10

A scream split the air, and Caw realized it was his own. He was plummeting downward. Lydia’s arms dug tight into his sides.

And then all of a sudden they weren’t falling anymore. Caw’s legs wheeled in the empty air, and his stomach settled back to where it belonged. A gun went off with a crack, and he heard the soft phut of a bullet hitting wood.

“Hold your fire!” shouted Mr. Strickham. “Lydia!”

Caw saw the branches of the tree sinking below them at a sickening pace as Lydia’s father and the policemen stared upward in astonishment. With every foot the crows climbed, Caw felt smaller, his body more fragile.

“This can’t be happening!” murmured Lydia, clinging to him tightly.

Caw glanced across and saw Crumb hanging from his pigeons. He must have weighed twice as much as Caw, but the pigeons seemed to be having no trouble. They turned as one and flew in the direction of the park gates, Crumb a raggedy scarecrow in their grip. Behind Caw the police became dots as the circular pond passed below like a dirty copper coin.

A laugh of pure delight escaped his lips.

“Caw, I can’t believe this,” Lydia said, breathless with excitement.

The crows’ wing beats were smooth and steady. As Caw’s fear melted away, he could feel his racing heartbeat slow to match their rhythm. Lydia was right—this couldn’t be happening. It defied all laws of physics and gravity. It was . . . magic.

They gathered speed and the wind buffeted their bodies. They crossed the railway tracks, flying above the smoking factories and then the northern curve of the Blackwater. From the sky, the river looked like a snake coiling through the city. A few boats scarred its dark surface with white wakes. Caw gazed in wonder at the city’s vastness reduced to a grid of streets and a patchwork of rooftops. He saw the library, small enough to reach out and pluck from the ground. Beyond, the edges of the city came into view, borders he’d never dreamed he would see. Pastures of beige and green spread all the way to the horizon, interspersed with huge, scattered expanses of dark forest.

Lydia clung to him, her feet resting on his. Her hair whipped around his face and she looked up at him, grinning, though her lips were going blue with cold. He felt a rush of guilt. He should never have doubted her.

Crumb’s pigeons wheeled west toward the sun and dipped their flight. Caw willed his crows to follow and they did, leveling their wings into a glide. The sun warmed his face as the wind rushed through his hair. They crossed the Blackwater again, and he saw a train threading over the railway bridge. They were too high to hear the thunderous roar of its engines.

They were heading for a church, he realized, its spire piercing the sky like a dagger. The building was surrounded by ruined low-rise buildings. They swooped low, right across a parking lot, toward the huge church door.

The ground rushed up, and Caw felt a sudden surge of panic. A few of the crows let go, and he dropped several feet as the remainder adjusted to take their weight. He drew up his legs instinctively. But the crows banked as one, tipping back their wings. A yard or so above the ground, their talons released him.

Lydia screamed and lost her grip, hitting the ground and rolling over. Caw lost sight of her as he slammed down. Unable to stay on his feet, he tucked up his elbows and tumbled over on his side, pain shooting through his limbs.

When he came to a halt, bruised and shaken, he saw the crows scattering through the sky like flakes of ash in the wind. All except Milky, Glum, and Screech. “Thank you,” Caw whispered.

Crumb alighted in front of them, landing softly on his feet. He took a handful of seeds from his pocket and scattered them on the ground, sending his pigeons into a frenzy of pecking. It was hard to imagine that a few moments ago they’d been carrying a fully grown human through the air. Crumb grinned mischievously. “I should have said, landing’s tricky to master.”

Lydia was first to her feet and pulled Caw up. “Well, that was different,” she said.

Caw nodded, staring at Milky, Screech, and Glum. “I’m learning a few things too,” he said quietly.

“Welcome to chez Crumb,” said Crumb, gesturing toward the hulking building. “Or the Church of St. Francis, as she was once known.”

“You live here?” said Lydia.

The church might have been grand once—like many of the others in Blackstone—but it had obviously been badly damaged by fire. The stonework was blackened in large swathes, and half the roof slates were gone, leaving charred timberwork open to the elements like an exposed rib cage. It made Caw think of a decomposing creature, pecked at by scavengers.

“We can’t all have feather beds and running water,” said Crumb, his lips drooping momentarily before the smile reasserted itself. “Come on in.”

The pigeons peeled off the ground and flapped through the gaping hole in the roof, settling on the lofty beams.

“Don’t need to worry about security around here,” said Crumb, as he pushed open the doors with both hands. Caw and Lydia followed.

