Black Wings

by Megan Hart

  “But that’s what you are to her. You’ve been in her life longer than you haven’t. You’ve been a better father to that kid than her own’s ever been.” Marian kissed him, slow and sweet and with a promise of more for later.

  About five minutes after Dean left the kitchen for the bedroom, Briella appeared in the doorway. “I’m hungry now.”

  “I have tomato soup and a grilled cheese.” Marian turned from the counter, where she was doctoring the heel of the bread loaf to make the sandwich. Nobody in the house liked the heel, including her, but it was the last of the bread and she still hadn’t made it to the store.

  “I don’t want grilled cheese. Can’t I have the ice cream now?”

  Marian shook her head. “We don’t have any here. That’s why I asked if you wanted to stop on the way home.”

  Briella’s sigh was so long and loud it lifted her shoulders. She buried her face in her hands. She looked so distraught that Marian went to her at once to put a hand on the back of her neck.

  “Bean. Are you sure you don’t want to talk to me about what happened? Was it…” Marian cleared her throat and pulled the chair out next to her daughter’s. She braced herself for bad news. “Did someone push you off the monkey bars?”

  “No. I fell all by myself. But they laughed.” Briella looked up then. “Pamela said I was being stupid, because I was trying to show them how birds do it. I mean, I know I can’t really fly like a bird, Mama. I’m not stupid.”

  “No. You’re definitely not.” Marian pushed the hair off Briella’s forehead and wondered if she ought to take off the bandage. The gauze looked even whiter against the sandy tones of Briella’s skin. The small red spot on the bandage had turned brown. “You’re very, very smart. And sometimes, other people who aren’t as smart don’t like that. So they laugh or make fun.”

  “You don’t, and you’re not as smart as I am.”

  Marian’s eyebrows rose, and she pressed her lips together for a moment before answering. “That might be true, Bean, but it’s not really nice to say so. And if that’s what you say to the other kids…”

  “Yeah, I know. Nobody likes a smartypants.” Briella muttered something else under her breath, too low for Marian to hear.

  “What?”

  “I said, Dean’s not smarter than me, either. And he’s not my dad. I heard you say he was a good dad. But he’s just a step. Not a real one.”

  “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you, Briella.”

  “Daddy loves me,” she said in the stubborn tone that grated on Marian’s nerves worse than the scratch of teeth on a fork.

  “It’s not a bad thing to have lots of people in your life who love you,” Marian said. “You love more people than just Daddy, don’t you? You love Grandpa and me and Dean and Auntie Theresa and Uncle Desmond and Dilly and Caitlin, right?”

  “I love my family.”

  “Dean is your family, Briella. You’ll hurt his feelings a lot if you don’t think so,” Marian said and added after a pause, “and you’ll hurt mine, too.”

  Briella frowned and crossed her arms, but didn’t make any other protests. She slid into the chair at the kitchen table and slumped with her chin in her hands. She huffed a loud, dramatic sigh.

  “Do you want some baby aspirin for your head?” Marian asked.

  “No. It feels better. Ice cream would make it even better, though.” Briella gave Marian an adorable grin, all sunshine, the grumpiness of literally only moments before vanishing.

  Marian pressed her lips together, but didn’t scold. Truth was, the idea of the soup and sandwich didn’t thrill her, either. Besides, the kid had fallen off the freaking monkey bars. She deserved at least a little treat.

  Marian hugged her kid. “All right. Let’s go get some.”

  Chapter Four

  Using her credit card at the grocery store was not a habit Marian wanted to get into, but she’d be able to pay off the bill with Dean’s next check, and the bare cupboards had depressed her. At home, she sent Briella out back to play along with the last of her ice cream cone, so she could put the groceries away. It didn’t take long, since she hadn’t fully stocked up. What stopped her, though, was when she looked out the window over the kitchen sink to make sure Briella was still all right.

  The backyard was empty.

