Page 113 of Black Bird

Brent pocketed his phone as well as his wallet and slowly trudged toward her with a scowl. He looked awful. She’d never seen him dressed so casual, his sunken dark circles beneath his eyes made him look like he hadn’t slept in days and his hair looked unwashed and disheveled. Wren had to bite back her shock as he finally stood at the end of the table next to her.

“Well … you look like shit.” Wren smirked, sipping from her straw.

“Okay.” He shrugged, not making eye contact with her and glancing around the bar.

“She’s not here, Brent.”

“Good. I’m not really in the mood to deal with that right now.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Wren asked, sliding her cup away and curling another fry into her mouth. “Somebody hit the wrong key at your piano bar today?”

“Piss off, Wren. What do you want?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t think you’d dare to be seen at a place like this. I’m also curious what happened to your fancy shower.” Wren smiled as she chewed.

“I don’t have time for this. See ya.” Brent rolled his eyes and started to turn away. Wren grabbed him by the elbow as the jocks behind her roared again. He turned back and stared down at her hand. “Let go.”

“What’s wrong?” Wren asked again, more serious this time.

“Clearly you haven’t talked to your bestie. I’m leaving.”

“What did you do?” Wren bit, gritting her teeth.

“I gave her back what was hers. Can I go get my food, now?” He tried to wrangle from her hold on his arm, just in time for a drunk asshat in an orange jersey to run into him and dump his beer all over her. Wren jolted back against the booth, shaking her hands in front of her while stale beer ran down her chest.

“Shiiiiit …”the idiot slurred, grabbing a handful of napkins and making to dab her shirt. “My bad, sexy.” Brent grabbed him by the wrist, turning him forward and hitting him so hard in the face that spit flew from his mouth. Wren could do nothing but gape at him. The jock held his mouth and furrowed his brows at Brent but made no move to hit him back. “Damn, man … was that necessary? What’s your problem?” He licked the blood from his busted lip. Brent looked at her and ran a shaking hand through his hair.

“I need to go,” he said, finally turning away and grabbing the bag of food from the counter as he stormed out.

Wren slid through the spilled beer that was puddled on the cracked red leather seat and hurried out the door. Brent had almost made it to his car. “Brent!” she called, picking up her pace and pulling her jacket tighter around her. He ignored her and kept walking. “Brent, stop!” He slowed and she caught up to him.

“What do you want, Wren?” he fired as he turned around to face her.

“What’s going on? Are you alright?” she asked, unsure why she even gave a shit.

“No, I’m not! And why would you care? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or do I need to go lay in the fucking street just to get you to leave me alone?” His voice cracked and he looked like he was about to crack right along with it.

“Look, in the two years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you like this.”

“Like what? Tired and hungry? Nobody has given a shit any time I tried to help, now I back off and for once do the right thing and I can’t get five minutes of peace?”

She didn’t know what else to say. Couldn’t explain the sympathy she suddenly felt while he stood out here with sore knuckles and cheap bar food.

“Okay …” Wren nodded, wrapping her arms around her middle.

“Thank you,” he spat, turning back to his car and unlocking the door.

“Brent,” Wren called. He paused and took a long time to look over his shoulder at her. “Thanks.” She gestured at her soaked t-shirt that was steadily becoming colder the longer she stood outside. He nodded slowly and ducked into his car, slamming the door, and starting it up. By the time Wren had realized she left without paying, he had already pulled out onto the street and sped off.

Sarah was leaning against her headboard, sipping her coffee, and reading through the pages of Athan’s journal. Every page revealed something about him that she should have expected, knowing what she knew now … but was still surprised about. The things he’d seen and lived through. Mentions of wars and historical figures that she remembered learning about as far back as high school. Recollection of his time on ships that were riddled with plague, that he and the coven were strangely immune to. His heartbreak at the lives he wrote about taking … it unnerved her a bit just knowing that she’d been one of them. His poetry and the way he described this witch who had stolen a life he wasn’t even happy in but longed for. Why did he think that he couldn’t tell her any of this? She would have understood. At least, that’s what she told herself after every page she continued to turn. Her phone rang. It was Rhaena. Sarah ignored it and pulled the journal closer to her face. A moment later it rang again.

Something’s wrong.

Sarah picked it up this time, marking the journal with a tissue in her lap.

“What’s wrong?” Sarah asked.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully. Don’t say another word. Pack a bag that you can carry easily on your shoulder, or a bookbag. Take anything essential, and enough clothes for at least a week. Be quick about it, Sarah, and try not to draw any attention to yourself.”

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