Inside, the church was a wreck. The stonework was covered in graffiti, and not a single one of the filthy windows was intact. It smelled damp and forgotten, with something more pungent in the air that caught the back of Caw’s throat. Pews were scattered at angles on the floor. There had once been a cross on the wall at the far end, but all that remained was a slightly paler section of stone. Caw wondered if it had been rescued when the building caught fire or had simply been stolen.

Taking two steps at a time with his long strides, Crumb led them up a narrow stone spiral staircase. Lydia came after Caw, with the crows’ talons scrabbling on the stone as they hopped up at the rear. A chill draft cooled the air.

“This whole district was gutted by fire during the Dark Summer,” said Crumb. “The city had no money to rebuild it, so the area was pretty much abandoned.”

A low doorway at the top opened onto another level at the back end of the church. The floor was gone in patches, exposing rafters beneath the floorboards. More pigeons gathered at the far end, around what looked like glowing embers in an old tin drum. The boy with dirty-blond hair who Caw had seen in the alley with Crumb sat beside it, stirring something in a pot. He looked up and flashed a smile as they approached.

“How’s dinner coming, Pip?” called Crumb.

“Who’s she?” asked Pip, nodding at Lydia.

“My name is Lydia,” she said. “And who are you?”

Pip ignored her and turned back to the pot. “You took your time,” he said.

Crumb strode across the floorboards. “No need to be rude to our guests,” he said. “We had some trouble with the police. Had to make an aerial getaway.”

“They see you?” said Pip, shooting them an urgent look.

“I’m afraid so,” said Crumb. “We had little choice in the matter.” He looked to Caw and Lydia. “You hungry? Pip’s been cooking his specialty—pumpkin soup.”

Caw was about to follow, when he noticed that Lydia was staring out a broken window, a worried look on her face. “Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Oh—yeah,” she said. “I’m fine.” She paused a moment. “I was just thinking about my mom and dad. They’ll probably ground me for life for this.”

Caw looked at the floor. “If you want, I can find a way to get you back—”

“No!” Lydia cut him off. “I was just carried across the city by a flock of birds. Birds. I’m not going home until I know everything.”

Without another word, Lydia hurried after Crumb. Caw followed.

They settled onto the floor around the brazier. The sun was low in the sky, and Crumb went around with a box of matches, lighting a few candles planted into old wine bottles.

“So you’re a feral,” said Lydia, looking first at Crumb, then at Caw. “You both are!”

Crumb held the match in front of his face, and his features were cast in shade and orange light. His eyes, for a moment, looked a lot older than the rest of him. He blew the match out. “Yes,” he said. “And Pip here.”

Crumb held chipped mugs while Pip ladled in the soup. Steam rose off it, and a draft whipped the gray wisps away through the roof. Dusk was falling, and all was quiet apart from the occasional warble of a pigeon. Caw sipped the delicious thick soup as Crumb began to speak.

“Blackstone is no ordinary city, you see,” said Crumb. “There’s something special about it. No one knows what exactly, but the fact is, this place attracts people like us. There used to be more ferals here—the ones who have the gift and can talk to animals. Now only a few remain.”

Caw felt like he’d waited his entire life to hear this.

“So Caw’s a bird feral?” said Lydia, leaning forward.

“Just crows,” said Crumb, flashing her a fierce look. “The pigeons, they’re mine.” His tone softened. “But it’s not always birds. . . .”

Pip snapped his fingers, and two mice poked their twitching noses from his coat pocket.

“Cool!” said Lydia.

Pip blushed. “You can stroke them,” he said. “These two don’t nip.”

Lydia reached forward to pet them, and the mice chirruped happily.

“So Jawbone, Mamba, and Scuttle—they’re ferals too,” said Caw.

“Powerful ones,” said Crumb, his face somber. “And evil.” He tipped the last of his soup down his throat. When he set down his mug, Caw saw some drops in his beard. Crumb wiped his chin with the back of his sleeve.

“Where are the others?” said Caw.

“All over the city,” said Crumb. “Some I know of, some I don’t. A long, long time ago, ordinary people knew all about ferals. They let us be, living in harmony with the natural world. But then things changed. It started with accusations of witchcraft and sorcery. A few ferals were rooted out. Others went into hiding, but some fought back, and that only made the problem worse. Many feral lines were . . . ended. After that, the survivors learned to keep their powers a secret. Their gift became a curse.”

“Feral ‘lines,’” said Caw. “What do you mean?”

