‘That’s Priscilla,’ Maggie says. ‘Dad’s… fiancée and the bride to be.’
Priscilla’s smile is soft and gracious. A perfect face for hosting dinners and galas.
‘And does she go killing people?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware. Her husband did. Before he died. Her son’s still involved. He’ll get here tomorrow.’
Fantastic, more supposed death bringers to party with.
Then a man steps forward, sliding his arm around Priscilla. Broad-shouldered and tall, his dark hair peppered with grey.
He looks surprisingly normal.
They all do.
‘That’s my dad, Evan.’ Her voice catches on the name like it’s a tough piece of beef.
He looks like the kind of man who’d ask you howyour drive was and warn you about the black ice being a death trap. Five times. Then drag you to the pub and buy you enough rounds to get you sozzled while telling endless filthy jokes. He does not look like the kind of man who raisesmurder children.
I jump when a flurry of black feathers crashes against the windscreen.
‘What the?—’
A huge black crow sits on the bonnet, turning its focus on Maggie and me. It stares directly at me with one eye.
It only has one.
The empty socket is ugly and raw, but the healthy eye is sharp and quick.
‘That’s Coffin.’
The bird has a name?
‘Wait, is it a pet?’
The crow taps the glass with its beak.
‘Kind of. We don’t exactly own him, but he’s been around for a long time. It must be nearly a decade. He sleeps in the eaves, I think.’
‘Why is he called Coffin?’
‘Because my brother named him when he was a stupid preteen,’ Maggie says. ‘And because he likes eyes.’
The crow leans closer.
‘Whose eyes?’
Maggie shrugs. ‘I don’t think he’s particularly fussy.’
The crow caws loudly right at me, then flaps off into the cloudy sky.
I need to escape.
Maggie is already opening her door, stepping out as if everything is fine. When it’s anything but fine. ‘Please, please don’t do anything stupid. I’m begging you.’
I follow her, with my arse clenching. The alternative is sitting alone in the car in front of the murder mansion while a one-eyed crow decides whether my retinas would make a good snack.
Cold air hits my face, icy winter wrapping around me. It smells like damp forests and smoky log fires. It might even be nice if it were in another scenario.
