7

As the morning sun filtered through the trees, Caw was aching but wide awake. His skin tingled in the chill air.

He’d spent the night in the branches opposite the Strickhams’ house, despite Glum and Screech urging him to return to the nest. He hadn’t slept a wink. What if the woman returned? Or Jawbone or the creepy little man? Caw remembered Jawbone’s fearlessness in the alley. The venomous snake was gone now, its body dropped in a hidden flower bed in the park by Glum and Screech. But it couldn’t be a coincidence—the prisoners must have set it loose. Obviously they wanted revenge on Warden Strickham.

The sun rose higher in the sky, and still there was no sign of movement from the house.

Well, I am glad we sat here all night, said Glum with a disgruntled warble. Not to mention all morning too. Can we go get some sleep now?

Screech was huddled farther along the branch. Please, Caw. Let’s go back to the nest.

“Soon,” said Caw, stretching his arms.

You can’t stay here all day! said Screech.

Caw didn’t want to leave. But it didn’t look as though the Strickhams were going to show themselves. Besides, the crow was right—the prisoners probably wouldn’t attack in broad daylight.

“All right,” he muttered at last. “Come on.”

Just as he reached the top of the park wall, Lydia’s bedroom curtains swept open. She stood there in her pajamas, looking right at him. From her gray face, he guessed that she hadn’t slept much either. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she’d been crying.

She mouthed, “Wait there!” and closed the curtains again.

“Change of plan,” Caw told the crows.

A few minutes later, Lydia came out of the house, dressed in her jeans, sneakers, a green top, and a puffy white sleeveless coat. Caw slipped down from the wall. “I’m sorry about Benjy,” he said.

For a moment Lydia’s face crumpled, but she blinked the tears back. “It’s not your fault,” she said softly. “I just don’t understand. Where did that snake come from?”

“I saw someone last night,” said Caw. He didn’t want to scare Lydia, but he couldn’t keep it from her either. “Right after I left. I think it was one of the prisoners—a woman, running away from your house.”

“Here?” said Lydia. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I— I didn’t want to intrude,” said Caw. “Your dad had just told me to leave.”

Lydia’s lips pressed together. “You think she had something to do with the snake?” she said.

“Maybe,” said Caw. “I’ve never seen a snake like that in Blackstone before.”

“I have, but only in the zoo,” said Lydia. “Mom thought it might have escaped.” She looked back up at the house. “I’m scared. Dad’s had threats before, but nothing like this.”

Caw wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know how. So instead he changed the subject. “We should go to the library,” he said. “Maybe Miss Wallace found out something about that spider.”

“Good thinking,” said Lydia. “It might even help Dad track down the prisoners.”

Hold up, said Screech, from the wall above. You’re not seriously going to hang around with her, are you? She’s dangerous! Her and her dad.

Lydia looked up at the crow’s sound.

“Oh, I didn’t see them there,” she said. “Hello, crows!”

Screech is right, said Glum, peering down at Lydia with disapproval. I vote we go back to the nest and lie low until this has all blown over.

Caw felt a surge of anger but kept his voice steady. “I’m going,” he said. “That’s the end of it.”

Lydia cast a glance at the crows. “They don’t like me, do they?” she said.

“It’s not that,” said Caw. “They’re just worried about me.”

I’m serious, said Glum. Nothing good can come of this spider business. Why can’t you forget it?

Caw rounded on the bird. “Look, Glum, do you know something you’re not telling me? Because if you do, spit it out.”

Glum turned his head away. All I know is that Milky spoke yesterday, said the crow. And that never happens. He may have lost his marbles, but I didn’t like what he said.

Lydia was looking confused. “Glum?” she said. “Is that his name?”

Caw took a deep breath. “I think that prisoner had something to do with my parents,” he said calmly to the crows. “You can’t expect me to sit in a tree my whole life and just forget about them.” For once, the crows were silent.

Glum twitched his beak. Do what you think you have to, he said.

Caw had grown used to Glum’s moods over the years. The old crow could be stubborn, but this was different. He seemed almost hurt.

Well, too bad. Caw didn’t need looking after.

“Come on,” he said to Lydia. “Let’s go.”

They’d walked halfway along the side of the park when Caw realized the crows hadn’t followed. He looked back and saw Glum and Screech both perched where he’d left them, watching.

Then it hit him. They’re jealous of Lydia. They’re annoyed that I’m not relying on them for once.

“Is everything okay?” asked Lydia.

“It’s fine,” said Caw, his voice cold. He turned away from his crows and kept walking. It was time he stood up to them and did things on his own terms.

