Mother of Crows

by David Rodriguez

  “Am I? Maybe. But I know what you are, and if you think I would ever want to touch something like you, you’re the one who’s crazy.”

  “I don’t-”

  “You don’t have anything to say to me. Go away, Eleazar. You lied to me, you… touched me-” Here she shuddered in revulsion. “Just go. Never, ever talk to me again.”

  Eleazar hung his head. Maybe he recognized what he’d done was wrong, or maybe it was just an inhuman pantomime designed to elicit sympathy. Sindy didn’t care to know. She wanted him out the door.

  He slunk out into the cold, and Sindy shut the door behind him.

  Abelard appeared from the darkness of the house. “Are you ready to go to Harwich Hall, Miss Endicott?”

  Sindy nodded. Her heart was still pounding. “Yes, please.”

  “I’ll bring the car around.”

  49

  Back to School

  Abby was starting to show. There was no way around it. While she could ignore the steady rounding of her face as nothing more alarming than the usual Christmas weight gain (Sindy called it “the festive five”), she could no longer ignore her belly. It was still only mildly distended, but it was obvious that she was either pregnant, or she had just developed a six-beer-a-day habit over break.

  She was grateful that January was just as cold as December. It gave her an excuse to wear her heaviest, baggiest sweaters paired with skirts and tights to draw attention to her legs. No changes there. Just a normal teenage girl’s legs, thank you very much.

  With the secret out in the Thorndike household, she expected more recrimination, or at least the sort of passive aggressive barbs that Hester and Constance had elevated to a martial art. They hadn’t mentioned the pregnancy at all aside from a few remarks about the changes in Abby’s body. Nothing complimentary, of course

  They hadn’t made any decision that she was aware of. Abortion was off the table after the disaster at the clinic, and Abby’s thoughts were never too far from Duncan Koons, even if she hadn’t yet been able to prove his innocence. She imagined her mother and grandmother would decide on adoption, though she wondered if their fierce pride in their lineage would force them to opt for another choice. It rankled Abby that she wasn’t being consulted at all, but she could imagine her mother’s words: You’re still a girl, Abby. A girl who did something foolish, and now needs her mother to clean up after her.

  Abby returned to school, clutching books in front of her like Nate sometimes did after classes. She felt like everyone could see right through her, with eyes like ultrasounds. How the mighty have fallen, they would say. A Thorndike turning into trailer-trash. She hadn’t heard any rumors, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. Who was going to tell her? Sindy? She and Abby were thick as thieves since New Year’s; no one was going to gossip in her direction.

  Nate? No one told him anything.

  Bryce?

  She deflated. Things had started off so well and then she’d barely seen him. They hadn’t talked over break apart from a few perfunctory texts. She wondered if she had done something wrong. Or worse, maybe he already knew she was pregnant, and he was disgusted with her for lying to him and for becoming a fat cautionary tale.

  She went to biology and sat through Mr. Harris’ lecture, grateful that she didn’t have to think about her own problems. Had the lesson been on mammalian birth, she might have lost her cool, but the elegant structure of cells was soothing.

  When the class let out, Mr. Harris said, “Miss Thorndike, may I have a moment?”

  She was positive the class would catcall and jeer, but that kind of behavior was too coarse for the aristocrats of Arkham Academy. The other students filed out. When it was just them, she went up to the front of the room.

  “Thank you, Abigail.” He glanced at the door. Satisfied there were no other students lingering there, he went on, lowering his voice, “I tested your iron supplement.”

  “Oh?” she said. She had almost forgotten she’d given him the pill.

  “Yes. I don’t know how to tell you this, but it’s not a supplement at all. It’s birth control.”

  “Birth control!” she blurted. Her gaze shot over to the door. She was positive she would see a gathering of girls stifling giggles. Other than a few students walking by on the way to lunch, there was no one.

  Harris nodded. “I’m afraid so. How long have you been taking it?”

