Ursula snorted a laugh as she drank her coffee. "Hey, cool new mug."
Eloise held up the ceramic raccoon, the handle a striped tail. "Guess it's official. Lady Macbeth is part of the Lost Souls family.But what are we going to do?" she asked, bringing them back to the problem at hand.
Ursula's cheeks filled with air as she shook her head and then let it out in a sigh. "Is there anything we can do? They're entitled to their opinion."
She agreed with a solemn nod then narrowed her eyes as a thought formed. "Maybe there is something we can do. And it's a little crazy."
"I don't feel like I'm young enough to handle when you say that anymore."
Eloise made a face. "You look like you're twenty-seven," she waved up and down Ursula's frame adding, "and a half."
"That is very specific," she said in droll tone. "But regardless of my alarmingly youthful looks, have you heard my knees crack when I go down the stairs?"
"And I've heard you getting out of bed. You sound like a pro tennis player."
She rolled her eyes. "You're one to talk, town hot-flasher."
She gasped. "I told you that in confidence. Not to be used against me!"
Ursula groaned. "Fine. I'm in. What's your idea? And how much willow bark will I need?"
One hour later, they were walking up a brick walkway towards a sweet sage green cottage sitting on a plump piece of land that could use a little love with the gardening and perhaps a more welcoming front porch which was wide and empty. But as the two women were about to walk up the steps they stopped and looked up. The black roof was moving.
A loud chorus of birds, different sounds of chirps and swooping songs clashed.
"What the..."
Ursula gave Eloise a fearful look which was returned. They both looked back at the house and Eloise brought out her phone. She smelled something in the air, something she had come to recognize was magic. It was the same smell from the graveyard when the world around leaned in closer, when she was snuggled under the peach tree and the black willow sprouted from the ground, and still the same smell in the bathroom at The Dancing Snail when she had felt disoriented and then her words she didn't feel she had a choice to give were used against Bess.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm calling the detective," she whispered back.
"To tell him what?"
Eloise gave her a wide-eyed look. "That a scene from Hitchcock'sThe Birds" is playing out live on Carol Weatherby's roof?"
"Hold up," Ursula urged. "Think about this. That looks, to me, like another hex. There are about fifty starlings on her porch and a hundred more on her roof and that's not normal. If you call Taylor he will likely have to report it and we're here. At the scene of the, well, hex." She made a face.
She sighed and nodded her agreement, putting her phone back into her leather tote. "You're right. Until now, we haven't been directly linked to one of these weird," she waved her hand towards the house, "hexes. Okay, so what do we do? I don't think we should just turn and walk away and leave Carol to the birds."
"Do you think they're dangerous?"
"Well, I wouldn't have put a starling on the top fifty most dangerous animals list, unless there was a caveat that there are enough to lift a house off the ground."
"Please don't tell me a group of starlings is called a murder?"
"A murmuration," Eloise responded.
"Number three-hundred and tenth reason I missed you; your knowledge of what groups of animals are called."
"Wait," Eloise said, holding up a hand and they both stopped and watched as the birds had stopped their chirps and swooping sounds, their black eyes trained on them.
"Are they looking at us?" Ursula asked from the corner of her mouth.
"I think we need to go."
"Agreed."
