Page 98 of Savage Hearts
“No, Poe.” Mal holds out his arm. The creature hops onto hisforearm, looks up at him, and makes a chattering birdy noise of affection.
“You’re shitting me. You have a pet crow?”
“Don’t talk about him like he’s not in the room. You’ll hurt his feelings.”
I can’t tell if that’s a joke or not, because his face is serious. Like it always is.
“Do you want to feed him?”
I look at the bird with trepidation. Unimpressed, it stares back at me. “What does it eat?”
Mal deadpans, “Human eyeballs.”
I say drily, “Great, you’re a comedian now.”
He sits at the foot of the bed and holds his arm out toward me. The bird hops down to his wrist, head bobbing. I let out a small sound of fear.
“Amuse him for a minute while I go get his food.”
The crow flutters down from Mal’s arm and lands on my thigh. It feels like someone dropped a toddler on me. The sound of fear I make this time is louder.
Mal rises. Before he turns to leave the room, I could swear I spot a smirk on his face.
Poe stands defiantly on my leg, adjusting his wings and glaring at me.
Trying to sink as far back into the pillow as I can, I say faintly, “Hi, Poe. Um. Nice to meet you. I hope you’re not a carrier of the plague.”
Squawk!
“Was that insulting? You’ll have to excuse my manners. I don’t often have conversations with winged creatures.”
Squawk!
I get the distinct sense this fucking bird wants a better apology than the one he just got, so I add lamely, “I’m sorry for saying thatthing about the plague. It was rude. Um… you have very pretty feathers.”
I know the glint of satisfaction in its eyes isn’t my imagination, because it emits a softer squawk and starts grooming its feathers.
Mal returns to the room holding a small dish. When Poe sees him, he caws in excitement, hopping up and down on my leg and probably causing bruises. Mal hands the dish to me. I peer over the edge and see that it’s filled with small brown pellets.
“What is this?”
“Cat food. Crows love it.”
As if to prove his point, Poe flaps his wings, lands on my chest, pokes his head into the bowl I’m holding, and starts eating.
“Mal?”
“Yes, Riley?”
“There’s a giant crow on my chest.”
“I can see that.”
“Is it dangerous?”
Poe stops gobbling cat food pellets for a moment to turn his head and glare at me.
With faint laughter in his voice, Mal says, “Only to people who refer to him as ‘it.’”