  “Since ever, I don’t know. It’s supposed to be preventative-the iron deficiency doesn’t start… until puberty…” Abby’s voice trailed off as she repeated Constance’s explanation and finally saw through it. “It’s birth control? You’re sure?” Wasn’t birth control supposed to be tiny? Her pills were huge.

  “Completely sure. Your mother gives you this?”

  “And my grandmother, yes.”

  “I’m sorry, Abby.”

  “I was taking this when I got pregnant, though. How is that possible?”

  “No birth control is one hundred percent.” His voice softened. “If you include messiahs in the equation, even abstinence isn’t a guarantee.”

  Abby didn’t have the energy to muster a laugh. “Will continuing to take it hurt the baby?” She half-hoped he might say yes. Nate had told her that an abortion could be performed chemically, and this might be her only chance. Still, she wasn’t certain she even wanted that.

  “No. It’s harmless. Unless you were to take an overdose, and in that case, it’s just as dangerous for you.”

  “Oh.”

  “I wish I had better news for you. I just thought you should know.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harris.” His monstrous face was every bit as horrible as before. As much as Abby wanted to find kinship and sympathy in it, she could not. He was being a true friend and she couldn’t see past the creature that he was inside. She offered a weak smile, but could not look into his horrid, circular maw.

  50

  Small Town History

  No matter what the rest of the school, or even the town, thought, Nate Baxter did not make a habit of spending his Saturdays in the library. He was there because he had already exhausted the resources of Arkham Academy’s much smaller collection. It didn’t surprise him that the Academy didn’t have very much on the town itself. It was a generalized collection geared toward educating students from all over the country and, in a few cases, the world.

  Arkham Public Library was far more impressive than its name suggested thanks to generous private donations. In Arkham, the wealthy competed with each other to fund public works, as long as they were somewhat glamorous and had a spot for a nameplate. Giving money to a library, funding a bridge, or putting a wing onto a public building made for excellent party chatter; refurbishing the sewer did not. No one wanted to be known as the Sewer Queen of Arkham.

  The library was a former church, a connection not lost on Nate. A small plaque denoted the building’s place in town history, along with the name of one of its largest benefactors: THE COFFIN FAMILY. As Nate went up the stairs, he mused that Bryce had probably never set foot inside this building.

  The library wasn’t large enough to house its impressive collection. The old altar had become the head librarian’s desk. Beside it were the carts for refiling books. A small elevator had been installed behind the desk so that the librarians-all small, gnomish ladies shriveling into identical raisins-could get the books around without throwing their backs out. The rest of the space, where the pews would have been, had become a museum. Town artifacts were protected behind archival glass, including a musket fired by town hero Amadeus Thorndike, the flag captured from the local fort, and the family Bible of the Hanshaw family. A staircase, hidden in the back past the touristy items, led downstairs.

  That was where the true library began. The initial cellar had been dug when the church was first built, though it had served as a hiding place for patriots during the war. After the war, the building was a church for another decade or two before the town grew enough that a larger place of worship had
to be constructed at the end of Rosewater Road. When that happened, the building was turned first into a schoolhouse, and then finally a library.

  True to town form, the plaques continued inside, marking every hallway and every shelf. Thorndike, Endicott, Thomas, Cutter… No plaque would ever carry the name Baxter, at least not until Nate went into the world to make his mark.

  He was deep in the Duckworth Wing, going through digital records of old town newspapers. In the old days, there had been two: the Post, still clinging to existence to this day, and the Patriot, which had folded in the late ’70s. Most records of this kind would have been on microfiche, but thanks to the generous actions of the Knowles Family (clearly marked on a plaque by the bank of computers), all the surviving newspapers and microfiche records had been scanned into the computer.

  Nate spent some time helping with that very task two summers ago, when he wasn’t helping his father with the lawn care business. It was good work, and it paid very well. His parents had let him keep enough money to buy his bike.

