Black Feathers (46 page)

Farrow looked toward the bar, avoiding meeting Cassie’s eye as she said, “He also … There was a book. At the crime scene.”

Cassie flinched at the memory, then nodded. “He carried that with him everywhere. He used to hold it.” She thought back to the circles at the camp, those nights next to Skylark, listening to Brother Paul talk about how they were all changing the world. “He never told us what it was. He just said that he had found all of the answers in it.”

Farrow snorted. “Egotistical—” She muttered something that might have been “prick.”

Turning back to Cassie, she leaned over the table. “It was a journal,” she said. “Of his …” Farrow nodded. “Beliefs. And his activities.”

Ali squeezed her hand as she shuddered.

Harrison cleared his throat. “And Mr. Corbett is now—” he started, changing the subject.

Farrow looked pointedly at Ali. “He’s currently recovering from injuries sustained on Christmas Eve. The reports I have indicate head trauma, a broken wrist”—Ali began to blush, and Cassie smiled at her—“and a knife wound to the back of the leg. Oh, and he’s also been charged with one count of murder, with a dozen or so others pending. And something about a charge of attempted murder?” She raised her eyebrows at Harrison, who just nodded. “You want to tell me what the hell you thought you were doing?”

The question seemed to take Harrison by surprise.

“I was—”

“You went in without backup, without a side arm. You could have gotten yourself killed. You just about did get yourself killed.” Farrow’s voice broke.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I couldn’t just stand back and …” He shook his head. “I knew that Wolcott hadn’t killed Laura Ensley. And when I thought back to it, I remembered something Cassie had said about Edmonton, about something Sarah had said, so I thought it might have something to do with the camp. So I figured I should …” His voice trailed off and he seemed to shrink into himself.

“You figured you should follow me,” Cassie said.

He nodded slowly.

She reached her hand across the table, and he took it.

“Thank you for that,” she said.

Farrow sighed heavily. “Don’t encourage him,” she said, in a voice of transparent bluster. “We have partners for a reason.”

“I figured I was in enough trouble already. I didn’t want to pull you down with me.”

Farrow leaned toward him. “Next time?” she said. “Pull me down with you. Deal?”

He smiled. “Deal,” he said. “Though, I kinda doubt there’s going to be a next time. As you mentioned, there is that small matter of a suspension.”

“I imagine,” Farrow said. “A bit of stupid heroics goes a long way toward clearing your name.”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Anyway.” He looked around the restaurant, then down at his watch. “So what’s the story?” he asked. “Are they—”

“Ferry,” Farrow explained, before Cassie could say anything. “They’ll—”

The door swung open with a bang, smashing into the wall behind the fish tank. The bell jingled.

Cassie started to stand, her face twisting in a mix of anguish and hope. “Mom. Heather.”

Across the sidewalk, the crows watched as the girl rose to her feet, her arms widening, her face breaking into tears. They watched as she crossed the room toward the door.

They cocked their heads together, their black eyes glistening in the steel air.

Then, as one, the crows took wing, rising into the cold wind, their bodies shadows, arcing and soaring against the winter-grey sky.

If you had told me when I started
Black Feathers
where I would be when I finished, what my life would be like, I wouldn’t have believed you. And yet, here I am. Life is funny that way.

It’s been a long road. Thanks are due to the many people who helped me get here.

First off, I would like to both acknowledge the support of the British Columbia Arts Council for their faith in this project and express my deepest gratitude to them.

For everyone who followed this road along with me via social media: apologies and appreciation, as appropriate.

Thanks to Martha Good, who never fails to inspire.

Thanks to Colin Holt, Lindsay Williams and Clare Hitchens for their keen eyes and valuable feedback during their early readings of this manuscript.

Thanks to Lisa Tench for her feedback and her friendship.

Thanks, always, to James Grainger, the one and only Saint Jimmy, whose unique outlook and stern vision give rise to the questions that make my books better.

Thanks, of course, to Cori Dusmann, whose support of this book in its earliest stages, and likewise of my writing career, made an incalculable difference.

And thanks to Samantha Holmes and everyone at Bolen Books—I may no longer be a bookseller, but you’re still family.

Thanks to Erik and Svetlana and everyone at Floathouse in Victoria, who help to keep me grounded and inspired by turns.

As always, deepest thanks to Chris Bucci, Martha Magor Webb, Monica Pacheco and, of course, Anne McDermid, without whom I would be … best not to think about it.

Hearty thanks to everyone at HarperCollins Canada, but especially my editor, Jennifer Lambert, who may have gotten more than she bargained for when she decided to take a chance on this book and this author, and my copy editor, Chandra Wohleber, who saved me from myself.

Always, all my heart to Lex, fifteen years old as I write this. I’m probably a so-so father, but I have a great kid, one who never fails to amaze and inspire me. To see the world through Lex’s eyes is a wonder, and I am so grateful. So, so grateful. I love you, kiddo. And you’ll always be kiddo, no matter how much taller than me you are.

And Athena.

Words fail me. Just how something so quite new can feel so timeless is one of those mysteries I am content to never try to solve. Thank you for coming into my life when you did. Thank you for everything you brought, everything you bring. Just … thank you.

ROBERT J. WIERSEMA
is a writer of fiction and non-fiction and a reviewer who contributes regularly to several national newspapers. He is the bestselling author of two novels and a non-fiction book about Bruce Springsteen. He lives in Victoria, British Columbia.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
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“Robert J. Wiersema’s
Black Feathers
is a surreal nightmare, a tragically familiar dreamscape peopled by the vulnerable runaways we see on every street corner … and the predators who stalk them, even in places of supposed safety. It is a
Hunger Games
for the real world, a novel that defies you to look away.”
—A. M. D
ELLAMONICA
, author of
Child of a Hidden Sea

“
Black Feathers
is a uniquely scary novel. It offers the fantastic horror of a twisted evil mind, but also the terrifying aspect of being young and vulnerable. In Cassie, Wiersema creates a character that you are truly concerned for, not just in the space of the events of the story, but in a human sense.”
—C
RAIG
F
INN
, The Hold Steady

“A compelling tale of horror at once classic and contemporary, supernatural and human,
Black Feathers
draws the reader into that dark, unsettling place between memory and invention, nightmare and waking.”
—J
ACQUELINE
B
AKER
, author of
The Broken Hours

COVER PHOTO: MARK FEARON/ARCANGEL IMAGES

Black Feathers
Copyright © 2015 by Robert J. Wiersema

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EPUB Edition July 2015 ISBN 9781443410540

Published by HarperCollins Publishers Ltd

FIRST EDITION

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ISBN
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