Page 20 of Song Bird Hearts

“Babysitters,” Knox replies, clearly just trying to be an asshole.

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, okay, Thing Two.”

Gilden shoots a look at Knox, as if in warning about his attitude. “I’m a specialist. Knox is the security expert.”

“Interesting titles. Kind of seems like more than that considering you showed up, swept me away on a plane, and now you have someone funneling you information about the super secret shadow organization that wants to kill me,” I point out.

“Yeah,” Knox says. “Babysitters. Like I said.”

I turn in my chair and glare at him. “You really need to work on your people skills, Thing two.”

He raises his brow. “My people skills are fine. It’s the people who are the problem.”

I glance at Gilden. “Is it you who’s been lying to him about his people skills?”

“Definitely not,” he laughs. “I tell him he’s an asshole all the time. It was probably his mother.”

“You leave my mother out of this conversation,” Knox grunts, but doesn’t add anything else, shutting down the conversation.

Those people skills are clearly rusty. You can’t tell me anything different.

“So. . .” I start, staring at Gilden as he flicks through his phone. “. . .how long do we stay here before this all blows over?”

Knox doesn’t answer, of course. Gilden shrugs hesitantly. “Don’t know the answer to that,cher. Best just to wait, yeah?”

I sigh and finish off the coffee. “Am I allowed out on the front porch?”

He nods. “We’re high enough in the mountains, I don’t think anyone will see or hear anything. You wanna go out on the porch and scream, should be fine. Maybe warn us though. Knox is afraid of them wendigos.”

“Wendigos don’t exist,” Knox grunts, but he doesn’t exactly say he isn’t afraid of them. Interesting.

There was a guitar in my room when we arrived. Specifically, one of my old guitars, the one my mama gave me with the little sparrow painted on it that the label had insisted I leave behind since it’s not “stage worthy,” for whatever reason they created. Hank must have made sure it would be here for me when I got here, the old sap. He knew I’d turn to music right now, and I’ve never been more grateful for the man who’s been like a father to me for so long.

That’s what I take onto the porch with me. I don’t need to scream at the mountains. I need to sing to them.

My fingers dance along the strings, pleased to find the guitar still perfectly tuned. At first, I just strum notes, letting the vibrations fill the air around me, but at some point, I can’t help but start humming. That hum turns to words before I’m conscious of making the decision.

“Where the river knows me, and the wind says my name,

I’m just a girl with a song and a heart full of flame.

The sparrows sing songs that echo in place

And I don’t need nothing but these stars and this space.

‘Cause out here, I’m wild and free,

In the arms of the land that remembers me.”

The words echo around me and fade, leaving me to stare at the dark trees. The night critters sing back to me, the sounds feeling more like home than they ever have. Out here, the air is clear, clean. I’ve spent too long away from the mountains. I’ve missed this.

“That was my favorite song when you were first breaking out.”

I jump and nearly throw my guitar. I hadn’t even realized the Cajun was behind me until he talked.

“For fuck’s sake!” I shriek, staring at him with wide eyes. “Make a noise next time or somethin’.”

“Sorry,cher,” he apologizes before coming to sit beside me. “I didn’t want you to stop.” He bumps his shoulder with mine. “Why don’t you play that song on stage anymore?”

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