Oh Pretty Bird Read online

  In the back of the truck, Johnny and Fran huddled together against the cab, using it to block the bulk of the wind and the noise. They watched through the small window as Enid and Alexander talked. Fran frowned.

  “Wish I could hear what they’re saying,” she said. “They don’t look happy about whatever it is.”

  “I’m sure they’ll explain when we get to the motel,” said Johnny.

  Fran nodded, and put her head down against his shoulder. An hour later, when they reached the motel where they’d be spending the night—or at least the next three hours; long enough for everyone to steal a bit of sleep, sprawled across ancient, unsteady beds like discarded toys, their brains afire with exit plans and worst case scenarios—Alexander and Enid went to the manager’s office to pay for the room without a word of explanation.

  Three hours after that, when they got back on the road under cover of darkness, Jonathan now behind the wheel, Enid next to him, and Alexander and Fran asleep on a bed of suitcases in the back, the silence continued.

  No explanations were given. Not to anyone.

  Whiting, Indiana was a lake town, built on the lip of Lake Michigan and so close to the edge of Illinois that when the wind blew the right way, they could smell Chicago. Alexander had pulled off to the side of the road on the very edge of town, all of them a little moon-eyed and shaky after driving through the night. Fran—who wasn’t the most civilized of them, but was oddly the best with strangers, at least human ones—had hiked off toward the distant glitter of a gas station’s windows. She was supposed to return with coffee and donuts. Knowing Fran, she’d somehow find a way to return with a four-course meal.

  Alexander didn’t care which it was, as long as she did it quickly, quietly, and without attracting attention to herself. “It’s a small town,” he said, gazing down the road. “The last census put the population at about eight hundred, mostly workers from the refinery and their families, although there’s also a decent number of fishermen. There was an Apraxis hive in the area up until three months ago. It had a migration path that brought it through here annually. Like clockwork, until this year.”

  “But how are you sure she’s here?”

  “The bogeymen told me, and Jonathan confirmed it,” said Alexander. He was repeating a conversation they’d had a dozen times during the drive, shifting it through different combinations of the four of them until it should have become senseless rote. Instead, it remained what it had always been destined to be: something to cling and cleave to, something to prove that they were where they needed to be, doing what they needed to do. “She’s been in Whiting for three months. Since the Apraxis moved on.”

  “How do we know the bogeymen weren’t compromised?”

  “They’re the ones who told me about the charms,” said Alexander. He had passed them out as soon as they were pulled over; even Fran, now just a speck on side of the road almost a mile ahead, was protected against thought-transference. “They’ve been using them since she hired one of their men to target us. It seems the bogeyman community is not thrilled about having a nest of ex-Covenant operatives riled up at them.”

  “HAIL!” proclaimed the leather case in Enid’s hands, not to be left out of this conversation, as they had so many others. The mice understood the seriousness of the situation, and Enid was grateful that they had chosen to keep quiet while she and Alexander talked through his guilt and grief. Aeslin mice were more sensitive to moods than most people gave them credit for being, and they never betrayed a confidence. Whatever happened in Whiting, it would be preserved in the memory of the colony.

  Enid just hoped that wouldn’t be the only way Alice would learn about her family, and where she’d come from.

  “The bogeyman community is smarter than I ever gave them credit for being,” she said dryly. “If they’re the ones who told you where to find these nifty little trinkets, why are you worried about whether or not they’ll work?”

  “Humans and bogeymen diverged millennia ago, evolutionarily speaking. What works for them may not be as effective for us. But it should at least make it possible for us to evade her, for a while.” Alexander’s eyes were fixed on the distant shape of the town. “We’ll go in. We’ll find her. And we’ll kill her.”

  “And if we fail?” Enid’s question was sharp, and accompanied by a meaningful glance toward Jonathan.

  Alexander sighed. He’d been hoping to avoid this. He should really have known that nothing could be put off forever. “If we fail, then we hope that the Covenant has better luck than we did.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence, where Jonathan stared at his father and Alexander waited for the explosion he was sure would follow. Finally, Jonathan turned to Enid and asked, “Did you know that he was going to contact them?”

  “No,” she said.

  “Do you agree that he was right to contact them?”

  Enid took a deep breath, and nodded. “Yes. Under the circumstances, yes, I do think that it was the right thing to do. If we fall here, if this…woman,” she put a depth of scorn into the word that almost immeasurable, “is enough to take all four of us down, then I think that the Covenant is the only chance these people have. They’re the enemy, but they weren’t always, and their mission is very simple. They want to protect humanity. This Tapper creature endangers us all.”

  “I see.” Jonathan was silent for a moment. Finally, he nodded. “I understand why you felt this was necessary, and I understand why you couldn’t tell me before. I hope that you understand that, once we have returned safely home, with this crisis behind us permanently, you’re going to be the one explaining to Fran why we have to be so much more careful not to attract Covenant attention.”

  “With pleasure,” said Alexander.

  “Speaking of Fran…” Enid shielded her eyes with her hand, squinting down the road. “Looks like she’s coming back, and going by the sack she’s carrying with her, she was successful in her search for breakfast. We’ll be able to eat before we go and face the unspeakable monster girl.”

