But there was nothing else to do. We weren’t getting out through the window, and while our chances probably wouldn’t be much better in front of a room full of thunderbirds, they certainly couldn’t get any worse.
Our room was the last in a long second-story hall bordered on the left with nothing but a wooden rail, worn smooth by what could only have been generations of hands trailing over it. Beyond the rail, the floor ended, revealing the drop to a huge first-floor room where thunderbirds of all sizes and both genders mingled and lounged, in various stages of Shift. There must have been fifty of them. And I could hear even more moving around behind the many closed doors.
Our hallway wrapped around three sides of the building, and the two floors above were the same; we could see identical third- and fourth-floor railings across the large opening. The front of the building was a series of small glass panes built into the wall, forming a huge grid of windows. The effect was a stunning, patchwork view of a wooded mountainside. And at the bottom, near the center, stood a single door—the only entrance or exit we’d seen.
Kaci gasped, and I glanced down, then followed her gaze up. Way up.
Then I gasped, too.
The building was cavernous and could easily have fit at least three more floors, although none existed beyond the fourth. Instead, the empty space was crisscrossed with exposed beams, and ledges, and nooks, most occupied by one or more thunderbirds. Those on the beams were mostly in avian form, perched like blackbirds on a wire, while those resting on small nests of pillows and blankets on the many ledges looked more human. Some even held old, worn copies of books whose titles I couldn’t quite make out.
It was like nothing I’d ever seen. This wasn’t just a nest. It was a true aviary.
Brynn made an impatient noise at the back of her throat, and I forced my attention from the spectacle overhead and nudged Kaci. Then we followed her down an open flight of stairs to the huge room below.
Like the levels above, the first floor was surrounded on three sides by a series of doors, though they were farther apart on the ground floor. I was guessing the first-story rooms were the Flight’s common areas, like the kitchen, dining room, and maybe more living areas.
As we crossed through the center of the open area, I glanced through several of the open doors. Most were sparse bedrooms, a bit larger than the one we’d woken in. But the doorway to one corner room revealed a large, bright space full of old-fashioned toys—most of the handmade doll and wooden block variety—and the distinctive flickering light of a television.
We’d found the source of the Looney Tunes. And based on the scratchy, low-quality sound, I was guessing they had only worn VCR tapes, rather than DVDs.
My steps slowed as my curiosity grew, and as I walked, I saw more of the room. And its occupants. At a glance, I counted half a dozen small children, none yet old enough to attend school.
But age wasn’t the only thing keeping these kids out of the human educational system.
As I watched, a naked boy of maybe four years—the biggest in the room—shoved one chubby fist through a tower of brightly painted wooden blocks. The small girl who’d been stacking them—also nude, but for a cloth diaper—scowled so menacingly I half expected her to burst into flames.
Instead, she burst into feathers.
In a single, smooth motion almost too fast for me to understand, her arms lengthened and sprouted feathers. Her short hair receded into her head, and her naked scalp began to toughen, flush, and wrinkle, like the head of a vulture. Her thin legs withered until her calves were little more than sturdy sticks ending in tiny, sharp talons. And her hands curled into petite but obviously lethal wing-claws.
The whole thing took no more than two seconds and appeared completely spontaneous. I couldn’t stop staring.
The bird-girl tackled the larger boy, snapping her new beak at him and swiping with her claws, and when they fell, I got a look at the smaller children behind them. All four were quite a bit smaller. Toddlers, judging by their size. And they were all constantly Shifting.
Several arms were feathered, two with hands, one with claws. Two heads were bare and wrinkled, one had tangled dark hair, and the fourth was somewhere in between, patches of blond peach fuzz standing out on an almost bald avian skull. The children were continually in flux, and they obviously couldn’t control their small bodies.
No wonder thunderbirds removed themselves from human society so completely.
I stared, transfixed, until Brynn made another angry noise in her throat, and I jogged to catch up with her and Kaci, though the strange images remained painted on the backs of my eyelids.
