacob Grey

  The anger in her face took Caw by surprise. “That isn’t what I meant.”

  “Isn’t it?” she said. “Caw, when I met you the first time, you were just a boy living in a tree with three birds. You didn’t know you had any powers. You dressed in rags, you barely spoke, and frankly you didn’t smell very good either.”

  “So?” said Caw.

  “So I liked you just as much then as I do now,” said Lydia. “The crows don’t make you who you are, got it? You aren’t nothing. You’re my friend, and you always will be.”

  Caw swallowed. “Tell me what to do,” he said.

  Lydia pursed her lips and looked him in the eye. “Go back to the others,” she said. “They want the same thing you do.”

  And Caw knew she was right. He gripped the cord hanging round his neck and tugged the pouch angrily into the open.

  “What are you doing? What’s that?” said Lydia.

  “All along I’ve been protecting this because I thought that’s what the crow ferals were supposed to do,” said Caw. “I thought I was honouring a promise Black Corvus made. But we’re the last people who should be trusted with it.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Lydia.

  Caw snorted. “Black Corvus was cruel and he was jealous. He hated people who weren’t ferals. He was a bad person to the core.”

  “But you’re not like that,” said Lydia. “You’re good, Caw. Anyone can see it.”

  “What about Johnny Fivetails?” asked Caw. “He couldn’t see it. And neither could the others in that car park.”

  Every moment Caw felt more and more ashamed of how he’d acted. Keeping the Midnight Stone for himself was exactly the sort of thing Black Corvus would have done. To think that the coyote feral had returned to Blackstone expecting to meet a brave hero, and all he got was a boy who just ran away as soon as things got tough.

  “Johnny’s not perfect,” said Lydia. “But he’s on our side. They all are. Come on, let’s go and find them.” She offered Caw a hand.

  Caw’s heart was heavy. He felt childish. Lydia was right. Her mother, Crumb, the others – they were his friends. He had to stick to his own kind—

  Only, they weren’t his kind now, were they? He wasn’t a feral any longer.

  Suddenly Lydia jumped back with a gasp. Caw followed her gaze and saw that the crushed white spider had begun to move. It clambered to its feet then scurried towards a bookshelf.

  “I thought I killed it,” he said.

  “Well, let’s follow it!” said Lydia. She dropped to her knees and peered under the shelf.

  “Why?” said Caw.

  “Doesn’t a spider always return to its web?” said Lydia. “It might lead us to the White Widow.”

  “But, Lydia, you have to understand – killing her is exactly what Black Corvus wants,” said Caw. “And I’m not going to do it. That’s why he took away my powers.”

  Lydia looked at him and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. “What if we can’t save her?” she asked.

  “I have no idea,” said Caw. “But if there’s a way for the Spinning Man to infect her, there must be a way to cure her too.” He said it with confidence, but he wasn’t sure he believed it.

  “It’s on the move!” said Lydia, springing up.

  The spider scurried out from beneath the shelf, heading towards a barred door with heavy bolts. Somehow it squeezed underneath it, through an impossibly small gap.

  “Don’t lose it!” said Lydia, unfastening the bottom bolt.

  Caw took the one at the top and they shouldered through into the library car park. Caw saw the white spider scuttling past a bench.

  It was moving quickly, but he and Lydia kept pace. Beyond the library, Blackstone became a warren of small streets that were increasingly busy.

  Dusk was falling, and Caw looked up into the darkening sky. Half by instinct, he closed his eyes and desperately tried to find any crows. But his world felt empty.

  The spider hesitated, tucked up against a wall, then set off down a street packed with pedestrians. No one seemed to notice the curious creature scuttling along, and several times their feet came dangerously close to crushing it. Caw and Lydia ran behind it, accidentally bashing into people and muttering apologies.

  The spider leapt off the kerb and headed across the road as cars swished past. Miraculously the spider made it to the other side. A driver shouted angrily and another beeped his horn as Caw and Lydia wove in between the traffic.

