Page 41 of Sore Throat, Slight Fever

The story ends and the news anchor moves on, but Rory tunes him out. He had only been watching to see if they cover the suspicious death of Maddox Grey and, subsequently, the disappearance of Calliope Grey. It’s been at least three days since the local news last ran the segment though. Authorities have since declaredher husband’s death as accidental, and Calliope’s disappearance is no longer cause for alarm, or, at least, not cause enough to run news segments on. More likely, they’re just bored of the same old story.

Not for the first time, he wonders if he should update her about her husband’s death. Does it matter? He knows she grabbed the newspaper from the library. It was vague but left no question that Calliope’s disappearance was suspicious. There were even a few thinly veiled accusations that she murdered Maddox Grey and then fled.

He wonders if she did have something to do with it. Based on the brief memory he accidentally saw, Maddox Grey certainly had it coming. He could feel her fear in that moment, a cold dread skittering across his arms as the glint of steel inched closer. The memory was tainted with her emotions for her husband. She loved the man so much that she was willing to face her fear in order to help him, and Maddox Grey used that to his advantage. For Hades sake, Rory would have gladly killed the man himself, based on that one memory alone. Any yet, he can’t see Calliope as a killer. Not really.

The real question circling behind these thoughts is when will Calliope leave? At the end of next week, like they agreed? Her husband is dead. She had nothing to do with it and the authorities are no longer looking for her. Once she masters her cravings, she is free—and it seems like she already has, if he’s being honest.

Atapping at the door draws his attention back to the present moment. He looks up from the small television set behind the counter, and his eyes flash when he notices Kane. There’s only one reason Kane would venture this far from the house, particularly in this weather.

He doesn’t even bother to let the bird in, just curses under his breath as he grabs his keys. He flips the “Closed” sign and lets the door slam shut behind him.

“She fell,” says the bird, chest puffed out in worry. “It was too dark and with the rain, I couldn’t see. I think she fell into the lake.”

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell her to stay inside?” He kneels to scoop Kane up into his hand before ducking out into the rain and slipping into the car.

“I did,” says Kane, hopping down to the passenger seat. “I can’t help it if she doesn’t listen to me.”

“And you have no clue what’s in the lake?” asks Rory, darting a look at Kane as he fumbles with his keys. The engine roars into life and Rory turns the wheel too sharply as he maneuvers out of the parking space. The tires slide dangerously against the tarmac. He tightens his grip on the steering wheel.

Kane clicks his beak. “I have a list of possibilities…”

Rory slams his palm on the steering wheel, gritting out another curse between clenched teeth. “She can’t drown.” He glances at Kane. “Right?”

“Most likely not. She doesn’t need her lungs to breathe after all.”

“But whatever the creature is…” Rory’s voice fades. His thoughts are filled with images of her bloodied and broken, body ravaged by an unknown beast.

“I don’t want her to die,” says Kane, quietly. “I like her.”

“Me too.” He presses harder on the pedal. The car lurches forward, tires protesting.

* * *

Finally, after what feels like hours later but is only a few minutes, he turns abruptly into the driveway of Graeme House.

He flings the door open and jumps out of the car, his boots slipping on the dirt drive which is now turned to mud. He feels water seep into his socks and his clothes stick to him as he runs around the side of the house. He pulls himself onto the steps with ease. He blinks, eyes and ears strained for any sign of Calliope, wishing desperately for a flash of pale skin in the dark. Instead, he is greeted by a strobe of lightning, hot-white above him and the sound of thunder echoing low against the earth, so close he feels the vibrations in his chest.

His mind is frantically trying to recall what she was wearing earlier, when he left. Was it the cream cotton dress or the blue sundress that tucks in at her waist? Maybe it was the long white one with the floral pattern and the sleeves that flow down to her elbows?No, it was sleeveless. White. Linen.

Fuck, he thinks, taking the steps two at a time. The rain has done the lake well and the shoreline just touches the rough-hewn steps. By morning, the lake may even be close to full again, the stairs halfway submerged.

He can’t see her from the steps and there is no evidence of her on the shore. He calls out her name, but his voice is snatched away by a crack of lightning. He looks up at Kane, who is hiding on the porch, feathers soaked. Kane opens his beak and Rory thinks he, too, is calling Calliope, though only the sound of the rain and wind roars in his ears.

So, he does the only other thing he can do: he jumps into the water, pausing only to slip off his boots. He dips his head below, his focus pulled by the faint green light pulsing in the center of the lake.

He begins to swim. As he approaches, he sees a white blur and his stomach swoops with relief when he recognizes Calliope, her hair fanning out around her like rays of sunshine. She’s clutching to the remains of a canoe that was wrecked and abandoned there a decade ago at least and staring into the green glow. When he reaches her, her features are relaxed, almost in awe of what she sees. She looks like a river nymph, green light casting an ethereal hue against her pale skin, white dress swirling around her slim body. He grabs her hand, and she turns, startled to see him.

But then she points toward the light and smiles,mouthing something that Rory hopes is, “It’s okay.”

She lets go of the canoe and tugs on Rory’s shirt as she kicks upward. When they reach the surface a few seconds later, it is to the fine mist of a fading storm, the soft pitter-patter as gentle as a lullaby. A sizzle of lightning resounds above them as they tread water, and Rory pulls her along back to the stairs.

Kane is on the steps as they approach, hopping from side-to-side. Rory helps her up, his broad hands encircling her waist. The dress is clinging to her, tangling around her legs. Even from behind, he can tell it’s somewhat see-through, and he averts his eyes awkwardly.

She doesn’t seem to notice as she wipes at her hair plastered to her forehead. “I know what the creature in the lake is.”

“You shouldn’t have gone investigating like that,” says Kane, nipping at her elbow. “It was dangerous.”

“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, wiping at the water dripping into her eyes. “But there’s a creature out there who needs our help.”

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