But when Brynn came to a stop, I looked up, and all thoughts of odd, ever-Shifting children flew from my mind. There must have been thirty different thunderbirds seated or standing in the back half of the large room. And they were all staring at us.
Fifteen
Kaci’s cold hand slid into mine. Her lips were pressed into a thin, tight line and her jaw bulged, not with anger, but to keep her teeth from chattering, as they sometimes did when she got nervous. Her terrified, wide-eyed gaze flitted anxiously from bird to bird, as if she were looking for a friendly face.
But she wasn’t going to find one, other than mine. We were in this together—whatever “this” was.
“What is your name?”
My head whipped up and I glanced around, waiting for someone to step forward, or otherwise claim his or her question. But no one did, even when I stood silent for almost a full minute. In fact, the only reason I knew the speaker was addressing me was that no one was looking at Kaci.
When I didn’t answer, another voice called from above and I glanced up, but again failed to pinpoint the speaker. “Are you Mercedes Carreño or Faythe Sanders?”
Aah. They knew I was one of the adults, but not which one.
“I’m Faythe. Who’s speaking, please? I’m getting a little dizzy trying to pinpoint you.” And frankly, I wasn’t sure where I should look. I didn’t want to accidently insult someone by misdirecting my attention.
“You are speaking with our Flight.”
Of course. I’d almost forgotten about the mob—I mean Flight—mentality. Fortunately, I actually saw the speaker that time, though she hadn’t asked either of the previous questions.Another voice spoke from my far left. “You and the kitten will be delivered to Calvin Malone tomorrow.…”
“What?! No!” I shouted, and Kaci clung to me, terrified. “You can’t do that. You have no idea what he wants with us!”
“We promised to remove you from danger and deliver you to him, and we will not go back on our word. We’re only letting you live because we’ve been assured that you and the kitten were not involved in the death of our cock.”
I turned and pinpointed an older male thunderbird with strong features and the typical top-heavy build. And nearly laughed aloud on the heels of his last word.
It’s not funny! some horrified part of me insisted, from deep within my head.
But it was funny, in that scandalous way that inappropriate jokes are always irresistible at the most inopportune moments. Their Flight member was dead, they’d kidnapped us and were trying to kill the remaining members of our Pride, and this asshole sounded like a testimonial for Viagra!
For a moment, I couldn’t speak for fear of bursting into laughter, and it took all my self-control to kill the irreverent smile that my lips wanted to form. But then Kaci squeezed my hand again, and the look of pure terror on her face sobered me instantly.
I cleared my throat. “That’s right. We had nothing to do with it. But neither did anyone else in our Pride. Malone only told you that…”
“We’re not interested in discussing Finn’s death with you.…”
“Well, you should be!” I shouted—and immediately regretted it when a series of soft whoosh sounds and heavy thumps told me more birds had landed behind me from the overhead perches.
My pulse raced fast enough to make my head spin, and I barely resisted the urge to turn and face the new combatants. I was surrounded by the enemy, and my fight-or-flight instinct demanded that I make a choice. But neither of those options led to survival—I was sure of that.
“Look, I’m sorry. But this is the truth, and it’s important. Calvin Malone lied to you, for his own gain. My Pride isn’t responsible for your…Finn’s death. One of Malone’s men is.”
I’d expected to be interrupted, but I could tell by the universal, uneasy shift in posture that I’d caught their collective attention with the word lied.
“Why would Calvin Malone compromise his honor with a lie?” The speaker still looked skeptical, but was obviously willing to listen.
My mood brightened instantly. They were going to let me talk.
“First of all, he has no honor. But he has plenty of greed and he is hungry for power.” Lots of confused expressions and eerily tilted heads met my declaration, but I rushed on before anyone could interrupt, my left arm around Kaci. “And second of all, I just gave you the reason—for his own personal gain.”
There was an odd silence as the birds glanced back and forth at one another in quick, sharp movements, clearly conferring silently through expressions I couldn’t interpret. I glanced down at Kaci to see her watching our captors in both fascination and fear, and I was relieved to see the latter winning out.