  Irritated now but not yet worried, Marian went to the front door to look out. Briella stood on the sidewalk, the last of her cone in her raised hand. She giggled wildly as the bird from earlier made swooping passes at it. It had to be the same one, right? Marian couldn’t remember ever seeing a single raven that size, much less more than one.

  Marian went out onto the concrete front porch. “Don’t do that, Briella!”

  “Mama, he likes it.” Briella squealed as the raven again dived at her hand, laughing aloud as it nipped the cone from her fingertips. “Yowch!”

  Marian was down the front porch steps and crossing the tiny front yard in a heartbeat. “Did he peck you? Birds are dirty. Let me see.”

  “Human mouths are dirtier than a bird’s mouth,” Briella said but allowed Marian to take her hand and inspect it. “And you kiss me with yours.”

  Marian stopped to stare at her daughter with a frown. If she’d spoken to her own mother that way, Mom would have done more than give her an irritated look. People didn’t spank anymore, though. New age parenting.

  “And you can watch yours, Briella. You’ve had a rough day, but that’s not a reason to get an attitude.”

  “Sorry,” Briella muttered insincerely.

  “Come inside, now.”

  “I want to play with Onyx.” Briella gestured at the raven, which had settled in the middle of the sidewalk across the street with its prize. The cone fragmented on the pavement, and the bird pecked it swiftly.

  The bird looked up, tilting its head like it was staring at them. Marian pressed her lips together in distaste. The late afternoon sun slanting off the inky wings made them look somehow oily. Ravens were bad luck, she thought. Weren’t they?

  “Here, Onyx! Here!”

  “Don’t do that,” Marian scolded.

  From the end of the lane came the familiar rumble of the pickup truck belonging to Hank Simpson, who lived next door. His was the last house on the cul-de-sac, and his property also backed up onto the edges of what eventually became state game lands. He liked to drink too much and drive too fast on this otherwise quiet street. He kept to himself except when he was complaining about his neighbor’s grass being too long, or the kids who took the path along the edge of his property to get to the small frog pond beyond in the woods.

  He was driving too fast now, one beefy arm hanging out the window. Even at this distance, Marian could see the glare of the dropping sun on his windshield. He had to be half-blinded by it, and instinctively, she grabbed Briella’s sleeve as though the girl might tear off and run straight for the road.

  “Here, Onyx, c’mere!”

  Marian shook Briella’s arm. “Come on, let’s go inside.”

  The bird squawked and jerked its head back, swallowing the last of the ice cream cone. It took several exploratory flaps of its wings and began to rise into the air. Incredibly, it started toward them – right into the path of Hank’s truck.

  Briella shrieked and yanked her arm loose. “Onyx!”

  Marian swiped for her daughter’s sleeve, but missed. The girl was already on the sidewalk. The bird cawed as the truck bore down on them.

  “The bird will fly away, Briella, don’t – Oh my God. Oh my God.…” Marian, breathless with terror, stumbled after her daughter.

  At the last minute, before Briella could step off the sidewalk and into the street, the bird swooped. It dove at her, driving her back with flapping wings and screams. Briella tripped and fell, blessedly backward and not into the street. The raven whirled. The truck’s side mirror clipped the bird
and sent it tumbling wings over tail onto the grass.

  Hank drove on past, oblivious to anything that had just happened. Marian collapsed next to Briella on the sidewalk. She gathered the girl close, too relieved to shout or scold. She pressed her face to Briella’s hair, which smelled faintly sour and damp.

  “You can’t run into the street,” Marian choked out.

  Briella struggled free of her mother’s grip and knelt next to the bird. She looked up with tears sliding down her cheeks, cutting a path through grime and leftover ice cream. “He’s hurt.”

  “Don’t touch it!”

  Too late. Briella had gathered the injured raven into her lap, where it shuddered and cried out in low, plaintive squawks. She stroked the feathers, wincing in sympathy as she folded the clearly messed-up wing back into place.

  “We have to make him better, Mama.”

  “I don’t know anything about birds, and we don’t have the money to take him to a vet, Bean. He’s a wild bird, he’ll be fine.” Marian’s breath had returned, but now her stomach churned in the aftermath of what had almost happened.

