unblinkingly. She listened for its message.
Again the crow chose the loud Caw! Caw! Caw! in Arabel’s ear but this time it was a bit softer and she was prepared for the volley of audio impact. The crow shuffled its feet upon her hand and fluffed out its feathers, preening. It waited to see if she understood.
A slow smile adorned Arabel’s face. Eli watched, enjoying the interaction immensely. He longed to touch the bird as well, just once, to feel the shiny blue black-ness of its rich feathers. He wondered what message it was sending and if Arabel could interpret it, as it had made no sense to him.
“The Rosewood Inn,” Arabel spoke triumphantly, turning to face Eli, her blue eyes bright with insight. “We have to return! Right now, if we can,” she added and she began to ponder the logistics of it, to mentally review whether or not she still had any nights left on her freedom week so she could disappear for a few more. Unfortunately she realized she would need to go home to check in, just to see.
The crow fluffed its feathers once more and then took flight, digging its claws into Arabel’s arm briefly as it departed. The bird scaled what appeared to be a dizzying ascent of great height in a fraction of the time it should take and then began to imperiously repeat its calls.
This time, a murder of crows appeared to join the solo bird and they proceeded to caw in their off-key voices as well, each sounding its jarring, mocking cry as another bird finished so that the chorus was incessant and went on for well over twenty minutes. The birds dipped and dropped in the sky and turned about as a group, swirling in a thick, black circle of aerial trickery.
The massive crowd which had gathered at the Great Torch to view Klara’s defiled body were fascinated, completely caught up in the black bird’s show of solidarity and the further impending doom they cackled and cried prophetically about.
Man on the Run/Man Overboard!
Grandmother Amelia Bodean was waiting for Arabel when Eli dropped her off. Arabel realized her freedom week must have ended, judging by the way her grandmother was pacing the front parlour, wearing out the weave of the olive green rug while waiting for Arabel to appear. Amelia Bodean pounced on Arabel as soon as she heard her errant granddaughter‘s arrival and the click and turn of the brass door handle.
“It’s a quarter to twelve! Where have you been, girl?” Amelia Bodean sputtered, her reading glasses slanted and awry, having fallen down low on her nose, giving her the strange look of an unkempt librarian.
“Sorry Grandmother, I was at the Priory. They’ve found the missing girl. She’s dead.”
Amelia Bodean sank heavily onto the bench in the front hallway as if her legs could no longer sustain her weight.
“Poor girl,” she said and was quiet for a long moment. “You must remain close to the house for the next while. We best not take any chances, what with some maniac running around kidnapping and killing young women!”
Arabel grimaced to herself. There was no use trying to change Amelia Bodean’s mind by convincing her that maybe the rumours were right; that it was two different, jealous men stalking their own beloveds, and not a random killer out to slaughter innocents and complete strangers such as herself. Arabel knew better than to try to influence Amelia Bodean, however, having failed at that endeavour many times prior. Quite simply, this meant Arabel would need to sneak out. And not get caught. This made things challenging, certainly, but hardly impossible.
Once she was ensconced alone within her room, Arabel recounted the
Again the crow chose the loud Caw! Caw! Caw! in Arabel’s ear but this time it was a bit softer and she was prepared for the volley of audio impact. The crow shuffled its feet upon her hand and fluffed out its feathers, preening. It waited to see if she understood.
A slow smile adorned Arabel’s face. Eli watched, enjoying the interaction immensely. He longed to touch the bird as well, just once, to feel the shiny blue black-ness of its rich feathers. He wondered what message it was sending and if Arabel could interpret it, as it had made no sense to him.
“The Rosewood Inn,” Arabel spoke triumphantly, turning to face Eli, her blue eyes bright with insight. “We have to return! Right now, if we can,” she added and she began to ponder the logistics of it, to mentally review whether or not she still had any nights left on her freedom week so she could disappear for a few more. Unfortunately she realized she would need to go home to check in, just to see.
The crow fluffed its feathers once more and then took flight, digging its claws into Arabel’s arm briefly as it departed. The bird scaled what appeared to be a dizzying ascent of great height in a fraction of the time it should take and then began to imperiously repeat its calls.
This time, a murder of crows appeared to join the solo bird and they proceeded to caw in their off-key voices as well, each sounding its jarring, mocking cry as another bird finished so that the chorus was incessant and went on for well over twenty minutes. The birds dipped and dropped in the sky and turned about as a group, swirling in a thick, black circle of aerial trickery.
The massive crowd which had gathered at the Great Torch to view Klara’s defiled body were fascinated, completely caught up in the black bird’s show of solidarity and the further impending doom they cackled and cried prophetically about.
Man on the Run/Man Overboard!
Grandmother Amelia Bodean was waiting for Arabel when Eli dropped her off. Arabel realized her freedom week must have ended, judging by the way her grandmother was pacing the front parlour, wearing out the weave of the olive green rug while waiting for Arabel to appear. Amelia Bodean pounced on Arabel as soon as she heard her errant granddaughter‘s arrival and the click and turn of the brass door handle.
“It’s a quarter to twelve! Where have you been, girl?” Amelia Bodean sputtered, her reading glasses slanted and awry, having fallen down low on her nose, giving her the strange look of an unkempt librarian.
“Sorry Grandmother, I was at the Priory. They’ve found the missing girl. She’s dead.”
Amelia Bodean sank heavily onto the bench in the front hallway as if her legs could no longer sustain her weight.
“Poor girl,” she said and was quiet for a long moment. “You must remain close to the house for the next while. We best not take any chances, what with some maniac running around kidnapping and killing young women!”
Arabel grimaced to herself. There was no use trying to change Amelia Bodean’s mind by convincing her that maybe the rumours were right; that it was two different, jealous men stalking their own beloveds, and not a random killer out to slaughter innocents and complete strangers such as herself. Arabel knew better than to try to influence Amelia Bodean, however, having failed at that endeavour many times prior. Quite simply, this meant Arabel would need to sneak out. And not get caught. This made things challenging, certainly, but hardly impossible.
Once she was ensconced alone within her room, Arabel recounted the
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