Page 38 of Monsters and Mocha

I suppose talking to birds isn’t going to help maintain the harmless image.

Raven ruffled his wings and cawed again.

Fitz turned his attention back to the front doors that Darby had entered nearly two hours before. Despite her assurances that she would be fine, he couldn’t shake the deep sense of misgiving that had formed in the pit of his stomach the moment she had left his sight. Her last two brushes with death had set his protective nature on edge, and he found it difficult to stand idly by while she went about her day as if nothing had happened.

She said it’s unlikely that Lacey would try anything with so many people around, but a hospital is full of any number of things that could be used as weapons, and it wouldn’t even be hard to frame it as an accident. All she would need is a reason to get Darby alone in some dark corner or empty room, and Darby has such a caring, trusting heart that she would go in a heartbeat if she really thought that one of the patients needed her.

Something sharp suddenly pinched his ear, startling him from his grim thoughts. He yelped and swatted his hand at his ear, sending Raven tumbling to the ground in front of him.

“What was that for?” He glared down at the bird.

Raven squawked angrily at him and flew back up to his shoulder. He knocked his head against Fitz’s cheek, turning it in the direction of the corner across the street where a man, tall and thin with salt and pepper hair, was just rounding the side of the building and disappearing from sight.

He rubbed at the stinging spot on his ear. “Maybe next time just use your words.”

“Is that your bird?”

The tiny voice made him jump, and he spun quickly to find a small boy, no more than five or six, gripping a pastry in front of him with both hands and looking up at him with wide, curious eyes. His clothes, though clean, had patches in several places and his pants were at least two inches too short for his legs. His tousled blonde hair stuck up in the back, like he had rolled out of bed and gone outside without letting a comb touch it.

“He belongs to a friend of mine.” Fitz looked around carefully for any sign of the child’s mother.

“What’s his name?”

“Raven.”

The boy looked at him as if he had grown another head. “But he’s a crow.”

Fitz chuckled. “That’s what I said.”

“Does he really talk?” The boy took a step closer.

“What do you mean?”

“You told him to use his words.”

“Ah. He talks when he wants to, but it’s not the same as you or I. He can only copy.” Fitz craned his neck to get a better view of the entire street. “Where’s your mother?”

“She’s inside.” He held up his pastry. “Does Raven want some?”

Raven, as if understanding the child perfectly, flew down the ground at his feet. “It’s mine.”

The boy giggled. “It’s not, but I’ll share it with you.” He tore off a piece and threw it to the crow, who immediately plucked it from the pavement. “My name is Simon.”

“It’s mine.” Raven hopped closer to his feet, looking for more.

“Be careful there, Simon. I think you might have created a monster.” Fitz smiled as Simon, delighted by Raven’s reaction, tossed him another piece of bread.

Simon grinned brightly up at him, then his gaze zeroed in on Fitz’s hand. He gasped.

Fitz’s smile fell.

Simon’s whisper was full of awe. “How strong is your hand?”

His brain disconnected for a moment. “How…what?”

The boy, his new bird friend for the moment forgotten, leaned forward to get a better view of Darby’s handiwork. “I bet it could punch through a wall. Can you punch through a wall?”

Fitz coughed in surprise. “I’ve never tried.”