  Briella shook her head. She could be as stubborn as anything when she set her mind to it. That, Marian had to admit, came from her.

  “I’ll look it up on the internet. How to fix his wing. I have to. It’s my fault he got hurt. He was trying to protect me!”

  Marian didn’t believe that for a second. “It’s going to bite you!”

  “He won’t bite me. I’m going to keep him in my room.”

  “Absolutely not,” Marian said, but looking at the determined set of Briella’s jaw, she knew the only way to prevent this was going to be with a fight Marian also knew she didn’t have in her.

  “I’ll keep him in the den. In a cage,” Briella said.

  The kid would pout and whine and wheedle and beg until Marian gave in, and Marian would give in, eventually. It was easier that way. Not for the first time since losing her, Marian wondered if her mother would have been disappointed in the way she was raising her granddaughter.

  “Fine. But you take care of him. He stays in the garage, in a cage, and you’re responsible for him.”

  Briella was already nodding as she got to her feet with the bird cradled to her chest like it was a baby. Marian was sure it would fight, peck or try to fly away, but the thing seemed content to let Briella carry it. Hell, maybe it was already half dead and they’d wake up tomorrow to find its cold, stiff corpse.

  This idea sent a shiver down Marian’s spine, especially when the bird fixed its unblinking gaze on her before Briella moved too far ahead of her for it to keep looking at her. In the garage, Marian pulled out an old guinea pig cage that had been there when she moved in. It had belonged to Dean’s younger brother, decades ago. It was dusty but otherwise clean, and she helped line the bottom with shredded circulars and watched as Briella settled the bird inside it.

  “He’ll need food and water,” Marian said. “Do you even know what they eat?”

  “Ravens eat anything. Bugs, worms, hamburgers. They’ve totally adapted to both suburban and urban environments,” Briella told her, for once not in a smart-ass way. Simply providing the information. “They can eat even garbage. Usually they eat dead things. Like roadkill.”

  “Stay out of the garbage and the street,” Marian said sharply.

  Marian bent low to peer into the cage. The bird hadn’t made a sound since they brought it inside. It shifted into a pile of shredded paper and then went still. “It looks better now. Maybe it will be fine on its own.”

  “He got hit by a truck.” Briella made it clear that Marian’s statement was stupid. “I’m going to fix him and make him better. Even better than he used to be.”

  “Just don’t—” Marian stopped herself for a second before continuing firmly, “Don’t be upset or disappointed if you can’t, Bean. Okay? If something should happen to it, it won’t be your fault.”

  Briella’s grin seemed sudden and harsh, more a baring of those gapped teeth than a true grin. “I won’t let anything happen to him. I’m going to protect him, the way he protected me.”

  Again, Marian imagined the bird’s corpse, stiff and cold, and Briella’s screams upon discovering it. She straightened. “Sometimes things happen whether you want them to or not.”

  But Briella was already heading into the den through the garage door to set herself up in front of the computer. Marian bent again to look into the cage. The raven’s eyes had closed, but it didn’t seem to be in pain or anything. She sighed.

  “Don’t you die,” she whispered with a quick glance to see if Briella had overheard her. The kid didn’t seem to, but the bird had. It looked at Marian as though it understood her every word.

  Chapter Five

  “Go, bird, go!” Dean’s guffaw rang throughout the house.

  Marian peeked around the doorway to the den, watching Briella demonstrate to Dean how Onyx gobbled up the platter of worms she’d dug up from the backyard. The bird was delicate about it, taking each squirming bit of flesh directly from Briella’s fingers while she giggled. Frowning, Marian came into the room, torn between keeping her distance from the bird and moving close enough to rescue her daughter if the thing decided to bite. Somehow, the cage had moved from the garage into the den, but she didn’t know if it had been Briella or Dean who moved it.

  “Be careful. Don’t let that thing nip your fingers.”

  Dean looked up at her with a wide grin and a light in his eyes. “Don’t worry, Mama, she’s got this.”

