Someplace to Be Flying (55 page)

“No. What I’m saying is, when it comes to the old corbæ, we’re talking about people who think as differently from us as we do from humans. None of us know what they can or can’t do.”

“That’s like—”

Margaret cut him off. “Are you forgetting who it was that made this world?”

Hank didn’t like the sound of that at all.

“Wait a minute,” he said. “Are you telling us-“

“That’s right,” Margaret said. “It was Raven and the crow girls who pulled us out of? the medicine lands and made the long ago, and Jack was there to watch them do it, to hold the story of it so that we wouldn’t forget. Things were pretty good until Cody came along and screwed everything up-just like he’s doing again.”

Ray shook his head. “You can’t blame Cody this time.”

“Oh no? Who brought the cuckoos into Newford?”

Hank and Lily exchanged glances. Hank could tell from the look in Lily’s eyes that she was feeling the same as him, trying to come to grips with the idea that the two punky-looking girls who’d rescued them in that alley were immortal creation goddesses of some kind.

“Well, why not?” Hank muttered. “It makes about as much sense as anything else.”

“No,” Ray said, thinking that Hank was contributing to his argument with Margaret. “The cuckoos were going to make a move sooner or later-everybody knows that. Cody was only using them to create some confusion so that he could make his play for the pot. The only thing 1 don’t get is what he was expecting my granddaughter to do.”

“You haven’t figured that out yet?” Margaret said. “It costs big time to use the pot-why do you think Cody keeps screwing it up? He can’t make the commitment to give up enough of himself to use the pot right.”

“What do you mean?” Lily asked.

“You have to give up a piece of yourself to make the pot work,” Margaret explained. She gave Ray a sidelong glance. “All the corbas know that. The more you
try
for, the more you’ve got to give. If you’re not strong enough- haven’t got enough of the blood-the pot’ll just swallow you whole.”

“He was going to use Kerry for
that?”
Ray said.

“Get with it,” Margaret told him. “Cody uses everybody.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“You’ll have to stand in line. I’ve about had it with his idea of fun and games.”

“But I thought Cody was the one who told you where the pot was,” Lily said.

Margaret sighed. “Okay. He gets points for not bailing on us totally. And to tell you the truth, I can’t help but liking him for all that he’s a stubborn jackass. But still. When you add up the history of everything he’s put us-“

A low rumbling growl rose up from the dog, cutting her off. Hank looked up to see a tall black man step out from behind one of the massive oak trees lining Stanton Street. He was carrying a shotgun, the muzzle pointed their way. A long steady rumble came from deep in the dog’s chest as it stood its ground.

Hank wouldn’t want to be on the receiving end of the dog’s attack, but the man with the shotgun didn’t seem to be in the least bit fazed. When he moved a little closer and the light from Margaret’s lamp illuminated his features, Hank recognized him. It was Brandon Cole, the sax player he checked out at the Rhatigan whenever he could.

Hank had to shake his head. “What?” he said. “Is everybody one of these crow people now?”

“Brandon’s a rook, actually,” Margaret said. She stepped closer and pushed the barrel of the shotgun away. “And would you stop pointing that thing at us?”

Brandon lowered the muzzle so that it was aimed at the ground.

“Sorry,” he said. “Chloë in such a twist she’s got me jumping at shadows.” He looked from her to Hank and the others, eyes narrowing when he noted Ray and the dog. “So what’s going on here?”

“We’re here to see Raven.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

Brandon regarded her for a long moment, before saying, “Chloë‘s not going to like this.”

“Why don’t you let me worry about Chloë,” Margaret said.

Brandon gave them all another considering look.

“You have a problem with this?” Margaret asked.

“Nope,” Brandon said, standing aside. “I just want to be there to see it.”

“This Chloë,” Hank asked Ray as they followed Margaret toward the house. “She runs the show here?”

“She likes to think so,” Brandon replied from behind them. “It’s getting so that even she believes she’s firstborn.”

Hank remembered Moth telling him once, you get more than two people together in any one place, and right away you’ve got politics. Looked like it held true for animal people as well.