  Caw lost sight of the spider and started to panic, until Lydia grabbed his arm and tugged him towards a narrow passage between two shops. At the end of it they emerged into a quiet garden square with tall old buildings on each side. The spider scurried along the pavement then up a set of white marble steps between two stone lions.

  Caw slowed his pace.

  “It’s the Leo Hotel,” said Lydia. “That’s one of the most expensive places to stay in Blackstone.” She looked at Caw. He knew what she was thinking. It didn’t seem like the sort of place the White Widow would be staying. “Let’s check it out,” she said finally.

  “Wait!” said Caw. “Are you sure?” He gestured to his clothes.

  “We might not get another chance,” said Lydia. “Come on!”

  Caw followed her up the steps and into the hotel.

  Quiet piano music tinkled across the spotless foyer. A chandelier dangled from the ceiling, throwing out shards of sparkling light. Beyond a few huge velvet sofas was the glass reception desk. A woman in a dark suit stood behind it, watching them as they entered. The white spider was nowhere to be seen.

  “Hello. Can I help you?”

  Caw felt painfully underdressed. If he said the wrong thing, they’d be thrown out very quickly indeed. “We’re looking for someone,” he said.

  The receptionist’s fixed smile remained, but it was getting less authentic by the second. She looked Caw up and down. “A guest, sir?”

  “Of course,” said Lydia bossily. “We’re meeting someone. At six o’clock.”

  The clock behind the counter read, 17:52. The receptionist stiffened and tapped the thin screen in front of her.

  “What’s their name, please?” she said. “I can make a call to their room unless they’ve requested not to be disturbed.”

  Caw glanced at Lydia then spoke quickly. “Davenport,” he said.

  The receptionist didn’t even look at the screen. “We have no one under that name staying at the hotel,” she said.

  “Really?” said Lydia. “Don’t you need to check?”

  “I do not,” said the woman behind the desk. “Are you sure this is the correct hotel? There are some …” her lips curled, “other establishments nearby.”

  Lydia leant on the counter. “Our friend is definitely staying at the Leo,” she said. “She’s quite private though, so she might have booked under a different name.” She pointed to the screen, which was half-facing them. “If we could see a list of rooms—”

  The receptionist turned the screen so they couldn’t see it at all. “Quite impossible, I’m afraid. We have a strict privacy protocol at the hotel.”

  “Fine,” said Lydia. “We’ll just wait over there then.”

  The receptionist looked far from happy. She glanced over her shoulder at the clock. “Six o’clock, you say?”

  Lydia nodded and spun on her heels. Caw followed his friend across the foyer to the high-backed sofas, where they sank into soft velvet cushions.

  “What now?” he whispered.

  Lydia shrugged. “I’ve done my part. I’ve bought us eight whole minutes. Any ideas?”

  Caw glanced in a mirror opposite them and looked at the stairs. The white spider could have gone anywhere. There was an elevator, but no way to get to it without being seen. He wondered how long they could wait before the receptionist asked them to leave.

  “You think the White Widow is really staying here?” said Lydia.

  Caw had to admit it seemed unlikely. But why else would the white spider have come to t
his place?

  Unless it was deliberately leading us to a dead end.

  He was about to say as much to Lydia, when he heard a soft chime, and the illuminated numbers above the elevator ticked down.

  4 … 3 … 2 … 1 … GROUND.

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Caw heard someone whistling a merry tune, then a man stepped out.

  Caw caught his breath, as Lydia drew in a soft gasp.

  The man had sleek blond hair and was dressed in a white T-shirt, jacket and jeans. He was wheeling a suitcase.

  Johnny Fivetails.

  Caw pressed himself back into the sofa. He could see the coyote feral in the mirror opposite, which meant that if Johnny looked that way, he could see Caw and Lydia too. But instead the coyote feral walked straight to the reception desk, with his back to them.

  “I’d like to check out, please,” he said.

  “Certainly, sir,” said the receptionist. As she tapped on her screen, she glanced over towards the sofas. “You’re not meeting anyone today?”

  Caw could have sworn his heart was beating loud enough to be heard. He met Lydia’s eyes, open wide with fright, and saw she was gripping the armrest tightly.