  He was combing through the articles more carefully than when he’d begun. Before, he’d glossed over the information with work-numbed eyes, seeing the words but not registering them in any meaningful way. Now, he perused the articles with the care of a scholar, hunting for references to the church behind the Thorndike property.

  The strangest part was reading about the ancestors of his friends and acquaintances. He even found mentions of people he knew firsthand, like the announcement of Hester Thorndike’s marriage and, shortly thereafter, the death of her husband.

  Nate didn’t let himself get distracted. Eventually, he found a single reference to the church in an article about how it had been attacked by an angry mob. The dateline of the newspaper placed this event in May of 1801, several months before the Great Arkham Fire.

  The article never actually called the mob ‘a mob,’ but reading between the lines, Nate could picture the 19th century townsfolk with their torches and pitchforks surrounding the church. According to the article, several worshippers in the church were hanged on a nearby tree. He had no doubt that tree was still out there.

  What Nate couldn’t find was what prompted the mob to attack in the first place. There was no reference to an outstanding grievance in the article. The record-keeping was digital and better than most towns, but it was still a two-hundred-year-old local newspaper. It wasn’t perfect.

  Nate turned his attentions from the event to the church itself. The people at the time tiptoed around issues of religion, but there were scattered references to the church being of a different denomination than the rock-ribbed Protestants of Arkham. Details were sketchy and only grew sketchier.

  Nate’s phone buzzed, and he looked at the screen. A text from his mother. Dinnertime.

  Be right there, he texted back, looking one last time at the articles in front of him.

  He stared at the jumble of words, and then found two that didn’t quite make sense.

  Serpent Tamers.

  The worshippers in the strange church were “serpent-tamers.” Snake handlers. Nate imagined these people, descended from the Puritans like everyone else, their limbs dripping with venomous snakes. He pushed away from the desk. As disturbing as the image was, he didn’t quite know why it chilled him or why it felt (only faintly) incorrect.

  No, not incorrect. Incomplete.

  51

  The Truth Comes Out

  Bryce spent a lot of his time gathering up the stories of friends and acquaintances. He kept notes on everything in a file on his computer marked ‘Porn’ and moved the real porn he had to a folder labelled ‘Disturbing Town Secrets.’ Although he wished someone would snoop on his computer, he knew that would never happen. Other kids probably had to worry about that. Not Bryce.

  There were a few people left on his list of people to interview, though he didn’t need to talk to them. He had enough information to stop whenever he liked, though ‘enough for what?’ was not a question he could bring himself to ask.

  Living fathers in Arkham were a rare breed. That was just a fact. But an undeniable compulsion spurred him to finish this self-appointed task. He thought he had accepted his father’s death, but he had not. If there was something or someone behind his dad’s death, he wanted to know the truth. He needed to.

  He picked up a manila envelope that had been delivered to him by the private investigator he’d hired to track down the number Sindy had sent him. There were several photos of the man from different angles, an alternate phone number, a home and work address, and other details. He needed to follow up with Sindy and let her know what he’d found; he’d promised. However, he knew that as soon as he started down that path, he wouldn’t be able to stop until they reached the end. He was too tired to even consider dealing with Sindy’s emotions right now.

  One small comment and a brief conversation with Ophelia was forcing him to grow up faster in a few weeks than he had in the past few years. He needed a break from being a better person. Today, he was just going to forget about everything, just for a little while.

  It was a good day for a party. The lawns were crusted in fluffy snow. The patios in the back had been cleaned, and two jacuzzis were bubbling away, exhaling a thick mist into the air. Bryce’s friends had packed into them with drinks. As much as Bryce tried, he kept running down his list of dead dads when he looked out the window at each of his friends. He should have just been happy to look at the different (but equally appealing) ways that Charity Duckworth and Hope Cheeseman filled out their bathing suits, but every time he did, he thought, Cornelius Duckworth, heart attack. Barrett Cheeseman, fell from a bell tower.

