Chapter Two

 

11:45 a.m.

 

All these crows swirling above me didn’t exactly calm my nerves, especially with Poe squawking at decibels unfit for human ears. He leaped off Mr. Mayhem’s black leather-clad shoulder, joining the local murder circling overhead, screeching back, engaged in a heated discussion of some sort.

“Someone wanna fill me in?” Facing Mr. Mayhem, I jutted a thumb over my shoulder. “What’s wrong with ’em?”

Right then, Alanis Morissette belted out Ironic in the breast pocket of my grandfather’s short-sleeved button-down shirt, the song muffled by his traditional buckskin vest and a gazillion angry voices calling back and forth. But Shicheii stayed focused on the murder of crows, growing in numbers by the second.

I shook my hand at him. “Shicheii—”

Mr. Mayhem nudged his elbow, and my grandfather tore his gaze away from the cloudless sky amassed by black wings, flapping, soaring, dipping. “Your phone is ringing, Jacy Lee.”

“Hm?” His brow furrowed. “I don’t have a phone, Cheveyo.”

“No,” I said, half-expecting a dial tone by the time his fingers reached under the vest. “You have mine, remember? Can I have it, please?”

“Oh, I apologize.” When he passed me the cell, I hustled into the cabin, hoping to drown out Poe and his crew.

After checking the caller ID—an unfamiliar number—I covered one ear to block out the ruckus outside. “Hello?”

On the line, Maggie wept. “Can you come get me, Shawnee?”

“Come get you? Get you from where?”

“I’m at Becca’s house.”

I ducked to peek out the window, crows flying in from all directions, adding to the bedlam. “Who’s Becca?”

“My friend from school. You met her at softball.”

“The little redhead with freckles?”

“Yeah.”

Strolling toward the kitchen island, I could barely hear myself think, never mind unscrambling the ramblings of a nine-year-old. “Did you two have a fight?”

“No.”

“Mags, don’t make me guess. I’m dealing with enough shit as it is.” Is it hot in here or is it just me? I tugged my T-shirt away from my chest, billowing the material in and out. “Where’s your mom?” Austyn wasn’t her birth mother, but she was definitely her mom. Once I rescued Maggie from the same scumbag pedophile who abused me years ago, Austyn adopted her. And Maggie thrived in her care. “What happened at Becca’s that makes you wanna leave?”

“Uh,” she said, hesitant. “Are Dedenaan and Shicheii there?”

Long story short, Dedenaan meant grandfather in Chippewa, Shicheii meant mother’s father in Diné aka Navajo. “Yeah, they both are. We’re in Jackson at the cabin. Why?” Maggie wasn’t stupid. She knew they were the most spiritual, loving badasses on the planet, and all three of us would do anything to protect her.

“Can you pick me up? I can’t stay here.” She cried harder, shredding several layers of my heart. “Please, Shawnee. I need you.”

“Okay, okay. What’s the address?”

“I don’t know.” Panic laced her crackling words. “I can’t stay here.”

“It’s alright. We’ll figure it out.” I switched ears. “Whose phone are you on?”

“The landline.”

“Perfect. I’ll trace it. Are you safe?”

“Yeah, I guess, but—"

While pacing back and forth between the kitchen and living room, my breath knotted around my ribcage, the blood in my veins reaching a boiling point. “Did someone put their hands on you?” I jogged toward the screen door that led to the porch. Outside, the crow calls intensified, all my tiny body hairs rising at once. “I will fuck… them… up!”

“No one touched me, Shawnee.”

“Oh.” My adrenaline slammed into a brick wall, my anger waning, dialing back my heated tone. “Did you and Becca have a fight? Is that why you wanna leave?”

“No.”

Dropping my forehead into a cupped hand, I slumped over the kitchen island, one elbow resting on cool granite. “Mags, you gotta give me somethin’. I can’t just leave for no reason.”

“I can only tell Dedenaan.”

“Seriously?” What the fuck? Since when does she put Mr. Mayhem above me? “Fine. Whatever.” I slapped open the screen door and shook my iPhone at him. “Maggie needs to talk to you.”

He raised the cell to his ear. “What a pleasant surprise, Little Rain.”

Again, long story, but my grandfather renamed us when we learned about our heritage, our shared ancestral roots.

“I am acutely aware of that, thank you. And so is Poe.” For a brief period, he aimed the mic at the crows. “I’m afraid the news has caused a bit of a ruckus around here.” He paused, listening. “I see. And you are at this man’s home as we speak?” Another pause. “Not to worry, little one. We shall leave now.” Covering the mic, his gray, almost translucent eyes focused on me. “Do you have the address?”

“Not yet. It’ll take two seconds, but I need your laptop.”

“Check the trunk.” He handed me the keys to his Cadillac CTS. “Dry those tears, Little Rain.” Pause. “Good girl. See you soon.”

The crows whipped into an all-out frenzy, circling, cawing, and squawking like war was about to break out.

When Mr. Mayhem passed me the phone, a dial tone hummed in my ear. “Mags didn’t wanna talk to me?”

“Apparently not.” He leaned aside to my grandfather. “Little Rain knows.”

“Knows what?” I said, but they ignored me, entranced by the massive gathering of crows, trees veiled in black wings.

Leading a shitload of his compadres to the porch, Poe shot me an I-will-kill-you look before landing on his dad’s outstretched forearm. The others landed on the railing, lined up wing-to-wing, all glaring at me as the “dangerous face” in their midst. Thanks to Poe, they recognized me from the Crows’ Most Wanted poster implanted in everybody’s mind. Younger crows who weren’t even alive when I accidentally slapped Poe had a deep hatred instilled in their impressionable minds, along with a mental snapshot of my face.