  Marian’s frown didn’t ease. She crossed her arms over her chest and stayed a few steps away. She watched as Briella held out a spoonful of dry oatmeal, which Onyx pecked at. The girl had spent an hour or so researching on the internet to find out how to care for an injured raven, and Marian had to admit she was proud of her daughter’s commitment to making sure she was doing it right. How far that commitment would go once Briella realized how much work it was going to be, Marian didn’t know, but she’d made it clear that she wasn’t going to take on the tasks herself.

  “My pappy had a pet crow,” Dean said now. “It would say ‘hello, Ward’ when he came into the room.”

  “No way, he did? Really?” Marian had heard a lot of stories about Dean’s family, including Pappy Ward, but never that one.

  Briella looked over her shoulder. “Ravens and crows are called corvids. But ravens and crows are not the same thing, even if they look a lot alike. This is a raven, he’s a Corvus corax. Isn’t that right, Onyx?”

  She tickled the bird under its ebony chin. It let out a low, croaking groan and closed its eyes, seemingly in bliss. Briella stroked its head next.

  “Why Onyx?” Dean asked.

  Briella shrugged. “That’s his name.”

  The kid’s research had pulled up a bunch of different advice on how to bind the bird’s wing, but ultimately, she’d decided that without being able to set it properly, she should leave it alone. They couldn’t be sure anything was broken instead of merely sprained, Briella had told her mother seriously. So they couldn’t risk doing something that would cause permanent damage. Now the bird seemed to be sleeping in the nest Briella had made from some old towels.

  “Wash your hands,” Marian said. “Both of you.”

  Briella closed the door to the guinea pig cage and stood. “I’m going to teach him to talk. He’s going to be my best friend. Better than that, even. He doesn’t have anyone else. His wife got killed.”

  “His wife?” Dean snorted soft laughter.

  Briella gave him a solid, icy stare. “Yes. Ravens mate in pairs. Onyx had a wife raven. They used to both fly around together at the school, but one day she was dead by the garbage cans.”

  “That’s sad,” Dean said, chastened.

  “So he’s all alone now. And I’m going to keep him here with me.”

  “Bean, we can’t k
eep it. Once its wing is better, it has to go back outside,” Marian said.

  Briella frowned and put her hands on her hips. Her voice dropped as she scowled. “But I want to keep him here, with me. You never let me have any pets.”

  Every carnival fish had gone belly up within days of bringing them home. The hamster had escaped and disappeared. The hermit crab had drowned in its water dish. Animals had never fared very well in this house, but that didn’t mean they’d never had any.

  “Not true,” Marian said. “And anyway, a wild bird is not a pet.”

  “It’s probably against the law to keep it inside,” Dean added, although the glance he gave the caged bird was edged with disappointment.

  “You said your pappy had a pet crow!” Briella gave him a pleading look.

  Dean shook his head. “That was a long time ago, and I’m not saying that it wasn’t also against the law then. The game commission probably has information about it. We should look it up.”

  “No,” Briella said stubbornly. “I want to keep him, especially after he’s better. I’m going to teach him to talk! He’s already learning. Listen.” She cooed at the bird, “Say ‘hello, Briella’. Say ‘hello!’”

  The raven gave a muttery, whispery caw that sounded nothing like words but definitely seemed in response to Briella’s urgings. The chill tickling up and down Marian’s spine centered at the nape of her neck so fiercely that she cupped a hand over it. Her nails dug into her skin for a moment before she forced herself to relax.

  Briella gave her mother a triumphant glare. “See?”

  “I don’t make the laws, Briella. If the law says we can’t keep it, then we can’t keep it.”

  “It’s a him,” Briella corrected with that same irritating tone of condescension. “Not an it.”

  “Don’t talk to your mother that way,” Dean admonished. “You know better than that.”

  Briella stomped a foot and left the room. The pound of her feet on the stairs and the slam of her bedroom door a moment later had Marian sighing. She laughed after a second, though, and gave her husband an apologetic shrug.