From the park there were several routes into the city. Caw tended to clamber across the rooftops, following the back alleys or the rail tracks, but today they took the main street lined with warehouses and auto-repair shops. For a while, he was silent, stewing over his argument with the crows, wondering if he should have said anything differently. But as they reached the edges of the city, where the tall apartment buildings and shops began to appear, Lydia broke the silence.

“You know, when you said you spoke to crows, I didn’t really get it,” she said. “But you actually speak with them, don’t you? You really understand what they’re saying.”

“Yes,” said Caw. “Ever since they . . .” Ever since a murder of crows took him away from his parents, he’d been about to say, but he didn’t know how she’d react to that.

“You can tell me,” Lydia said. She placed a hand on his arm, and he managed not to flinch away.

“I’ve never told anyone.”

“Try me,” she replied. “Please. I need something to take my mind off Benjy.”

Caw glanced at her to check that she wasn’t smiling. She looked back, her face open and honest. He stopped walking and took a deep breath. Was he really ready to share this now? “They’ve always looked after me,” he said slowly. “I can’t remember much before the crows.”

“But you remember something?” she said.

Caw bit his lip. He’d already trusted Lydia with more secrets than he’d ever confided in anyone else—why not this?

“The dream I have,” he began. “Like I told you, it feels more like a memory.” He thought he’d feel foolish saying it out loud, but as he told her about the crows carrying him away from the open window, about his parents abandoning him, she listened carefully.

Before Caw knew it, he was telling her more, about the early days, when the nest was barely big enough to hold him, about how the different crows had come and gone, about gradually exploring more and more of Blackstone.

As the words spilled out of him, about how hard it had been, how lonely, he felt the old familiar feeling building in his chest. Anger at his parents for making it so hard. Why couldn’t they have kept him close and loved him like real parents? He saw how Mrs. Strickham had hugged Lydia when Benjy was dying, heard the despair in her father’s voice during the alley fight when he thought she was in danger. How could his parents have done what they did? All the times he’d gone hungry, or taken a fall from the branches, when he’d shivered with cold on wintry nights . . . Where were they?

“Hey, Caw, are you okay?” said Lydia.

Caw realized his fingers were balled into fists. It took a few seconds to let the anger drain away. “Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

He felt her hand creep into his and give it a squeeze. “I understand,” she said. “You’re welcome at our house, anytime.”

Caw smiled. “I’m not sure your parents would say that.”

But Lydia’s eyes had focused on something past him. It was a newspaper kiosk. “Check it out!” she said. She walked over, picked up a paper, paid the man inside, then came hurrying back. She unfolded it so Caw could see.

The words meant nothing to Caw, other than the one at the top of the page—BLACKSTONE, which matched the park gates. The pictures were clear enough, though—the faces of the three escaped convicts. Lydia pointed at the one with the tattoo. “His name is Clarence Trap, aka Jawbone,” she said. “The woman is Eleanor Kreuss, and the small one is called Ernest Vetch.” Her eyes scanned the tiny writing. “It says all three were jailed in the Dark Summer for crimes including murder, robbery, and kidnapping. They were serving life sentences with no chance of parole. I guess that’s why they were in maximum security.”

“What’s the Dark Summer?” asked Caw.

Lydia looked at him like he’d just asked which way the sky was.

“You really have been keeping to yourself, haven’t you?” she said. “The Dark Summer was this crime wave that happened back when we were about five or six. Tons of attacks and unexplained murders, all over Blackstone. Packs of wild animals roaming the streets. Really weird stuff. Apparently Blackstone was pretty nice before then—at least that’s what my dad says. He says the city never recovered.”

Caw let the information sink in. His heart began to race. “How many years ago?”

Lydia’s brow wrinkled. “Maybe . . . seven or eight?”

“Eight years,” said Caw. “That was when my parents sent me away.” The Dark Summer, his parents, the escaped convicts. The spider.

“Really?” said Lydia. “Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

Caw didn’t answer. He quickened his stride, and Lydia jogged to keep up. He felt as though the threads of a mystery were starting to come together, connecting in a web that entangled every part of his life.

And at the center of that web lay a spider.

The benches outside the library were empty.

“That’s weird,” said Lydia. “There are normally loads of people here on a Saturday.”

When they got to the top of the steps, Caw saw a sign hanging around the doors. Lydia stopped. “Oh, it’s closed!”

“It can’t be,” said Caw. “Miss Wallace told us to come back today.”

