Page 66 of Threadbound

He’d been a child at the time, seven or eight at most. And the bird had brought back the bead in exchange for a few crackers.

A lot like what had been happening for the past week.

Jamie’s fingers paused, wrapped around the vivid blue of the floss. As insane as the thought that Bran had been following him since they were both children—well, sinceJamiewas a child, anyway, since he had no idea how old Bran was… he could be athousand for all Jamie knew—he couldn’t imagine that this had happened withanother, ordinary bird.

His brow furrowed as he slowly, thoughtfully, began to loop and twist and tie once more.

Jamie knew he should have been more bothered by the fact that not only had Bran been following him the past several months, but for years. More than a decade. Maybe even his whole life, for all he knew.

But it made his belly feel oddly warm, like he had when his momma brought him his favorite food or the way he had after his first kiss. He wasn’t sure how he felt aboutthator what it said abouthim, but some part of him was oddly… flattered?

That said, now Jamie was even more confused, because while he could have understood Bran being interested in him as an adult—because of his research, maybe, or maybe because Bran found him somewhat attractive, which might have been wishful thinking—he had no idea what it was about him that would have drawn Bran to him when he was a child.

The frown on his forehead deepened. Maybe it wasn’t to do with him at all, but something his momma had done? Her belief in fairies, her stories about them, the bowls of milk and honey and the little twisted bundles of flowers and branches… His momma had clearly believed in fairies. Maybe some ritual or offering she had made led to Bran’s interest in Jamie. Certainly he’d read enough stories recently about women intentionally or unintentionally promising their first-born to the fairies.

And yet, Bran had many opportunities to take Jamie back to fairyland with him, to harm Jamie, if that’s what he’d wanted to do. And he hadn’t. He’d clung to Jamie’s hand, watched him, watchedoverhim even, but he’d never once asked Jamie for anything Jamie hadn’t been willing to give… Aside from begging Jamienotto take him to a hospital, but that was hardly the same thing.

Jamie sighed, his fingers continuing to loop the floss, sliding a bead along the thread, tying another knot. He hadn’t really thought about what, specifically, he intended todowith it once it was done. He couldn’t sell it—it did look pretty cool, he thought, but the beads in it had been gifts from Bran. And his momma had made it abundantly clear that you didnotunder any circumstances refuse, return, or give away a fairy gift.

A burst of fear spiked through Jamie’s chest as he wondered if he’d actually managed to keep all of the bits Bran had given him all those years ago. He’d been akid—it wasn’t at all clear to him that he’d been responsible and actually managed to keep everything… But he did have a distinct memory of the small cardboard box he’d kept as a kid full of his ‘treasures’—including the little star bead, a shiny stone, and assorted other odds and ends, several of which had entirely unremembered origins.

But herememberedtrying to save the box. Saving the box, specifically. It had been one of the few things he’d taken with him when he’d walked out of the house at sixteen—that box, a duffel of clothes, his toothbrush and a few other toiletries. A pair of running shoes that were too tight, but were the only pair he had. His backpack from school with a handful of pens and pencils lent to him by his teachers along with second- and third-hand books, loose papers, and a single five-subject notebook that Momma had splurged on. Her act of defiance against Bill Eckel that had cost her a black eye and split lip.

In the present, Jamie tied off the last knot, then dabbed it with a tiny drop of superglue—you could melt the ends of nylon thread, but Jamie preferred to work with cotton or hemp. Not because it tied any better, but because he just liked the idea of using natural fibers. His momma had used cotton or wool for all her blankets and scarves and other knitted things, too. Maybe it reminded him of her—or maybe he just liked the idea of things being natural.

Not that the superglue was natural, but he hadn’t found anything better.

With a sigh, Jamie set aside the bracelet and glanced out the window, unable to keep himself from checking to see if Bran was visible—which was ridiculous, because it was dark, and a black bird in the dark was impossible to find, especially if Bran didn’t want to be found.

Jamie wished he understood why.

