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.”