Wayfarer

And yet out there in the garden, beneath the oak tree…he knew what he’d seen, what his hands had touched. That hole in the trunk had been real. So how could it just have disappeared like that?

Part of him wanted to go back outside at once and investigate. But the sky was dark now, and there’d be plenty of time for that tomorrow. Timothy got up, picked a novel off the shelf at random, and read until his eyes felt heavy. At last he turned off the light and settled down to sleep.

He was just drifting off when he heard a voice floating up through the grate beside his bed, muffled and tinny-sounding but still distinct:

“-difficult with him here, but we’ll have to manage somehow.”

It was Peri, talking about him. And now that Timothy knew it, there was no way he could close his eyes and pretend he hadn’t heard. He squirmed closer and dangled over the edge of the mattress, straining to hear Paul’s deeper voice reply:

“Of course. But we’ll still need to warn the others. Make sure they know it’s not safe to visit until we give the word.”

Not safe? Timothy frowned. All right, so he’d hit somebody and got himself suspended, but Paul was making him sound like some kind of dangerous criminal. Or the mad cousin shut up in the attic.

“I don’t think they’d try it in any case,” said Peri. “Not with so many crows about.”

Had she really said crows?

“You’re forgetting Linden,” Paul remarked. “Or was that wishful thinking?”

Peri must have made a face instead of answering, because Paul went on in an amused tone: “Not my fault, love. She’s her mother’s daughter. Or”-his voice sobered-“as near to it as we’re ever going to see.”

“Don’t say that! I’m not ready to give up yet. And don’t tell me you are, either.”

“What else can we do? We’re only human. No offense.”

Peri was silent.

“And as for the rest,” Paul continued more gently, “remember what Amaryllis said. They’ve got to find their own solution. It’s not your battle anymore.”

“Whose is it, then? Hers?” She was bitter now. “If it is, it won’t be for much longer. And how long will the oak survive once she’s gone?”

Timothy had done a lot of eavesdropping in his time, but this had to be one of the oddest conversations he’d ever overheard. He was still wondering who Linden and Amaryllis might be and what the oak tree had to do with anything, when he heard Paul say in a husky voice, “Love. Don’t look like that. Come here.”

There was a long silence, and then Peri said, “I just want this to be over. I want to be able to leave the house without worrying that something’s going to happen while I’m away. I want-”

“I know. If anyone was meant to see the world, it was you.” Now it was Paul’s turn to sound bitter. “And I can’t give you that. Especially not right now.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Paul Graydon McCormick.” Her voice was stern, but there was a shake in it that might have been laughter, or tears. “You start wallowing in self-pity and I’ll wheel you down the road and dump you in the pond myself.”

“I’d like to see you try,” said Paul in a tone that was half-growl, and for a moment Timothy thought he was angry. But then their words slurred to murmurs, broken by pauses that were not entirely silent, and Timothy decided it was time to stop listening. He dropped a pillow onto the grate and wormed back into the middle of the bed, resolutely shutting his eyes.

But his dreams were full of dark wings and great trees falling, and he did not sleep well.

Three

When Timothy awoke, it took him a minute of staring stupidly at the ceiling to remember where he was. Pale light fingered the edges of the curtains, and the silence seemed expectant somehow, as though the house were waiting for its inhabitants to hatch.

The bedside clock glowed 7:05-too early for Timothy’s liking, but it was pointless trying to sleep longer. He stumbled out of bed, scrounged some clean clothes from the tangled mess inside his suitcase, and headed off to the bathroom.

He had just turned on the shower when he noticed something outside the window. Brushing aside the gauzy curtain, he peered out to see Peri striding across the back garden toward the house. She carried a vicious-looking knife in one hand, and the limp body of a dead rabbit in the other.

Timothy let the curtain fall and stepped into the shower, but even the hot water couldn’t wash away the crawling feeling that had come over him. As a child he’d thought everything Peri did was wonderful, but seeing her now reminded him just how unnatural her love of hunting really was. As far as he knew, she didn’t eat anything she caught, or sell the pelts either. Yet as long as he’d known her, she’d been killing wild rabbits and other small creatures on a regular basis….

“You’re up early,” Peri remarked when he came down to the kitchen a few minutes later, still damp-haired from his wash. “Did you sleep all right?”

“Not bad,” said Timothy, watching her sidelong while she wiped her hands on a tea towel. They looked clean, but as she turned them over he could see a dark line of blood beneath one nail.

“Well, I’ve already eaten and Paul won’t be up for an hour at least,” said Peri, “so you may as well go ahead and have your breakfast. There’s fruit and cold cereal, or you can make toast if you’d like-here.” She pulled the toaster from a shelf and set it on the counter, hesitating fractionally before plugging it in with a quick, almost savage thrust. “I’ll be in the studio if you need me.”

One apple and two bowls of cornflakes later, Timothy piled his dishes by the sink and looked out the kitchen window. The sky was the color of dirty wool, the garden dismal with rain. He still wanted to have another look at the old oak tree, but there was no reason it couldn’t wait until the weather cleared.

All at once he heard a high-pitched cry, and a small brown shape flashed by the window, with a crow in close pursuit. Timothy knew more about marabou storks than he did most British birds, but he was pretty sure crows didn’t usually hunt on the wing like that. Didn’t they eat things that were already dead?

From the other end of the house came a muffled oath, and the sound of feet pounding up and down the stairs. Timothy stuck his head out into the corridor to see Peri wrench the front door open and leap outside-

Had she been carrying a gun?

Timothy raced down the hallway and skidded to a halt on the step. Peri stood barefoot on the muddy lawn, an air rifle raised against her shoulder. She squeezed the trigger, and the crow plummeted from the sky.

Shocked, Timothy was about to protest, but then Peri turned and the fire in her dark eyes silenced him.

“Go back inside, Timothy,” she said.

“What happened?” said Paul sharply from behind them. “I thought I heard-”

“You heard me,” said Peri. She strode back into the house, propped the gun against the wall, and began wiping the dirt off her feet with a rag. “But it’s all right now.”

“Is it?” asked Paul.

Peri straightened up. “I did what I had to do,” she said. “And if those crows don’t keep their distance, I’ll keep shooting until they get the message.” Her fist clenched around the rag, crumpling it. “How dare they!”

Paul opened his mouth, glanced at Timothy, and shut it again. At last he said with deliberate calm, “Quite. But I expect people might begin to wonder, if you make a habit of it.”