  Johnny looked up. “No. Why?”

  The receptionist shook her head. “Apologies, sir, my mistake,” she said, laying a piece of paper in front of him. “If you could sign at the bottom, please. How was your stay with us?”

  “Very pleasurable,” said Johnny, scribbling with a pen.

  “You must accept our apologies for the state of your room,” said the receptionist. “You’ll see we’ve taken one night off the bill.”

  Johnny waved a hand. “Really, it’s not a problem.”

  The receptionist shuddered. “I can tell you, sir, we strive for much higher standards at the Leo. When our poor housekeeper saw those webs on the furniture, she was deeply disturbed.”

  “Not your fault,” said Johnny. “Besides, I happen to rather like spiders.”

  He smiled as he held out his other hand and Caw squinted to see what he was doing.

  Suddenly the receptionist jumped back with a shriek.

  “It’s quite all right,” said Johnny. Caw’s breath caught in his throat as he saw a small white creature scurrying across the coyote feral’s knuckles. “This one’s very friendly.”

  The receptionist had turned pale. “Have a good day, sir,” she mumbled.

  Caw’s body felt as though it was welded to the seat. Lydia’s face had drained of blood.

  Johnny Fivetails had their white spider.

  And that could only mean one thing.

  till smiling, the coyote feral picked up his case and strode out of the foyer.

  As soon as he’d gone, Caw leapt to his feet.

  “You’re leaving?” called the receptionist.

  Lydia nodded then ran for the door. “You were right – wrong hotel!”

  Without waiting for a response, they dashed down the steps, just in time to see Johnny Fivetails climbing into a taxi across the street. It pulled away at once and turned a corner.

  “After him!” said Caw.

  He ran to the public gardens and vaulted over the railings, trailed closely by Lydia. They sprinted across the grass – the taxi was almost at the far side of the square already.

  “We’ll lose it,” puffed Lydia. As they jumped over the railings on the other side, she raised her hand.

  Another taxi swerved across the road and the driver wound down his window. “Yes, miss?”

  Lydia pointed to Johnny’s cab, edging round the corner. “Can you follow that taxi?”

  “Are you serious?” said the driver.

  Lydia fished in her pocket and pulled out several notes.

  The driver nodded. “Hop in then.”

  Caw and Lydia jumped into the back and the driver set off after Fivetails’ car.

  “I don’t get it,” said Lydia, fastening her seat belt. “Why did he have the spider, unless he’s …”

  “Working with the Spinning Man,” said Caw quietly. Out loud, it sounded even worse than it had in his head.

  “But why?” asked Lydia.

  “I have no idea,” Caw replied.

  A sick feeling swirled in Caw’s belly as he remembered when he’d first met the coyote feral. Hadn’t Johnny said he was staying in some dump by the river? So he’d been lying from the very start.

  Caw’s nausea swelled as he thought of Johnny charming all the other ferals at his house. All the smiles and the pats on the back – had they been fake? The way he’d shown up at the bank raid, just in the nick of time …

  Caw flushed to think how he’d been taken in.

  Just like with Black Corvus.

  Caw had been so eager to please, to be liked, that he’d missed the truth about them both.

  “We’re near my house!” said Lydia, nudging Caw from his thoughts.

  He looked out of the window and saw they were approaching the road that looped round Blackstone Park. The street lamps had come on, and in their soft glow Caw spotted Johnny’s taxi pulling over up ahead.

  “Turn right here,” said Lydia, and their cab steered into a side road. She paid the driver and they climbed out and rushed to peer round the corner.

  The other cab had pulled away too and Johnny Fivetails was striding along the pavement. When he reached the park, the coyote feral looked left and right, then took a run up and leapt, hooking his hands over the top of the park wall. He swung himself over and vanished inside.

  Caw ran along the pavement to the park wall and scrambled up. Crouching on the top, he reached down for Lydia and pulled her up too. The park was wreathed in shadow, with no one in sight. It was such a familiar place, yet somehow right now it seemed full of silent menace, the dark trees looming overhead.

