Zach tried to sleep after that, but he could still see the birds, swooping so strangely around the sky.
His mind was racing. It felt as if there were something he should be able to see or touch or understand, and it was eluding him.
He sat up suddenly, picturing Caer as she had been that afternoon. She had gone off on purpose, he thought. She hadn’t wanted to open that letter in front of anyone else. And whatever it said had disturbed her greatly.
Bridey had been right. He was falling more deeply for Caer every hour. And he trusted her. He shouldn’t, because he knew there was something she wasn’t telling him. But she wasn’t out to hurt anyone—he was certain of that.
Eddie was still missing and undoubtedly dead. They might never find him. And if he’d been in the water all this time, there wouldn’t be much to find.
The gift.
He clenched his teeth and spoke aloud.
“Damn it, Eddie. I hope that gift gets here soon.”
Because it might well be the answer.
Gary Swipes stared at the thing that had landed in front of him, almost in his lap.
It was the biggest damn bird he’d ever seen. Big and black, but other than that, he didn’t know what kind it was. Crow, raven, whatever…it was big, and judging by the thud it had made as it landed, it was heavy.
It was also very dead.
Its claws were curled and constricted.
It was open-eyed.
It was lying on its side, and the one eye he could see seemed to be staring at him in horror, as if it could still see him. He felt uncomfortable, as if he would see himself reflected in that one awful eye if he looked closer.
He swore violently, fear suddenly blossoming in the pit of his being. He kicked out, half expecting that the dead bird would rise up and fly at him.
It didn’t.
It was dead.
But the kick did nothing to stop that eye from staring at him.
He was dimly aware of the sound of canned laughter coming through his headphones as he realized he hadn’t kicked the bird far enough away. It was still lying on its side.
Staring at him.
“Son of a bitch,” he swore aloud. “You creepy mother. You just had to die here, huh?”
He took off the headphones and got to his feet. There was only one thing to do—get rid of the damned thing. Dump it in the ocean and let the fish eat it.
He looked up, aware suddenly of a noise that didn’t fit, something he shouldn’t be hearing. He realized that he hadn’t really been listening at all. He knew the sounds of the sea and wind. Knew that sound could actually bounce over the water from the wharf far away or the traffic on the bridge. He knew all those sounds, but this was something else.
The bird distracted him again. That eye. That frigging eye. It had caught the reflection from his lantern, and now it was gleaming, as if the bird had come back to life.
He swore again, moving away from the rock.
He heard a whizzing sound, and the pain that blossomed in his back was instant and staggering.
He fell down on his knees, instinct kicking in as he reached around, trying to grab whatever had struck him. He could still see the bird, but something about it was different now. It had been splashed with something red. In fact, it was lying in a pool of red.
He tried to reach out, but his hands wouldn’t obey. He could see them, though. They, too, were covered in red. In blood.
What an idiot he’d been, letting someone attack him from behind.
Knife? Hatchet? Axe? What had made that sound?
What the hell difference did it make? All that mattered was that it was something steel and sharp and lethal.
He swore again, internally now; he didn’t have enough breath left to make a sound.
Life sucked, but he’d still planned on living it.
Death sucked worse. He hadn’t even fought; he hadn’t even faced his enemy. He was just going to die, and he was never going to know why.
He pitched forward.
He couldn’t stop himself. Numbness came sweeping through him as he fell, landing on his side.
One eye visible, he thought.
One eye.
The bird was staring at him with one bloodstained, gleaming eye.
And there lay the irony.
Because he knew he was staring back at the bird…
With one bloodstained, gleaming eye….
15
Michael was seated at one of the booths in the coffee shop when Caer arrived. He was reading the newspaper. He wore a heavy sweater and jeans, blending right in with everyone else in the rustic, oceanside town.
He knew Caer was there as soon as she slid into the booth opposite him, but he still took his time to finish whatever article he was reading.
“Coffee?” he asked her when he finally looked up. “We have a lovely waitress. I’m sure she’ll be right here.”
“Michael, you’re not here just because of me, are you?” she asked.