Deadtown

the skin hardening into a new form. A tingling shot through my scalp, and I heard a soft hissing that seemed to come from all directions.

Maria screamed, and I turned to comfort her. Then I realized she was screaming at me.

I wanted to say something to her, but my voice came out as a squawk. Then the world’s colors bled away. I closed my eyes, then opened them again. Everything had changed. Colors were dimmer, overlaid with gray like a layer of ash. But shapes were sharper. I picked out an ant crawling up a tree trunk fifty yards away. I turned my head, looking. I didn’t know this place; what I didknow was that I had a mission here. My hunger—deep and gnawing and demanding satisfaction—told me so.

Prey. There was prey nearby. Where? I tossed my head, flinging my lovely, living tresses of snakes that hissed and wriggled with the movement. Harpies are proud creatures, vain, and rightly so. I tossed my head again. With the movement, I noticed a small human lying on the ground, hopped toward her. There was fear there, lovely, but the hunger didn’t flare. Not this one.

A large female stood a short distance away, rooted to the spot, her mouth hanging open stupidly. She wore a white garment, and her hair was the color of brass. The sight of her sent a sharp knife of hunger into my bowels. Hunger spiced with hatred, with cruelty and revenge. Demanding satisfaction, demanding gorging until I could feed no more. And I knew: This was the one; this was my prey.

I shouted with triumph and delight. The idiotic humans covered their ears. I hopped, flapping my wings to get airborne. The snakes hissed their excitement as I climbed into the air. Higher I flew, and higher. So high that the humans looked no bigger than field mice. I circled once. I marked my target and dove.

Shouting, shouting my glorious cry of battle. The pleasure of watching the prey’s face as it came into focus, surprise tensing into terror. I slammed into her chest, gripping it with my talons, and took her to the ground. She writhed and screamed under me, writhed like the dancing snakes. I dug my talons deeper into her chest. I joined her screams with a song of my own, using my talons to cut and tear, to make her sing new notes. Then, I prepared to feed.

“No!” A sweet young voice—the child’s?—made me pause. “Aunt Vicky, look out!”

The child. There was some kind of danger here. And I was supposed to . . . help her? I? I looked for her, confused. I dimly felt something, some impulse that was foreign to me. Something to do with the child.

Ridiculous. I was hungry; I was here to feed. That was my mission. I struck my beak into the soft, doughy flesh of my prey, searching for tasty entrails. She screamed. What a delicious sauce.

A blast thundered, and something struck my wing. I looked up, a morsel dangling from my beak. The snakes snapped and spat. A human, a male, pointed a weapon at me. The man had dared to fire! I rose into the air, screeching my rage.

Of course the wing was unhurt. I laughed. The human did not know enough to use the death metal. Humans are such fools.

But so delicious.

I rose higher in the air, and saw one of the men pulling at the child’s arm. She was crying. I cocked my head. Something about this one . . . Most humans made me frantic with rage. But the girl, somehow, calmed me. I wanted to sit beside her, let her stroke my feathers, gently pluck morsels of food from her small fingers.

A strange desire, but a pleasant one.

A movement from one of the buildings caught my eye. A door opened and out rushed a group of creatures— wolves and odd-looking furred men. They bounded toward the humans, toward my prey, setting up a howling that made my snake-hair hiss in response. I added my own voice, my wondrous, piercing cry. I soared in wide circles above the battlefield as together, the creatures and I proclaimed our war on the humans.

My pulse quickened, my hunger grew sharper. I trumpeted my excitement. War is something I understand.

The creatures bounded across the lawn with breathtaking speed. The humans panicked, breaking ranks and running. Waves of fear shimmered in the air. Guns fired; pack members fell. But still the pack advanced.

On the ground lay a human, a male with yellow curls and closed eyes. From the air, I could see blood in his curls, on his neck. My stomach rumbled. This one’s flesh would be firm and ripe. But the hunger soured. Something about him made me think, No, not this one, and I blinked, trying to remember. It was the brass-haired female, the one who made the child cry. She was the prey.

A wolf paused by the fallen man and sniffed at him, then, with a pink tongue, tasted his blood. The sight filled me with fury—why, I didn’t know. But I dove. Landing beside the man, I spread my wings and screeched at the wolf. Stay away! I warned. The wolf growled, lowering its head and showing its teeth. Its ears lay back; its hackles raised. I lowered my own head and shook it, as the snakes strained to strike the wolf anywhere they could reach, in its muzzle or eye. One of my beauties struck home, because the creature yelped and jumped backward, yanking my head and then pulling away. It turned and ran across the lawn, its tail between its legs.

I flapped my wings and screamed. Anyone else?I challenged the pack. No creature approached. None dared. Hunger stirred again, and I looked for my prey. At the spot where I’d downed her, one human foot stuck out from a pile of creatures. The screams that pushed themselves from beneath those furred bodies were sweet, sweet sounds. But they belonged to me; that brass-haired woman was mine. Mine! Shrieking, I hopped toward the group, ready to fight those others for the prey.

Then I heard a small sound, like an injured chick. I stopped, cocked my head. The sound came from a clump of bushes. I hopped over to see what was making it.

It was the child. Again, the sight of her flooded me with calm. I wanted to be alone with her somewhere, away from humans and creatures alike. I wanted to soothe and protect this one as I would my own chick. I thrust my head into the bushes. The snakes might frighten the child, so I cooed to her, clucking reassuringly. She screamed and buried her face in her hands. But then she peeked out from between her fingers. “Aunt Vicky, is that really you?” she whispered.

Vicky—a familiar name, although I couldn’t place it. But the child’s eyes held hope when she said it. How strange. Hope was an emotion I’d never seen in a human’s face. On this one, it was lovely. I bobbed my head up and down. I backed up a few paces, keeping up the soft cooing, then looked back. Follow me. I did it again. Follow me, little chick. The child hesitated, but then she crawled out of the bushes.

I spread my wings, then looked at her. I repeated the gesture. She wrinkled her forehead, then nodded. She understood. She spread out her arms, as I’d asked. I jumped into the sky and alighted on her shoulders, gently closing my talons around her outstretched arms. No tearing, just holding. It was an odd way to deal with a human.

Then, flapping my mighty, powerful wings, I lifted us both into the air.

In a moment, we’d cleared the treetops. Below us, the ground flowed with the movement of creatures. I could see no more humans, save for the yellow-haired man I’d chased the wolf away from. He lay still and alone. For a moment, I felt I should do something for him, lift him away from that place in the same way I carried this child. I shook my head; my tresses hissed softly. The strange feeling faded, and then the yellow-haired man was out of sight.

Below me, the child sobbed quietly, but she didn’t struggle. Trying to soothe her, I sang to her, but she cried, “No, no!” so I fell silent. I flew without direction, content simply to be with the child. Holding her small arms felt so good, and I felt we could fly this way forever.

Then I heard a sound, one that was unfamiliar yet beautiful. I listened with a sense I didn’t know I had. It was a call. Someone was calling this child. Not with words, but with the heart.

Hearing the strong, constant heart-call, I had no choice but to heed it. We flew south, the setting sun to our right, shadows stretching across the land below us.

28

HARPIES, OF COURSE, ARE SUPERIOR TO OTHER WINGED creatures. We’re larger, we’re fiercer, we’re more beautiful. And we fly faster, because we have access to portals that flesh-and-blood birds do not. Within minutes, I’d locked on to the heart-call that beckoned the child I carried. Following that call, we came to a landscape cluttered with human dwellings, laid out in rows. A good hunting ground for another day. For now, that