Chapter

Twenty-Nine

Another week went by, day by excruciating day, with Bran doing his best—or so it seemed—to avoid being seen. Jamie had glimpsed him only twice: once in the tree outside the library, and once on the sharp turn-around on the descent from Arthur’s Seat. Both had been fleeting, a hint of dark feathers or the swoop of a shadow.

It was honestly starting to become a little ridiculous. Because unless there were some very enterprising and highly intelligent mice or pigeons living near Jamie’s apartment unbeknownst to him, Bran was still eating whatever bread or crackers or cereal Jamie put out and leaving him some token—three pennies, a spring, a pencil stub, a bit of ribbon, a thistle, and a Euro. Jamie was actually a little impressed by the thistle, since it wasn’t limp or dried, which meant Bran had to have picked it, and Jamie was having a hard time imagining the physics of a bird picking a thistle.

But impressed or not, he still thought it was completely illogical that Bran insisted on remaining hidden while at the same time leaving a nightly reminder of his existence.

Jamie understood that he was forcing the issue—leaving out food that Branknewwas for him was essentially binding thefairy into bringing a gift in return and taking what Jamie left out. Jamie wasn’t actually sure of the specifics of the rule—after all, he left out milk and honey for the bookas all the time, and they drank it, but not alwaysallof it. And they had yet to leave him anything.

He didn’tmind, but he also didn’t understand why a different rule seemed to apply to them than to Bran.

Jamie had also looked up what ravens ate after seeing a social media post about not feeding ducks bread because it was bad for their intestinal systems. What he’d learned—which he should have known, since he knew crows were carrion birds—was that ravens primarily ate meat. Carrion, yes, but also insects, small mammals, other birds, shellfish, and so on. Theycouldeat grains, too, so he hadn’t been accidentally killing Bran by giving him crackers. And they also ate fruit and nuts. So poor Bran was probably getting pretty sick of carbs, although Jamie really hoped that he wasn’t Bran’s primary food source.

At any rate, Jamie’s research had preceded a trip to the grocery store, and he’d decided to get both himself and Bran a little bit of a treat. He couldn’t really afford it, but it had been quite a while since Jamie’d eaten meat, too. So he’d bought some fairly cheap pork and was roasting some for himself with potatoes, chestnuts, and apples. He’d taken one and cut it up raw—because a carrion bird wouldn’t want its meat cooked, he figured—and then added chopped apple and some of the chestnuts. He also made a gravy for himself, but he didn’t think a bird would appreciate it—or really be able to eat it. He couldn’t even lick the bowl. At least, Jamie couldn’t figure out how a bird would lick a bowl.

While his dinner cooked, Jamie took the bowl and left it on the windowsill with a paper towel over the top so that no flies or other insects would get into it. Yeah, okay, ravens ate insects, too, but somehow that was just too far for Jamie. He wantedto at least maintain some semblance of culinary hygiene for his own sake, if not for Bran.

The same way he had been for the past several weeks, Jamie stood watching the window for a few minutes, trying to see if he could spot motion somewhere in the shadows that would tell him Bran was there. As usual, he saw nothing.

With a sigh, Jamie went back to the kitchen and started making gravy. By the time he finished, the tiny apartment smelled amazing, and his dinner was done.

He checked the windowsill again on the way back to his chair, but the bowl was unchanged. So Jamie settled in to eat and start a new (at least to him) series—Death in Paradise.When he finished his food, Jamie cleaned up, put away the leftovers, and returned to his show, once again compelled to pull out the floss and beads.

This time, Jamie chose both black and a vivid forest green that reminded him of Bran—specifically, the deep emerald shade of Bran’s eyes. Jamie’s fingers pushed through the tins of beads, seeking something that spoke to him, something that would match the green-and-black of foliage and shade he planned to twist together. It called for a different pattern than the slightly jaunty zig-zag he’d made with the blue and the beads Bran had left him—currently bright against Jamie’s fair skin where it was tied around his wrist. He didn’t usually wear his own creations, but this one had just felt right—and he didn’t want to give away any of the things Bran had brought him. Not only was it rude, at least according to the fairy rules his momma had taught him, but even thinking about it felt wrong.

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