When they reached the porch, a woman was waiting for them. She cut a tall and stern figure, her hair a massive cloud of dark curls that simply merged with the surrounding shadows. Hank assumed she was Chloë.

“We’ve come to wake Raven,” Margaret said.

Hank could hear in her voice how she was bracing for an argument, but now that they were this close, it was plain that the woman on the porch had no fight in her. She looked drawn and worn out.

“You’re too late,” Chloë said.

“He’s already awake?”

Chloë shook her head. “Something took him away. One minute he’s sitting there at his window, the next he’s gone.”

For a long moment no one spoke. It was, Hank thought, as though they simply couldn’t believe what they were hearing. Well, welcome to the club.

“Just like Jack,” Ray said finally.

Margaret sighed. “It’s that damned pot. Every time things go bad, that pot’s right in the middle of it.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge what you can’t understand,” Chloë said, her voice mild. “The pot’s not good or bad-it’s only what we do with it that makes it one or the other.”

“Well, the cuckoos have it this time,” Margaret told her.

Chloë‘s features sagged. She lowered herself onto the wicker bench on the porch and leaned slowly back against the wall of the house.

“Maybe Annie’s right,” she said. “Maybe it does have a mind of its own.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Brandon asked.

“She means it’s perverse,” Margaret said. “The way it keeps disappearing and then showing up again in the wrong hands.”

Brandon looked back and forth between them in confusion. “But I thought it was on our side.”

“The pot doesn’t take sides,” Chloë told him. “It just is, Brandon.”

“So what happens now?” Hank asked. “What are the cuckoos doing with it?”

“Well,” Chloë said, bitterness heavy in her voice. “This is no more than wild conjecture on my part, but I’d say they’re trying to do what they’re always trying to do: get rid of the firstborn
corbæ.”

“And that means?” Hank continued when she didn’t elaborate.

“The world can’t exist without the corbæ,” Margaret explained. “It’ll either end abruptly, or it’ll go on like this, an endless night that’ll only last until everything finally runs down.”

“But don’t the cuckoos know this?” Lily said.

Hank nodded. “They’ve got to know they’re just shooting themselves in the foot.”

“Cuckoos don’t listen to the same kind of reason as normal people do,” Chloë told them. “They don’t consider cause and effect. When the world ends, they’ll be the most surprised of anybody.”

Hank looked around at the others. “So we’ve got to stop them, right? Ray says he knows where they’re holed up.”

But Margaret was already shaking her head.

“You don’t get it,” she said. “We’re already too late.”

Chloë nodded. “Once the pot’s been stirred, all we can do is wait it out.”

“No,” Hank said. “Maybe you’re ready to quit, but I’m not.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Margaret said. “Whatever’s happening with the pot has got to play out and your confronting the cuckoos isn’t going to do a thing to stop it. Besides, any one of them could break you like a twig without even needing to work up a sweat.”

“I don’t give up.”

Chloë regarded him thoughtfully. “I’d forgotten how tenacious your kind can be. Though perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised, considering it was Cody who brought you into the world and I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more stubborn.”

Hank couldn’t tell whether she admired that stubbornness or not. The truth was, he didn’t particularly care. He turned to Ray.

“Where’d you say they were staying?”

“The Harbor Ritz.”

“Then that’s where I’m going,” Hank said.

“Me, too,” Lily added.

Hank looked at the others. “You can tag along or stay here. Your choice.”

As though the dog had been following the conversation, Bocephus padded over to stand beside him.

“What the hell,” Margaret said. “I always said I’d go down fighting.”

In the end, they all went.

The Aunts had joined Annie and the crow girls on their perch above the cathedral’s rose window, stopping long enough to report on the general fruit-lessness of the search so far before flying on again in their rook skins.

“Everybody’s looking, looking, looking,” Maida said. “It’s so funny, really.”

Annie had been watching the Aunts’ flight, shading her eyes with her hand. Now she lowered her hand and looked at the crow girl.

“I don’t get the joke,” she said.

“Not funny ha-ha,” Maida told her.

Zia nodded. “Which we like.”

“But funny strange.”

“Even a little sad.”

“What
are you talking about?” Annie asked.