  Caw sensed a flicker of movement and spotted a black cat prowling along the wall.

  “What are you doing here?” muttered Caw, as the cat approached and nuzzled his hand.

  “Is it one of Quaker’s?” asked Lydia.

  Caw shrugged. It had no collar, but if it was a stray it was well fed. The cat hopped off into the road and scampered away through the evening light.

  Caw lowered himself from the wall into the shadows. Dried leaves crunched under his feet. Lydia slipped down beside him. The moon was already shining, silvering the leaves.

  Caw scanned the park. If there were coyotes here, they’d be sniffed out quickly. With cautious steps, they crept from tree to tree.

  It was strange being back here again. Though it had only been a month or so since this had been his home, it felt like something from another life. Screech, Glum and Milky had been there with him always, as constant and reliable as the changing of the seasons. For a moment, a shock of grief made it hard to breathe.

  Stay focused, he told himself. For Screech. For the past.

  Lydia picked up a fallen branch and gripped it in both hands like a baseball bat. Caw drew out the Crow’s Beak. He couldn’t imagine what the coyote feral was doing here, but he doubted that Johnny would be pleased to see him.

  They passed the rusted swings and deserted playground, then skirted the old pavilion and bandstand. Caw remembered the bright colours of the Blackstone Park he had seen in his vision, and the kindly spider feral entertaining children. He didn’t want to believe it, but he knew in his heart that what he had seen was real. Spider ferals, young and old, leading good lives.

  Lydia stopped and grabbed Caw’s shoulder, pushing him down. She pointed through the trees. Caw saw Johnny Fivetails, sitting on the edge of the old fountain; it had been dry as long as Caw had known it, the statue of nymphs at its centre flaking and forgotten. Johnny had a cigarette between his lips and its smoke looped up into the branches above.

  Caw’s eyes searched the darkness on either side of the fountain. He saw no sign of any coyotes, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.

  “What now?” whispered Lydia. Johnny seemed in no hurry to move. “I think he’s waiti
ng for—”

  The coyote feral stood up suddenly, tossing down the cigarette and crushing it beneath his boot. He was looking upwards, and for a mad moment Caw dared to hope that his crows had returned, circling overhead. But only a moth fluttered down, swirling around Johnny’s head.

  Then another.

  And another.

  The coyote feral shook his head irritably and the moths landed on his shoulders.

  “Enough games,” said Johnny. “Come out where I can see you.”

  “Beautiful, aren’t they?” said a well-known voice.

  The stone nymphs of the fountain seemed to come to life as Mr Silk materialised in his pale suit, from where he had been standing beside them. He stepped down and tipped his hat to Johnny Fivetails.

  The coyote feral reached out and shook hands with Mr Silk.

  “You’re late,” said the moth feral. “He cannot abide tardiness.”

  Johnny shrugged. “I came as soon as his creature got to me,” he said.

  “No matter,” said Mr Silk, with a dismissive wave. “How are our friends?”

  Caw’s chest felt tight.

  “Like putty in my hands,” said Johnny. “I reckon the fox feral still has a thing for me. Sounds like her marriage is going down the pan.”

  Caw saw Lydia’s fists clench tight on the branch.

  “I’d like to say I see a romantic future for you there,” said Mr Silk, chuckling, “but I think that would be unlikely. You’re sure no one suspects?”

  Johnny laid a hand on Mr Silk’s shoulder. “Stop worrying,” he said. “It’s gone exactly how he said it would. They’re all looking for the crow talker. They think he’s a liability, and they’re right. I can’t see how the kid got the better of you before. He’s nothing like his mother – she might have been naive, but at least she was tough.”

  Caw felt sick with anger. How had he fallen for the coyote feral’s treacherous act?

  “Trust me,” said Mr Silk. “I’ve seen him do things with those crows you wouldn’t believe.”

  Johnny gave a dismissive snort. “Sure. I’ve heard it all before. So, where is everyone?”

  Mr Silk lifted a hand and a stream of moths rose in a swirling column.