Page 157 of Lana Pecherczyk
Blake screamed, but no sound came out. Moments before Scarface hit the ground, his wings snapped open. What had been a free fall became a swoop. Black and white feathers fluttered, and the bird plucked out the morning worm wriggling from the grass and flew into the sun. Blake’s father bellowed with laughter.
The sun’s glare grew so bright it swallowed them whole.
“Dad!” she shouted, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Don’t go!”
But the vision faded, leaving nothing but a deep ache between Blake’s ribs and dead, oily feathers on flat stone. Her sob caught in her throat.
“You’re upsetting her.” River’s accusation carried a lethal edge. “We didn’t bring a gift, and now you’re fucking with us, just like you always do.”
“Always?”
“You punished my parents for eloping. You approve of Lark and Tommas’s match, but then take it back. You haven’t even officially approved mine. We came for answers about Blake’s gift, not more of your petty fuckery.”
“Sorry and thanks go to waste.” The Donna tapped a curved fingernail against her temple. “The magpie knows. She sees the patterns.”
Ash shifted uncomfortably by the door. “Maybe we should?—”
“The crow speaks of approval when he already knows what I see.” The Donna pointed a long, bony finger at the empty space between River and Blake. “The bond exists, whether I approve or not. Umbria and Cardona flocks entwine as always, existingto balance that which flows, grows, and binds. Look inside your kettle for what broke the match because it wasn’t me. But what you seek”—her gaze shifted to Blake—“is not what you think.”
The paste on Blake’s chin tingled and burned. The caravan’s interior shifted and swayed. Manabeeze pulsed in jars faster and brighter. Like the sun in the vision, threatening to swallow her whole.
“I’m taking you out of here.” River lifted Blake to her feet and pulled her toward the exit. Ash moved quickly to avoid a collision.
The Donna’s birds took flight, peeling from tattooed skin and materializing into three-dimensional forms. Their wings beat furiously as they circled the caravan. Feathers molted everywhere. Blake gasped and ducked as one swooped near her head, catching her hair. River pulled her against his chest and shielded her with his body.
“The crow flies blind when the Guardian refuses to see the truth!” The Donna cackled over the cacophony of caws and beating wings. “The magpie collects treasures she doesn’t understand. The vulture looks for death in the stars above instead of those below.”
Ash yanked the door open. River thrust Blake outside. She glanced back to see a crow land on Ash’s shoulder and hunt through his hair with its ebony beak. Feathers continued to shed from its body until nothing remained but bones, but Ash dared not remove it.
The Donna clasped his wrist, her silver eyes widening. “When the dead crow takes flight, the owl sees through the darkest night.”
The skeletal crow on Ash’s shoulder flew onto its mistress as she shoved him outside.
“What did it see?” he demanded, voice raw as he stumbled back.
The Donna tilted her head. “It saw grief. Yours. So now it lives with me.”
She slammed the door shut.
All three of them stood frozen. Stunned.
“What the fuck was that?” Blake muttered.
The world tilted sharply. Every reflection, every trinket, every glass surface flared with painful brightness. She staggered and clutched River’s arm.
“Blake?” He steadied her, but his voice sounded distant through the blood rushing in her ears.
“I’m fine.” She straightened, fought the sensation. Then she remembered. “The book!”
It wasn’t in her hands. Not in River’s or Ash’s.
River’s gaze darted between her and the Donna’s caravan. “I’ll get it.”
The ground shifted as he jogged back up the porch steps and pounded on the door. Ash joined him, but no answer came. People stared. Judged.
You’re not supposed to be here.
Blake had one job: to protect the book. She hadn’t even studied the pages.