Crumb helped himself to more pumpkin soup. “A feral’s powers come from their mother or father,” he said. “When the parent feral dies, the gift passes on to the eldest child.”

The room seemed to dim. Caw’s mind stirred and focused. “So one of my parents . . .”

Crumb cocked his head. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?” said Caw.

After a pause, Crumb spoke again. “It was your mother,” he said. “She was the crow talker before you.”

Caw let the words sink in. If what Crumb was saying was true, it could only mean one thing. “But I have the powers now, so she must be . . .”

Crumb and Pip shared a glance, and then Crumb nodded solemnly. He placed a hand on Caw’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. Your mother died a long time ago. I thought you knew.”

Caw looked at the mug in his hands, so they couldn’t see the tears misting in his eyes. “I guess I did,” he said. But he’d always hoped, all these years. That one day she would come and get him.

“She was a brave woman,” said Crumb. “Impressive.”

Caw’s heart lurched. “You knew her?”

Crumb shook his head. “No, but I saw her a couple of times when I was young. I didn’t even dare to say hello.”

Questions flocked into Caw’s mind. He stared at his crows. Only Milky was looking his way, blind and direct at the same time. Screech and Glum had averted their gaze.

“You knew too, didn’t you?” he said quietly to the crows. Suddenly it made sense—the crows carrying him away in his memory. His mother had commanded them to, just like he had commanded them himself today. “You must have known,” he repeated, louder. He couldn’t stop the tears rolling anymore. Lydia looked at him sadly.

Finally Glum lifted his beak. We heard, he said. The story passed on to us. Years passed too. It never seemed the right time to tell you. We were doing fine, and you were safe.

“But . . .” Caw sniffed and fought back the tears. “But you could have told me. All this time, I never understood. I thought they abandoned me, Glum.”

They sent you away for your own safety, said Glum. He came for them.

The room felt suddenly ten degrees colder. An image burned into his brain, bold and terrifying at the edge of his mind. A body marked with an M, and eight creeping legs . . .

“The spider feral,” he said.

It was Crumb’s turn to look surprised. “How could you—”

“He was in a dream I have,” said Caw. “I think he had something to do with Miss Wallace being killed, too.” He swallowed, sickened by guilt.

“The woman at the library?” said Crumb.

Caw told Crumb what he had seen—the graffiti outside the fire exit and the mesh of webbing over the librarian’s mouth.

Crumb’s face was ashen pale beneath all the dirt. Pip, Caw noticed, was shaking. “Jawbone and the others,” said Crumb. “They were his followers when he was alive. But painting his mark now . . .”

“What do they want?” asked Lydia.

Crumb shifted a little. “Good ferals work in harmony with their animals,” he said, “but bad ones force their will. The spider feral was the worst. He called himself the Spinning Man.”

Something clicked in Caw’s brain when he heard the name. Lydia in the library, sketching out the picture of the spider. She had said that the spider’s body was shaped like an S, and in the middle of it, the spiky M shape. The Spinning Man.

Caw shivered. “Tell us everything.”

Crumb went on. “The Spinning Man wasn’t content to stay hidden among normal humans. He wanted power. So he gathered other renegade ferals and tried to take over the city. It happened eight years ago.”

“The Dark Summer!” said Lydia.

Crumb shuddered visibly. “I wasn’t much older than you are now. He made it his mission to find all the good ferals and . . . and wipe them out. He almost managed it, too. Perhaps your mother suspected he was coming for her. If the Spinning Man had found out about your existence, he would have killed you as well as them.”

“What about my father?” said Caw.

“He was found with her,” said Crumb. “He stood by her and . . . and he paid the price.”

“Oh, Caw,” said Lydia in a whisper. “I’m so sorry.” She slipped her hand into his and squeezed it tight.

Caw felt utterly drained. The hope that his parents were somehow alive had been snuffed out for good. Each revelation threw new, painful light on the past. Suddenly his parents weren’t just figures dimly imagined in a dream, faces fading to nothing as the crows carried him away. They were real people who had loved him and who had given their lives to save him. Caw’s heart felt ready to burst.

“The history books say the Dark Summer ended abruptly,” Crumb went on. “The truth is that the Spinning Man was killed. That’s what finally put a stop to the bloodshed.” He suddenly sat up straighter, and his face hardened as he glared into the fire of the brazier. “We fought with everything we had—those who remained—and at last one of our number killed him. It took all our strength, and many died.” His eyes seemed to be staring right through the flames.