  “Everything’s better with breakfast,” said Alexander.

  Inside the carrying case, the mice cheered.

  Whiting’s main street was as sleepy as the town surrounding it, which was an interesting change from Buckley: although half the size of Whiting, Buckley Township’s main street was always bustling, filled with teenagers running for the library or the diner, adults heading out to dinner or a movie, and housewives stocking up on necessities for the family. The Healys stuck out like a sore thumb as they pulled into the small parking lot of the local grocer.

  Alexander was the first out of the cab. He frowned as he looked around, and then walked over to the bed of the truck, leaning over to say, “Fran, job for you.”

  Fran swallowed her mouthful of apple cider donut, took a swig from her coffee—lukewarm, but that was better, really, when riding in the back of a truck—to wash it down. Then, handing her cup to Jonathan, she asked, “What do you need?”

  “Go into the store. Try to buy something simple but odd for this time of day. Beer or raw chicken or whatever you can get your hands on. And ask the clerk how business has been lately.”

  Fran frowned. “That’s a little nebulous, as jobs go. Any particular reason behind it?”

  “Yes, but I want to see if you get the same feeling I do off the situation.” Alexander offered his hand. Fran took it, using him for leverage as she clambered down from the truck. “Don’t make trouble, and if things seem to be getting strained, get out. The question is important, but it’s not important enough to lose you over.”

  “Got it.” Fran turned, blew Jonathan a kiss, and then flounced off toward the store.

  “What are you hoping to accomplish?” asked Jonathan, once she was safely out of hearing. He had long since learned that once Fran was on a mission, it was best not to distract her from it. She would do what she was sent to do and report back without hesitation, as long as no one provided an alternate path. Once there were options, thi
ngs could get extremely messy, very fast.

  “This isn’t right,” said Enid, gesturing to the rest of the street with one hand. “This shopping district should be bustling. Just look at the place! Buckley doesn’t have half as many stores, and none of the ones we do have look like they’re doing half as well. We should have been fighting for a parking space—or if not fighting, at least cruising a bit before we managed to get one.”

  “Whiting has a large enough population, and a high enough average income, that we shouldn’t be the only ones here, even at this hour of the morning,” said Alexander, smoothly picking up the narrative. “Something has clearly changed.”

  Jonathan looked between his parents, not making any effort to conceal his horror. “Do you really think she’s powerful enough to rearrange an entire town to suit her whims?”

  “That’s just the thing, Johnny: we don’t know.” Enid shook her head. “We have no idea what she’s capable of, and when I look at something that’s as outright wrong as this street, it makes me worry about what we’re about to wander into.”

  There was a slam from the direction of the market. The three turned to watch Fran stomp back toward them. It was clear from her expression as she drew closer that she was annoyed but overstating her level of frustration for the benefit of anyone who might be watching her from inside the store.

  Once she was close enough to be heard without shouting, she said in a low voice, “I asked for a six pack of beer and a can of bait. Said I was going out fishing with my husband, and wanted him to have a nice enough time that we’d be back to shore before noon. The man behind the counter looked at me like I’d just tried to buy a severed head from the meat department.”

  “What?” said Jonathan. “Why?”

  “Because according to him, alcohol is illegal in the United States of America.” She threw up her hands, looking baffled as much as anything. “Seems like they missed the end of Prohibition here—only there was a whole cooler full of beer at the back of the store, and the fellow had a shelf of stronger stuff behind him. It was like he didn’t even realize it was there! I thought about shoplifting, just to see what would happen, and decided that busting me out of jail would slow us down enough to not be worth it.”

  “Good decision,” said Alexander. He looked more than just worried as he turned to Enid and Jonathan. “If she’s rewritten that man’s memories enough that he can’t even see the liquor he’s selling, what is she going to do to us?”

  “Nothing, because we’ve got your little charms,” said Enid. “Johnny, you and Fran met this woman once before. Where would we find her, if she was trying to play at being normal?”

  “She was posing as a music teacher the first time we met her,” Jonathan said. “Look for someplace where you’d drop off a student to get lessons.”

  “Good,” said Alexander. “We’ll do that: she’s not going to recognize us. You and Frannie, go looking for anything else that seems as out of place as a man who won’t sell perfectly good beer. We’ll meet back here in two hours.”

  “Give us a mouse,” said Fran abruptly, sticking her hand out.

  Enid blinked for a moment before unzipping the leather case, allowing a single black and white Aeslin mouse to scamper into view. Fran leaned forward, putting her hand in front of the mouse. It ran up her arm and vanished into her hair without saying a word.

  It was a good idea. It was a proactive idea. Make sure that, should something happen, both halves of their party would have something with them to keep an accurate record of the event. Most of all, it was a sobering idea. It meant that the chances of something happening were high enough to make it necessary.

  “Be careful,” said Alexander.

  Fran smiled lopsidedly as she looped her arm through Jonathan’s. “Aw, that’s sweet,” she said. “He’s gone delusional in his old age. See you soon. Don’t get dead.”

  “Haven’t yet,” said Enid, and with that, the two halves of the Healy clan parted ways.

