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Dread was burrowing into James’ gut with sharp little nails. He was unfamiliar with the sensation, and was only guessing that it was dread, but he figured he’d got it right. The sparrows continued to sit and stare at them, the boughs bent under their collected weight. He found himself chanting that ridiculous nursery rhyme in his head. If the bough should break, down will come baby, birdcage and all.
Except that wasn’t right. Cradle and all. Not birdcage. Although that was what started all this, with the birds. Messing about with the birdcage, and Martin coming up with his sparrow girl story. It was like he’d tapped into something, and now the sparrows were awake.
James blinked, trying to breathe through his mouth as they all shuffled along the path, not wanting to disturb the birds, send them all hurtling down from their perches, small feathered bodies turned lethal weapons. Sparrows. There was something he knew about sparrows – what was it? Sparrows, and several other birds. He strained to remember, but his mind was slow, shocked.
‘Sparrows,’ he whispered, trying to jog it loose.
Behind him, almost close enough for James to feel her frantic heartbeat, Stacy questioned him. ‘What about them?’ she pressed.
He had it. Sparrows, owls, and crows. Also deer, he thought. Maybe dogs. Certainly shamans. He looked again at the sparrows surrounding them, and wanted to turn his face away, hide it, and never have to look again.
What had they done? What had they woken up?
Or worse, perhaps, what had sunk its talons into them?
A gasp from in front of him, and suddenly there was a bit more light, a bit more space, the trees backed up, spread out, led him into a clearing in which a building squatted.
‘The temple,’ Stacy breathed. ‘We’ve found it.’
It was round. Blindingly white in the gloom. Someone was looking after its upkeep. James found himself shrinking back from it. Diseased, he thought. It looked like a blind white fungi growing in the clearing.
Martin had already rushed forward, putting his hand on the door. ‘There’s no handle,’ he said.
‘Shh,’ Stacy hissed. ‘Keep your voice down.’
The birds were still watching them with their opaque, impassive gaze. They crowded on the turreted roof of the temple, hushed, watching as if one mind was behind them. James shied away.
‘The door’s locked,’ Martin said in an exaggerated stage whisper. ‘We can’t get in.’
A girl detached herself from the group, James straining to remember her name. Deirdre, that was right. Stacy’s girlfriend, partner, whatever they called themselves. She was all long bare legs and a hint of midriff. James found himself surprised at the coupling. He would have guessed someone a little more mature for Stacy, if he’d been asked. Of course, no one had asked, least of all Stacy herself.
The girl stalked around the building. ‘No windows,’ she mouthed, reappearing at the other side. ‘Locked up tight.’
Suddenly, James found himself desperate for a look inside. Anything that might explain the congregation of birds watching their every move. What exactly had gone on in there?
Stacy was looking at him, a curious expression on her face. ‘You know something, don’t you?’ she asked.
He sucked on his bottom lip. ‘Only ideas,’ he said. ‘Strictly speculation.’ He glanced up at the birds, checking his voice hadn’t called them down.
Stacy lowered her own voice. ‘A librarian in town spoke to me about this place,’ she said. ‘Apparently the coven is still active. They still meet.’ She waved a hand out at the temple. ‘Here. They still do whatever it is they do, here.’ He saw her glance around them, as if to check who was eavesdropping. ‘She said they’re all businessmen types, maybe even a politician among them.’
That surprised him. Usually, this sort of thing hadn’t lasted into the twenty first century, and most businessmen he met were motivated by money, not the occult. He lifted a shaking hand and rubbed at his face.
‘We should leave,’ Stacy said, echoing his own thoughts. ‘Martin? Are you sure it’s locked?’
Martin nodded. Deirdre piped up. ‘And no windows.’
He saw Stacy suck in a deep breath. ‘Then we should get back to the house.’
Good idea. Excellent one, in fact. He wanted to get to his computer, do a little more research, though in fact, it wasn’t necessary. Now that he’d come up with the link, there was no denying it.
Stacy was looking at him. ‘Something you’d care to share, Professor?’
He shook his head. No. Not until he knew what it meant. What it could possibly mean.
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Secrets aren’t generally a good idea in this line of work.’
James looked away from her and at the birds. He swallowed and felt his tongue click in his dry mouth. ‘The birds,’ he said.