Maida shrugged. “You know, that it takes something like this for us all to start paying attention to each other again.”

“Doing
something together,” Zia put in.

Annie settled back against the wall and sighed. “Oh,” she said. “Now I know what you mean. I suppose you’re right.” She was about to go on when the cathedral shook and they all had to cling to their perches. Annie looked at her companions.

“What was-” she began.

“Oh, look,” Maida said.

But she didn’t have to point. Annie could see the darkness flooding across the sky. She knew what was causing it, too-the darkness, the tremors that shook the building and the deep rumbling underground, the wind that had risen up that they could only hear, not feel. This wasn’t the first time she’d been near Raven’s pot when it was being used. But she’d never been this close-before, so near the epicenter. She’d heard how disorienting it could be, but never actually experienced it for herself.

It was a very disconcerting feeling. She had the sense that if she didn’t get down to the ground right away, she might lose her perch and be too disoriented to shift to her blue jay skin. She was about to suggest that they all fly down, but the crow girls had both suddenly gotten odd, surprised looks on their faces.

Maida blinked. “Oh …”

“… my,” Zia finished.

And then they were gone.

Annie sat very still, holding on to the ledge. She tried calling their names, but there was no reply. She knew they hadn’t slipped into some shortcut or a fold in the world, because there were none up here. That was one of the things she liked about this spot-it offered safety from surprises. Nobody could sneak up on you. By the same token, nobody could slip away unseen either.

Except that had changed, hadn’t it? Just like that.

And now she wished there was some hidey-hole she could slip into, some quick shortcut to safer ground, because this perch of hers suddenly felt like the least safe place she could be.

Where had the crow girls gone? Or more to the point, what had taken them away, because what had just happened wasn’t another one of their little tricks. They’d been just as surprised as she was when they’d vanished.

A wave of vertigo touched her, something she’d never experienced before. Wouldn’t that be strange, to die falling from the sky?

Don’t wait any longer, she told herself.

She shifted skins and lifted off before she could change her mind. The wind blowing inside her head threw off her equilibrium, but she forced herself to concentrate on her flight, gliding on the faint air currents, dropping downward in long, wide circles. When she finally touched the ground, she tumbled, wing over head. Shifting from bird to human form, she lay breathless on the pavement.

It was a long time before she could sit up without feeling nauseous.

Finally she managed to get to her feet. She staggered at first, then caught her balance. She called for the girls again.

“Maida! Zia!”

But they were well and truly gone.

It was so dark that she couldn’t see anymore. Shifting her principle concentration to her olfactory senses, she began the slow trek back to the Rookery, hoping it was still there, that it hadn’t disappeared along with the crow girls.

The idea of being all alone in a world gone black made her shiver with dismay.

She thought of the crow girls’ gentle reprimand and promised that if she got through this, she’d look up from her work more often. She’d connect more with the world, make the effort to spend more time with the other corbæ..

Then she remembered what they’d told her about Paul, how he’d lost himself in Raven’s pot and had never come back.

The pot had taken them. She was sure of that. Taken them, but not her. Why? Because they were oldest?

What if it kept them?

She didn’t even want to imagine a world without the crow girls in it, but she couldn’t stop the thought, now that it was in her head. What if the pot had taken them and they were never coming back?

Would there even be a world without them in it?

Before the darkness flooded the skies and the world fell out of time, Dominique Couteau sat with her chin cupped in her hands and stared at the crystal chalice she’d taken from the woman in the library.

Raven’s pot. She didn’t care what Cody thought. She knew what she had and with it, she finally held the fate of the corbæ in her hand. And yet she hesitated to use it, all because of Cody and his parting comments.

She was no longer alone in her hotel suite. Her two surviving sons had joined her, along with her brother Auguste, some of the Morgans from Hazard, and representatives from a half-dozen other cuckoo families. Dominique was the oldest of them, although it wasn’t obvious from her looks. A stranger entering the room would have been forgiven in thinking that he had stumbled into a secret meeting of animated department store mannequins-they were all so indistinguishable from one another. Men and women. The old and the young. They weren’t simply of a type, but identical. All of them tall and handsome. And ageless.