“Of course, the authorities in Blackstone just called it a crime wave. They blamed it on mass hysteria. Without their leader to guide them, the Spinning Man’s followers became careless—the Blackstone police managed to catch a lot of them. Others fled and went into hiding. Peace returned, until now. . . .”

“Hang on a minute,” said Lydia. “You said the good ferals killed the Spinning Man. But then why are his followers still using his symbol? What about the graffiti? What does it all mean?”

“He is dead, isn’t he?” asked Pip. He suddenly sounded very young indeed.

“Oh, he’s dead,” Crumb replied, “but . . .”

“But what?” said Lydia.

At his side, Caw spotted Milky looking agitated, ruffling his feathers.

“I’ve seen the Spinning Man’s symbol too,” said Crumb. “Scratched on a park bench. Sprayed on a car hood. Scrawled on the wall of a warehouse near the river. His followers must be gathering again. That’s why we ran into you behind the restaurant, Caw—we’ve been out watching the city, making sure our old friends are safe. Now I’m sure they’re not—none of us are.” He paused. “I’ve had strange dreams, just like you, Caw. Dreams of spiders. I’m not sure why.”

Caw sensed he wasn’t telling them something—something important. “But you have an idea, don’t you?”

Crumb stood up and walked away from the brazier, silhouetted against the darkening sky. He stood at the edge of the floorboards and looked across to his roosting pigeons, deep in thought. After half a minute of silence, he turned back toward them. “It’s not as simple as it seems—life and death.”

“Yes, it is,” said Lydia. “You’re either alive, or you’re dead.” She looked across at Caw, her face in shadow from the brazier. Her eyes shone fearfully.

“Perhaps,” said Crumb. “I hope so.”

Caw thought about his parents, killed by the Spinning Man and his followers. Anger flooded his body. If he couldn’t have revenge on the spider feral himself, Jawbone, Scuttle, and Mamba were still at large. They had to pay.

“We need to stop them!” he said. “We have to fight back.”

“They belong in prison,” said Lydia.

Pip giggled, breaking the tense atmosphere. The mouse feral clamped a hand over his mouth.

“What’s so funny?” demanded Caw.

“Nothing,” said Pip. “It’s just . . . well, you haven’t got a chance.”

“What do you mean?” Caw hated the smirk on the younger boy’s face.

“Pip . . . ,” said Crumb in a warning voice.

“No.” Pip’s tone was defiant. “I’ve been watching you, Caw. You skulk around the park, barely scraping enough to eat. You hardly ever dare come down from that nest. You live with three raggedy crows. . . .”

Hey! squawked Screech and Glum.

“I’m tougher than you think,” said Caw, standing over Pip.

“Pip’s right,” said Crumb matter-of-factly. “You can’t control your powers.”

“I rescued Lydia and her dad,” said Caw. “Jawbone was going to kill them!”

“And his crows got us away from the police at the library,” said Lydia.

Crumb nodded. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said. “But against other ferals with all their animals? What if Jawbone had a whole pack of dogs with him? Or what if Mamba summoned a dozen snakes instead of one? You’re lucky we saved you when we did. Our best bet now is to stay hidden.”

Caw remembered his terror in the library, pinned by a slavering monster of a dog and completely defenseless. He felt his confidence seep away.

“You’re right,” he said.

“No, he’s not, Caw,” said Lydia firmly. “You chased the snake from my house too. Don’t give up.”

Crumb cocked his head, looking at Lydia with a frown. “You remind me of someone I once knew,” he said. “Someone very brave indeed.”

“I bet he didn’t give up, did he?” said Lydia.

Crumb shook his head. “No, she did not.”

Lydia’s encouragement fired Caw’s heart. “Well, let’s fight then,” he said. “I summoned a whole flock today. I can learn.”

“Not fast enough,” said Crumb. “They’d kill you, Caw. Just like your mother.”

The words cut deep. “Let me try!”

Crumb and Pip looked at each other, and Pip shrugged.

“Listen,” said Crumb. “Let me show you what you’re facing. You and I—we’ll have a duel—a contest of powers. I’ve had a dozen years of practice, and I wouldn’t stand a chance against Jawbone, Scuttle, or Mamba. When you see how easily I beat you, perhaps you’ll reconsider.”

“A duel?” said Caw.

“This is going to be funny,” said Pip.

Caw’s lip twisted into a snarl. They’re laughing at me, he thought.

“You can do it!” said Lydia, slapping him hard on the shoulder.

Caw felt Milky’s blind gaze on his face, and in that moment he knew he wouldn’t back down.

“You’re on,” he said.