All eyes were on him. Human and avian.
‘Sparrows are psychopomps,’ he said.
The humans frowned at him. ‘What are psychopomps?’ Stacy asked.
‘Oh yeah!’ Martin said, a little too loudly, causing an alarming fluttering overhead. ‘I’ve heard of psychopomps. They’re spirits who carry the dead to the next realm.’
A flurry of wings pumped the air and James instinctively covered his head. In a moment, the world was a swirling mass of birds and he felt the brush of their wings touch his head, arms, shoulders. He cringed, waiting for the sharp beaks and claws.
It didn’t happen. In another moment, the sky was clear, the branches empty. He lifted his head, took a cautious breath.
‘They’re gone,’ Jeremy said, and gave a low whistle. ‘And I caught it all on camera.’ He shook his head. ‘This is going to be one wicked programme.’
Stacy was shaking her head. ‘I don’t even care about the programme anymore,’ she said. ‘Things are moving way too fast, and in a totally unexpected direction.’
James couldn’t help but agree. He brought his hands down from his head and surveyed the trees. ‘They’re all gone,’ he said, unable to keep his voice from shaking. ‘Just like that.’
The new girl was hugging herself. ‘Someone wanna tell me what that was all about?’ Stacy popped an arm around her, but was shrugged off. ‘How long has weird stuff like this been going on?’
‘Since today,’ Martin answered. ‘But considering we’ve only been here a day or two...’ He trailed off.
‘It’s because of the ghost you’re manifesting, right?’ Deirdre asked. ‘You’ve done it already, right?’
Everyone shook their heads. ‘So far we haven’t done anything,’ Stacy answered.
‘I’ve made the history, and mocked up a couple photos,’ Martin said. ‘But that’s all. Apart from that we haven’t even started the process.’
Stacy’s girlfriend looked around the clearing, stared into the sky, shading her eyes. ‘Well,’ she said. ‘It’s started without you, hasn’t it?’
Her words were met with a strained silence. Then Stacy ran a hand through her spiky hair. ‘This is fucked up,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back to the house. Hopefully Darryl has turned up because I sure would like a word with him.’ She looked at them all one at a time. ‘We agreed we were going to use a clean location.’
James blinked. ‘What does that mean – a clean location?’ Darryl hadn’t used any such term when filling him in. Mind you, James had been too busy jumping at the job to question much of anything. He’d needed the work, since being let go by the university. Licking his lips, he thought longingly of a good strong drink of scotch. Single malt. On the rocks.
‘It means that we were supposed to do this experiment somewhere where there wasn’t any paranormal activity already going on. Clean. It was supposed to make any phenomenon we produced all the more verifiable.’ Stacy was casting uncertain glances around the clearing.
‘And safer,’ Jeremy added.
‘Yes, that was the biggest one,’ she agreed. ‘Safer. We were going to manifest something relatively unprepossessing. Darryl wanted something scary because scary means better ratings, but we weren’t going to give it any teeth, so to speak.’
‘My Sparrow Girl doesn’t have any teeth,’ Martin said.
‘No,’ Jeremy said. ‘But turns out she’s got a fuck-load of friends.’ He looked over at James. ‘And they’re these, what did you say? Psycho-somethings? I don’t like the sound of anything that starts with psycho.’
James had to clear his voice before he spoke. He kept shooting glances up at the sky, but it stayed blue above the clearing, free of sparrows.
‘Psychopomps,’ he said. ‘They’re called psychopomps.’
‘Creepy,’ said Deirdre.
‘Yeah,’ Martin agreed. ‘But what does that mean, exactly? I mean – we’re talking about flesh and blood birds here. Something’s got them stirred up, all right, and I’m willing to believe it might have paranormal undertones, but you can’t just go around saying they’re all psychopomps. It doesn’t mean anything.’
James sighed. The kid had a point. ‘I don’t know,’ he said, shoulders slumping.
‘Let’s go back to the house,’ said Stacy. ‘There’s nothing more to see here.’
With a nod of his head, James made for the pathway, falling in behind the others. He’d have a think on this psychopomp business. Maybe it didn’t mean anything.
Something scrabbled in the branches overhead. He ducked, but there was nothing there. He wished he could have a drink.