  Other people had stayed in the house, either too self-conscious or too nervous to try the water. They were enjoying Bryce’s video games, drinking soda-some spiked, others not-and talking, laughing, or kissing.

  He looked over the party and it happened again.

  Raymond Knowles: racing accident. William Baylor: car accident. Michael Endicott: alive, but unseen.

  Sindy was sitting on a couch with Abby. She was clearly dressed for the party. Bryce could see the strings of a bikini snaking up out of her shirt and around the back of her neck. Abby was still bundled up in a shapeless sweater, looking like she was ready for a night outdoors around a trashcan fire eating hobo chili. Bryce had the thermostat cranked up. It felt like summer in the house.

  Abby was one of the few people that he hadn’t gotten around to interviewing yet. He wasn’t sure why he kept delaying it. She was an underclassman, so it wasn’t like he she might judge him. It was just… He didn’t mind asking anyone else, but when he thought of asking Abby the same questions, it seemed insensitive and rude. Maybe it came down to how they’d met and those brief, terrifying few days when he thought he’d knocked her up. He didn’t know.

  What he did know was that he cared what Abby thought of him, and that felt strange.

  He wandered over to join the two of them. Sindy beamed; Abby blushed and looked away. “Glad you two could make it,” he said.

  “Yeah, thanks for inviting us,” Sindy said.

  Abby mumbled something, but Bryce didn’t catch it over the music.

  “I was worried… what with, you know,” Bryce said, nodding in the general direction of where he’d last seen Eleazar in the back hot-tub. Any excuse to swim, that guy.

  Sindy followed the nod. “Oh, yeah. No, it’s okay. We had a good talk.”

  “Eh, I don’t really care. So long as you two show up.” He raised his cup to them and took a drink. “Can I get you something?”

  “Nope! Actually, I was just going to go outside,” Sindy said with a glance to Abby.

  “The water should be nice and warm.”

  Sindy pulled off her shirt, kicked off her shorts, and shook her hair out as if posing for a swimsuit catalogue. Bryce couldn’t tell if she did things like that on purpose or not, but he did manage the herculean task of keeping his eyes locked on Abby. Sindy left the two of them and went to the
door, swearing loudly when she opened it to the gusty air. The others called for her to jump in and cheered when she did.

  Bryce turned to Abby. “You planning to join her?”

  “No. It’s too cold.”

  “It’s fine once you get in the water.”

  “I didn’t bring a bathing suit.”

  Baiting words about skinny dipping came to mind; you could always disguise that as charm or as a joke. But just as he couldn’t bring himself to ask her about her father, he also had a hard time treating her as a sex object. What the hell was this girl doing to him?

  “Are you feeling okay?”

  “What?”

  “Aren’t you suffocating in that sweater?”

  “Oh. Yeah, I guess it is getting warm.” He stared at her. She stared back, then slowly, she began to take her sweater off. She looked very uncomfortable, and he almost told her to leave it on. He didn’t want to shame her or anything. As he opened his mouth, the words died in his throat.

  He wasn’t sure why the detail registered. In some ways, it was like the whole thing with the missing fathers. There was no reason to see it until it was pointed out, and then he couldn’t unsee it. Maybe it was because Abby had hid it so well. Maybe he had just refused to see the truth. When Bryce pictured Abby (which he did more often than he liked to admit), he imagined a pretty, slender, red-haired girl with glittering eyes. She would never reach her mother’s Amazonian proportions; she didn’t have the frame for that, but he believed she would only become lovelier over the next few years.

  What he saw today though was not the advance toward maturity he had been imagining.

  Abby’s face was fuller. He hadn’t noticed that even though she was right in front of him. Her breasts had filled out, too-not that she had been flat before, but…

  Her stomach.

  It was round. She had a round stomach.

  Not a flabby round from holiday excess or stress-eating. This was… a very distinct, very specific kind of round. His brain clicked from one track to the other, struggling to make the connections. Finally, there was a snap of clarity that moved faster than the part of his brain that controlled his mouth.