As Poe leaned forward, his chest heaved with each hard breath, staring into his father’s eyes, communicating about something. Not quite telepathy, as I understood it, more like subtle facial expressions—so subtle it’s difficult to catch—combined with an indescribable soulful connection, each communicating in their native tongue to create a universal language. Much like how one species warns another of a potential threat.

“I am cognizant of the stakes, thank you. Are you all right?” His thumb stroked Poe’s bill with the gentleness of caressing a newborn’s tender cheek. At this moment, one could never tell he’d slaughtered dozens of people, maybe even hundreds. “Please calm down. I understand how hard this news must have hit, but I hate to see you so dismayed. The good news is, we now have a starting point.”

The crows on the railing all cawed at once, and I jumped back. “What the fuck’s wrong with ’em?”

Mr. Mayhem scowled. “Language, please.”

“Sorry, but I don’t know what’s happening, and no one’s tellin’ me anything.”

“I wonder,” he said, tapping a stiff finger against his chin, “why you seem incapable of puzzling this out on your own?”

“He’s right, Mourning Dove.” My grandfather—my flesh and blood!—sided with him. “Take a moment to study your surroundings. What do you see?”

“Well, a shit— I mean, a boatload of crows pissed off about somethin’.”

“Correct.” Shicheii swept a hand toward the sky. “What would arouse this much chaos?”

“A threat.”

“Very good, child.” He mussed my hair. “What sort of threat?”

“Err…”

“Perhaps rephrasing the question will help,” Mr. Mayhem suggested. “What do crows protect above all else?”

“Their kind. Their species.”

“She’s learning, old friend.” He patted my grandfather’s shoulder, and Shicheii beamed with pride.

“That she is. Her mother had the same brilliant mind. Remember?”

“Indeed, I do. Though unlike this one”—Mr. Mayhem jabbed his head in my direction— “your daughter adored and respected corvids.”

“That she did, Cheveyo. That she did.”

With side glances at me, Mr. Mayhem cleared his throat. “She could also follow instructions.”

“Right, my bad.”

I leaped off the top stair of three and jogged to the Caddy. Three crows followed, landing on the roof, eyes narrowed, scowling while I unlocked the trunk. What the hell’s happening here? I snatched the laptop out of its leather case, spun, and sprinted back to the porch. As long as I stayed close to Mr. Mayhem, the crows wouldn’t dare attack me. Would they? Poe obeyed his dad, but that didn’t mean the others had to. Or maybe Poe hired the local murder to take me out. Hard to tell which at this point.

Seated at the outside table, a gazillion beady eyes watched my every move, crow feet encroaching on my personal space, black wings encircling me, my knee bobbing up and down as I reverse-searched the phone number Maggie called from. The residential address emerged, and I squinted at the screen. “What’s she doin’ in Tamworth?”

Hovering over my shoulder, Mr. Mayhem said, “She’s visiting a friend, dear.”

“No, I know.” I tsked my tongue. “But Becca lives in Gilford. They’re on the same softball team.”

“Perhaps her parents divorced? The white man doesn’t appreciate the sanctity of marriage like our People.”

I jerked back. “That’s not true. My dad loved my mom.”

“Good for you for defending his honor.” Shicheii’s even tone soothed me. “Cheveyo, it’s unfair to judge the actions of many by the actions of few.”

“You’re right. My apologies, Cat,” he said, using the pet name he and his wife used for me. “Your father was an honorable man.”

“Thank you.” Rather than jot down the address, I snapped a photo of the screen. “Maggie’s a good forty-five minutes from here.”

“Then we best hit the road.” He lowered Poe to the table, and the little bastard stalked toward me with an unnerving stare, my restless knee bouncing 90 mph. “Text me the address, please.”

Those words cattle-prodded me, and I shot out of the chair. “Wait. What?”

“You don’t understand my request? It’s fairly straightforward, dear.”

“No, I do, but—”

Before I could protest, Shicheii palmed my cheeks, kissed my forehead. “We shouldn’t be too long.”

“What? Y’mean, you’re goin’ with him? But Maggie called me. She’s expecting me to show.”

They exchanged a look I didn’t understand, and my grandfather nodded in agreement.

“As much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” said Mr. Mayhem, tossing his long braid over one shoulder, “Little Rain asked for us to come alone.”

I could barely process those words. “What? Why?”

“We do not have time for a drawn-out tête-à-tête, I’m afraid. Text me the address, please.”

“Do as he says, child. The little one’s waiting.” Again, Shicheii framed my face in his hands—his go-to move to strengthen and renew our bond. “Use this time with Poe to—”

Every muscle in my body stiffened. “You’re leaving me alone with him!” My gaze wandered back to Poe, standing tall and proud in the center of the table, and I swear that freakshow winked at me. “Shicheii, please… They’ll kill me the second you pull outta the driveway.”

“That’s overly dramatic, even for you, Cat.” A sly smirk emerged on his lips. “Think of this as a good thing. Adversity builds character.”

“He’s right, honey. Use this time to mend past regressions.”

Stunned, my jaw slacked as they strode toward the Caddy. Two car doors slammed shut, and I gaped as the tires peeled out. When the taillights trailed out of view, I rotated my head toward the table, the bones in my neck creaking. Reveling in my torment, Poe cocked his head, his beady-eyed glare deadlocked on me. If I lived another ten minutes, it’d be a miracle.

Ca-caw!