Still holding his ribs from vigorous laughter, the Councilman holding the necklace stepped forward and tossed it at me.
Reflexively, I caught the item in both my hands. At first contact, everything in my body went stiff. My bones felt brittle, my blood ran dry, and everything went oddly hollow.
Next thing I knew, I doubled over in the worst pain I had ever experienced in my life. That damn pendant seared itself into my palm, leaving me unable to shake it off.
At some point, I ended up writhing on the ground. That’s when I heard the shot of a gun being discharged.
Grunting, I attempted to move to assess the situation through the red haze of agony. I never had a chance. Corbin dropped to his knees next to me, his hands clutching his midsection. Crimson blood spilled through his fingers from afresh bullet wound.
Black crept in at the edges of my vision and my soul. No, this couldn’t be happening to Corbin and me.
Our eyes met, our fates sealed. Unspoken between us was the acknowledgment that whatever awaited us, at least we had each other.
Right before consciousness failed me, I heard a quiet chant from one of the Council members.
“Stramen et plumae. Tenebrae vos ambos decent.”
Straw and feathers. Darkness suits you both.
Chapter
One
PRESENT DAY
The air buffeted my wings as I circled the corn maze lazily. The dull grey sky grew lighter with each passing minute as the sun chased the night away.
From my literal bird’s eye view, I could see everything with a clear perspective. It was akin to witnessing a game of chess on a battlefield from the vantage point of the gods. The way the town prepared for the upcoming week-long fall festival, the plots of farmland that bordered the area for acres, and every dull routine of the residents of Falston, waking to start their day.
I flapped my wings several more times, black feathers slicing through the air as I dove down into the center of the corn maze. Nearing the ground, I slowed my flight and landed on the shoulder of a rather lifelike scarecrow.
If I could have smirked in my crow form, I would have. The best I could do was tilt my head to one sidewith one beady eye, scrutinizing the face of the stuffed figure.
The patchwork cap on top of his head angled low enough to shadow his face. Despite the partially obscured view of the tanned fabric stretched tight, the stitching of his mouth seemed to quirk up just enough to look smug.
Bale’s arms were spread open on the wooden cross frame, like some crucified autumnal offering. Instead of appearing stiff, pinned up there, the jackass looked comfortable, given how his elbows hooked over the horizontal piece of wood at his back.
The weathered canvas jacket fluttered in the gentle breeze, rustling the fabric enough to almost mimic breathing. Just underneath the outerwear was a threadbare wool vest, missing a button and secured over a sun-bleached cotton shirt.
Thankfully, his pants were in decent shape this year. There would be no bitching about his junk swaying in the wind during the winter months. The canvas trousers were patched up in a few places with scraps of burlap, but otherwise, his modesty remained intact. Only the fraying at the bottom near his scuffed leather boots hinted at further wear.
I hopped down the length of his arm, stopping at where the formerly pristine leather driving gloves used to shine but had dulled from exposure to the elements.
There was a fleeting moment where I considered dropping a shit on his hand after last night’s debauchery, where he’d drunkenly declared me his wingman for life inthe middle of Falston’s only bar. He had thought the phrasing had been hilarious. Me? Less so.
Alas, I ultimately decided not to leave my mark while he slept off the night of hunting for our perfect match. Instead, I took flight just overtop his head to land on his other shoulder.
He’d awaken soon enough. The bastard needed his beauty sleep as much as he needed pussy. Bale may have been my best friend, but fuck if that asshole didn’t have an appetite, a dramatic one at that.
Insistently, I pecked at a piece of straw poking out from underneath the jacket’s grey collar. Once the dry stalk came loose, I clutched it proudly like a carnival prize in my beak.
Stupid fucking crow brain.
Couldn’t run—or fly—from avian instincts.
Grudgingly, I gnawed at the brittle golden strand several times before letting it fall to the ground. I really needed to get the hell out of here. Otherwise, I was likely to peck at every piece of straw that poked out from the edges of Bale’s clothing.
Extending my wings, I launched myself back into the air.
