I turned on the lights and a shuddering breath escaped my lips.
The studio was filled with black birds. At least twenty of them—perched on shelves, chairs, tables—all staring at me unflinchingly. It wasn’t just the sheer number that gave them a menacing presence. With their muscular bodies, daggerish beaks, oily black feathers and sharp talons that scraped against the worn wood of my mother’s apothecary shelves, I had the distinct feeling they were studying me . . . waiting for something.
I wondered if they were real or if this was another vision, but when a bird swooped down from the open skylight, its stiff wing scraped against my shoulder blade, making me gasp.
A flash of movement beneath my mother’s work desk caught my attention.
“Who’s there?” I called.
“Ash, is that you?” my brother’s voice answered.
“Thank God.” I pressed my hands against my stomach.
Rhys hated birds. I knew he’d never make it out of here on his own. “I’m coming to get you.”
I kept my eyes on the desk, but I felt them watching me as I passed.
“Where have you been?” Rhys tried to get out from under the desk, but his limbs were folded in awkwardly.
“I’m sorry.” I pulled him to his feet.
“I tried to call you.” He held on to my arms. “I tried to find you at school. I was completely freaking out, and then I came up here to find Mom and all these—”
A shrill cry pierced the atmosphere, making my brother flinch.
I looked around and saw that the number of birds had multiplied. There were at least fifty of them now, all over the studio . . . watching us . . . waiting . . .
“They’re just birds,” I said, trying to keep my voice as even as possible, but I couldn’t stop thinking about how weird my mom got this morning when the crow passed overhead. We saw another one at school . . . and now this. It had to mean something.
Rhys’s bony elbow accidentally knocked over a bottle of ambergris oil, which shattered against the terra-cotta floor. The sharp sound agitated the birds—eyes darting, wings flapping, the grating sound of claws digging into wood and glass. One of the flapping birds took flight, swooping behind us. Rhys and I ran for the door. As I slammed it shut, crows bashed against it, sharp beaks crashing into metal, followed by a series of dull thuds as they dropped to the ground.
Bright red blood seeped beneath the door.
Rhys backed into the banister, a sheen of sweat covering his sallow face. “That could’ve been our skulls.”
I knew he was right, but I needed to keep him calm. “Birds fly into windows all the time,” I said as I pulled him down the stairs. “We have bigger problems right now.”
“Bigger that that?” He pointed toward the studio. “We need to call the police, or animal control, or something.”
“We need to pack,” I said as I went into Rhys’s room and took a duffel bag from his closet, tossing it onto his bed.
“Where’s Mom?”
“We’re going to meet her.” I snatched a pair of tennis shoes from under his bed.
“Fine, but I’m calling the police first.” Rhys took his phone from the blazer hanging behind his door.
“And how would we explain all this?” I dropped the shoes and pried the phone out of his sweaty hands, putting it in my pocket. “Um . . . hi, our mom ran off to be a vessel for a cult. Oh, and by the way, she has a secret lab full of demonic crows?”
“See!” Rhys shouted. “You just admitted it . . . they are demonic.”
“We can’t call anyone. We’re seventeen.” I pulled a stack of perfectly folded shirts from his drawer and shoved them into his arms. “You want social services to get involved? Then we’ll never get her back.”
I heard him ranting to himself as I went into my room and started digging through the clothes that littered my floor.
After a few minutes, Rhys appeared in my doorway, duffel slung over his shoulder. “Wait . . . did you say ran off to be a vessel for a cult?”
I pretended not to hear him as I jammed random articles of clothing into an old backpack.
“Ash!” He took a bold step into my room, nearly tripping over my lacrosse stick. “You need to tell me what’s going on.”
“Mom.” I zipped my backpack. “Ran off to Quivira.”
“How . . . how do you know?” His breath hitched in his throat.
“She called me.” I pushed past him into the kitchen.
“What?” He ran after me. “What did she say?”
I rummaged through the junk drawer for the car keys. “She said she’s going back to Quivira with Thomas so they can become Katia’s and Alonso’s vessels.”
“Perfect.” Rhys let out a burst of nervous air. “Our mother’s completely lost her mind. Maybe we just need to call the psych ward.”