The Five Deaths of Roxanne Love (24 page)

Nothing good came from black birds. Ever. Only a fool would dismiss the threat of their presence.

Louisa shut her eyes and bowed her head over folded hands. Moving her lips soundlessly, she began to pray.

“Santo?” Roxanne said, touching his arm with icy fingers. She spoke in a hushed voice, but he heard the tremor, felt her fear. “Where are they coming from? Why are they here?”

“They’re Abaddon’s messengers,” he answered simply.

The sound of Abaddon’s name excited the birds. They screeched and battered the house and windows with fury.

He turned back to the window, unsure what their next move should be. They needed to find a way to escape, one that didn’t involve exposing themselves to sharp beaks and razorlike talons. That many carrion eaters could strip the meat from their bones in a matter of minutes. He stared at the closed curtain, picturing the swarming mass of black bodies that flocked outside. What did they want?
Why
had Abaddon sent them?

Reaper,
a crackling, inhuman voice spoke in his head
. Open the windows, reaper. Let us in.

The urge to obey sank beneath his skin and took hold like a hooked lure. He reached for the edge of the curtain.

“What are you doing?” Roxanne asked.

Santo jerked his hand back as dread raced with his blood. The voice had
compelled
him.
Him.

Reaper, let us in. . . .

He would bet the cat-sized raven that had tapped its beak on the window still perched there. Waiting.

He didn’t have to look to know that the birds had filled the boughs up high, bent the twigs down low. Sinister winged predators that perched and pecked, cawed and jockeyed for roosts as they watched the house. They tapped their beaks against the doors and windows, and suddenly one of them slammed into the glass with a
thud that sounded inexplicably loud. Louisa’s head came up, and she gasped as a dish clattered in the cupboard from the impact.

Roxanne moved closer to Santo and his arms circled her automatically. Another bird hit the glass. And another. They began to screech, long, bloodcurdling shrieks that struck fear so deep he felt it travel through Roxanne’s body to his own.

“Into the hall. Away from the windows,” he said, taking Louisa’s arm in one hand and Roxanne’s in the other.

The woman is ours, reaper. Give her to us . . .

“They’re talking,” Roxanne whispered. “I can hear them.”

She turned in place, looking at the ceiling with wide eyes. “They’re telling me to come outside.”

Something gripped Santo’s chest hard and held tight. “Don’t listen to them.”

“They say they’ll kill you if I don’t.”

“They tried that already. Hellhounds. Still here.”

“But—”

He took her face in his hands. “Don’t listen to them. And whatever you do, if they get in, if we get out . . . just don’t look them in the eye.”

“Why?” she breathed.

“Because when you see them, they see you.”

The simple explanation drained the color from her face.

Louisa shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, rocking side to side, muttering a prayer in her native tongue. The soft incantation silenced the birds, but just for a moment.

“I want you both to stay here—away from the windows and doors. I’m going to check the rest of the house.”

He moved down the hall toward the two bedrooms, peering cautiously around the corner before he entered the first. The window in Louisa’s room was shut tight, the curtains drawn. A big mirror hung over her dresser. He yanked the blanket off the bed and draped it over the reflective glass, keeping his eyes averted as he did.

“Why did you do that?”

Startled, he turned to find Roxanne hovering in the doorway with Louisa right behind her. Why had he expected any different?

“Mirrors can be used,” he said, already brushing past them. He closed Louisa’s door and quickly moved to the spare room, unable to stop his quick glance at the mussed bed. The memory of lying there with Roxanne mingled with his fear and anger, binding him as only thoughts of her could.

“Used by the birds . . . ?” Roxanne asked.

Reaper, give us the woman and we won’t tell where you are.

Alarms jangled inside him, but he fought them down. He’d never had reason to fear punishment before. To fear anything. But by stepping into Santo
Castillo’s body, he’d committed a crime that would not be forgiven or forgotten. In his arrogance, he’d never imagined he’d be caught.

They don’t know about you. Yet.

And why would they? In the Beyond, he didn’t even have a name. But if they discovered him masquerading as a human, impersonating an
angel,
he’d learn about hell firsthand.

Reaper, you’re out of time. . . .

Outside the birds had multiplied with astounding speed until the sound of their screeching, their talons on the roof and walls, their beaks pecking as they searched for a way in, had grown so loud that it seemed to come from everywhere.

He pulled back the curtains and checked the lock. The big raven sat just on the other side, watching him with those eerily human eyes. Though the window remained shut, a dark, unpleasant scent seeped into the room.

What future is there for you here, reaper? What do you care for the human?

He yanked the curtains closed and turned to find Roxanne right behind him. Louisa hovered in the hallway, her hands clutching the crucifix around her neck. Wondering what good it would do him, he took his holstered gun from the drawer where he’d stashed it before his shower and put it on.

“Louisa, do you still have Jorge’s truck?” he asked,
suddenly remembering the old F150 that Jorge had driven.

Louisa nodded. “In the garage.”

Relief swelled inside him. The door from the house to the garage was off the laundry room. They wouldn’t have to risk going outside to reach it. Once they locked themselves in the truck, they could open the big garage door and escape. The birds would give chase, but at least on the road, they’d have a chance.