“Well, that’s what the sign says. What do we do now?” asked Lydia.

“Let’s check in back,” said Caw. “That’s where she normally leaves my books.”

As they rounded the side of the library, a squirming, sick sensation began to build in the bottom of Caw’s stomach.

Miss Wallace’s car was parked in its usual space. He knew the little blue vehicle was hers because he’d watched her drive in on days that he arrived early, anxious for his weekly cup of hot chocolate.

Dread welled up through his chest. And as they reached the fire-exit steps, he saw that there was something spray-painted across the wall.

Lydia gasped, and her hand shot to her mouth.

Caw suddenly felt very cold. “No,” he mumbled. “Please . . . not Miss Wallace.”

It was a spider, freshly drawn, the paint still glistening. Just like the one in his dream.

Caw jumped down to the bottom of the steps by the side door and tried the handle. It wasn’t locked. He put his finger to his lips and stepped inside.

Utter silence reigned within. The light was on in Miss Wallace’s office, and the door was ajar. Caw peered in. No one.

“Maybe we should call the police,” whispered Lydia.

“Not yet,” said Caw.

The main lights in the library were off, but there was a strange smell in the air. It reminded Caw of the park after heavy rain. Damp and earthy like dead leaves.

He rounded the shelves at the back of the library. There! Miss Wallace. Relief flooded through him. She was sitting at her desk, side-on to him, her glasses hanging around her neck.

“Miss Wallace!” he called, walking over.

She didn’t move.

“Miss Wallace?” Caw said more quietly.

As he reached the front of the desk, horror gripped him by the throat. Behind him, Lydia gave a small moan. Miss Wallace was sitting upright, looking straight at them with eyes wide open and unfocused. Something was wrong with her mouth. Pale silvery threads covered her lips and nose like a mask. Spider silk. Trails of blood had dripped down from her face onto her cream blouse, creating a macabre design in shades of crimson.

Caw felt dizzy, and the room seemed to wobble. It was like something from a nightmare leeching into the real world.

Lydia’s voice brought everything back into focus. “Is she . . . dead?” she said.

Caw went to Miss Wallace’s side. Her odd, lifeless expression made her resemble a shop mannequin. He could hardly bear to look into her eyes, once so full of kindness. He checked her wrist to make sure. No pulse. Her skin felt cold and waxy.

“Why?” he said. “Miss Wallace never hurt anybody. She helped people.”

Caw sank to her side. As he did so, he noticed that one of her hands was clenched tightly, and inside he caught a glimpse of something white.

“There’s something here,” he said. “She must have been holding it when she was . . .” It was too horrible to say.

Lydia came around the desk, hovering as though she was afraid to approach the body. Caw gently loosened Miss Wallace’s fingers, and a ball of paper fell free. As he opened it, he realized what it was—Lydia’s drawing of the spider. His pulse began to race, and his mouth went dry. There was a single word written beneath the image. He looked up at Lydia.

“‘Quaker,’” she read. “What does that mean?”

“I don’t know,” whispered Caw. His eyes were drawn back to the mask of white strands across Miss Wallace’s face. He felt sick imagining how she must have struggled for breath.

“I’m phoning the police,” said Lydia. She went to the desk and picked up the receiver, then frowned. “There’s no dial tone.”

A booming laugh echoed through the still air. Caw whirled around and saw the big prisoner—Jawbone—standing on the balcony above. He’d swapped his prison garb for a bloodred T-shirt and black jeans. Light from the windows caught his gleaming bald head, so Caw could make out the thick plates of his skull beneath the skin. His tattoo stretched from ear to ear, looking even more clown-like and chilling than before.

“You!” said Caw.

“Joining the party, boy?” barked the prisoner.

Suddenly Lydia grabbed Caw’s arm and pointed. “Look!”

The dark-haired woman was approaching from the back of the library. She wore a black gown that covered her from head to toe, her hair pulled into a thick ponytail that curled once around her neck like a black scarf, then hung over her shoulder. In her hand she held a long, silver sewing needle. “Don’t worry, children,” she said. “I was gentle with her.”

Caw’s anger almost broke through his fear. He and Lydia ran toward Miss Wallace’s office, but a stunted shape scurried across their path. He was wearing a beige trench coat, at least two sizes too big.

“Scuttle, at your service,” said the man, licking his lips grotesquely. “I believe you’ve met my associates Jawbone and Mamba.”

Caw shot a look toward the front doors, and his heart sank as he saw a huge chain looped through the handles, fastened with a padlock.

They were trapped.