  As with many lakeside towns, the residential neighborhoods of Whiting were comingled with the commercial. Small shops operated out of garages, and signs advertising rooms to let or private lessons were hung in front windows. Jonathan and Fran walked arm-in-arm along the avenue, the very picture of a young married couple seeing the sights.

  Fran stopped in front of the first house advertising piano lessons, squinting at the sign for a moment before she shook her head and started walking again. Jonathan frowned at her.

  “I’m not arguing—I know better than that—but do you mind telling me what makes you so sure that’s not what we’re looking for?”

  “Three months,” she said.

  “What?”

  “The hive got all funny three months ago, right? That’s what your pa said. Well, that sign’s been in the window at least a year, maybe longer, if the ink fade is anything to go by. Unless we think she’s taken over somebody’s house so completely that nobody argued about it, and made sure it was a house with a sign in the window that matched her cover, that ain’t the one.”

  Jonathan chuckled a little, looking impressed. “You know, sometimes I forget your plethora of unusual skills.”

  “That’s just because I only trot ’em out when I feel the need to really impress you,” said Fran. “Can’t work for the carnival and not know how ink fades out, city boy.”

  “Fair enough,” said Jonathan, and kissed her on her temple. They resumed walking down the street, trying to maintain the narrow balance between walking quickly enough to be effective, and moving slowly enough as to seem like normal traffic. In the end, they needn’t have worried overly much: after going through four residential neighborhoods, they still hadn’t seen anyone at all outside of their homes.

  “This is giving me the willies,” said Fran.

  “You’re not the only one,” said Jonathan. “The lawns are all mowed, the windows have all been washed; if there was a competition for keeping up appearances, this town would score very highly. But there are no children anywhere. Did you notice that? No toys on porches, no bicycles in front of garages. A town this size has to have a school…”

  Fran’s grip on his arm tightened. “Then we’d best find it, because I’m not feeling too good about what’s going on here. I want to see those babies.”

  “All right,” said Jonathan. He looked around. There was a cross street just ahead of them. It extended in two directions: toward the refinery, and away from the refinery. He couldn’t imagine any city planner thinking that a school belonged in the shadow of a factory. “This way,” said Jonathan, and turned down the cross street, steering Fran along with him.

  Neither of them saw the curtains twitch aside on the windows they had already passed, or the eyes that appeared there, watching them as they walked away.

  Main Street was as deserted as their first glance had led them to believe. Alexander and Enid strolled along, trying to make the action seem nonchalant, while glancing into windows and taking quick looks down the narrow alleys between the various businesses. In each storefront they saw at least one person—generally the proprietor, only sometimes accompanied by a clerk—standing frozen behind the counter or near the register, like actors preparing for the play to begin.

  “This is incredibly unnerving,” murmured Enid, voice pitched low to keep it from carrying to any listening ears. “Just how powerful is this woman? Can she really have seized control of an entire town?”

  “No one in Colorado questioned her as a music teacher, even when her students were spending their time sitting in an empty room,” Alexander replied. “There’s no telling how many little changes she could have made in people’s minds, if she’d had reason and time to do it in. Stay alert.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that,” said Enid. “We’re walking through a trap shaped like a city. The day I take that calmly is like to be the day I die.”

  “Indeed.” Alexander stopped walking, looking thoughtfully at the storefront beside them. It showed a handsome display
of hardcover books and stationary, all of them carefully laid out to catch and keep the bibliophile’s eye. “Let’s stop in here.”

  Enid followed his gaze. “Dear, this is not a good time to go shopping for books.”

  “Perhaps not, but the fact that I’m a librarian and you’re a librarian’s wife will justify the visit if anyone asks unpleasant questions, and perhaps we can learn more about what we’re facing.”

  “I really prefer situations that can be more quickly resolved with gunfire,” muttered Enid, and stepped back, allowing him to open the door.

  The bookstore smelled, as all good bookstores do, of leather and fresh ink and gently aging paper. The distinct acidic tang that would have indicated a text-eater infestation was missing—if the nasty little bookworms had ever been present, they had been cleared out, possibly by the town’s current dictatrix. Alexander made a mental note to start monitoring the movement of other types of insect, to determine whether it was the thought-transference or some pheromonal tag or territorial marking that was causing the Apraxis to migrate. Knowing the what didn’t necessarily provide the why, and the why could be very important in this matter.

  The woman behind the counter was about Enid’s age, but softer, without the muscle definition that came from a lifetime of farming, hunting, and self-defense. She looked up at the jingle of the bell above the door, offering the pair a polite, if somewhat vague, smile. “Good morning, and welcome to Whiting Books,” she said. “How may I help you?”

  “We’re in town with my son and his wife—they’re looking into possibly settling down here, if Johnny gets that job at the refinery, and we thought we’d come along, since it’s a nice drive from Chicago,” said Enid smoothly. All traces of her normally Welsh accent were gone, swallowed deep into her throat. Alexander didn’t say anything. His own English accent was milder, but paradoxically more difficult for him to conceal. He always sounded a little foreign, no matter how much he tried not to. “This is just a beautiful little store. How long have you been here?”