“Where are the keys?”

“On the hook, by the phone. Same as always.”

He pointed down the hall. “Get to the garage. I’ll be right behind you.”

Louisa did as he asked, hurrying toward the laundry room, still mumbling her prayers. Naturally, Roxanne didn’t.

She slipped her hand in his and followed him into the kitchen, muttering, “Just get the keys,” when he opened his mouth to argue.

Outside the birds cawed and beat their wings against the house while that pervasive odor scurried down the hall. The biggest raven still whispered in his ear, but he blocked it out, focusing on the uneven cadence of Roxanne’s breath and the rampant beat of his own heart.

Her hand in his gave him strength. It didn’t make a damn bit of sense, but when he found the keys, he thought,
I’m going to get us out of here.

And he believed it for exactly three seconds.

E
verything happened at once, but Roxanne saw each minute event with impossible clarity.

The sound of the bird hitting the window reverberated and the curtains billowed just as a small hole appeared in the glass and cracks snapped from the shattered center. No longer buffered by a barrier, the shrill and raucous cries of the ravens hit like a ravaging storm.

Santo grabbed her arm as one of the smaller ravens wedged its body in the jagged opening, emerging with a
plop,
bloodied, right leg nearly severed by the sharp edges of glass. Santo pulled her through the archway as the bird hopped pitifully on the counter, its soulless eyes fixed on her. She couldn’t look away. A second raven followed, then the glut of black bodies shattered the fractured window and exploded into the house.

Roxanne screamed as Santo shielded her with his body. Standing on the other side of the house, Louisa stared out from the open laundry room with wild eyes.

“Go!” she and Santo shouted at the same time as they tried to follow.

Louisa jumped and spun, dashing into the garage. Santo and Roxanne hurried after her, but the birds swarmed the house like giant wasps. They formed a writhing black barricade between Roxanne and Santo and their means of escape. The ravens swooped at her hair, grabbing it with their ugly clawed feet. Letting their talons graze her scalp and skin. Drawing blood and retreating in a vicious game she didn’t know how to play.

Santo fought back, but there were too many. The birds surrounded them, a net of oily feathers and moldering stench that drew tighter and tighter, trapping them. Roxanne gagged, waving her arms wildly, terrified beyond rational thought. More birds swooped in, all sharp beaks and scythelike feet. She screamed again and then couldn’t stop screaming as they surged in the small space.

In her panic, she stumbled over her feet and plunged through the mass of fluttering, jostling,
aggressive
bodies, hitting the floor chin first. She tasted blood on her tongue, but beneath the flock, she found a pocket of uncontaminated air and sucked it in. Still sprawled flat on her belly, she turned her head and saw Santo’s shoes an
arm’s length away. She reached for him just as he fell to one knee. The birds flapped around his face, snapping their beaks at his mouth and nose, smothering him with their loathsome black bodies.

“Santo!” she screamed, but her throat burned and her voice emerged powerless.

Santo’s left hand and his other knee hit the ground, then he lurched hard to the right and toppled.

“
Santo!
”

Roxanne lunged toward him, madly beating back the birds that congregated at his face. But for every one of them she swiped away, two others took its place, their bodies so close to his nose and mouth that he had no hope of drawing a clean breath. The ravens pecked and scratched at her, refusing to give up their spoils. They took hunks of flesh and left bloody gouges as she relentlessly struggled to get them away from Santo. In desperation, she used her body to protect his inert form, taking the brunt of the attack.

We see you,
the ravens screeched in her head.
We’ve found you.

She rocked back and forth, tucking herself into a ball, pulling Santo’s head in her lap and curling her torso over him. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing. She couldn’t tell if she was either.

We found you, we found you, we found you. . . .

Found. By Abaddon. The personification of Death. The part of hell that every human lived in terror of, even
when they didn’t know it by name. And she didn’t even know what he wanted her for.

But she felt like she’d been running from him her whole life—well, maybe not
him,
but some instinct had made her afraid. Urged her to strive to be
normal. Ordinary.
But here she was, in extraordinary crosshairs all the same.

Why was she still running? Why was she allowing this King of the Abyss, this Abaddon, to hurt the people she cared about? She could protect them better by just giving up.

That’s right
, the voice cooed
. It’s time to give up.

For a moment, she found her grip on Santo loosening, and she almost stood.

She shook her head, disoriented. What was she thinking? She couldn’t quit. Evil surrounded her. Whatever gift it wanted to steal from her, it would use it against her. Against her loved ones.

He wants to help you. He wants to bring you home.

Home? Home, to a place worse than
hell
? She scoffed at the idea even as something insidious seeped inside her and painted another picture. One of warm welcome. One of belonging, at last.

Yes, yes. Come home where you belong.

She lifted her head and stared at the birds. The nearest ones skittered back.
See? We’re no threat.

No, of course they weren’t. They were messengers, nothing more. And they would help her. She could see
that now. Abaddon had sent them to show her the way. He didn’t want to hurt her.

He
was who waited for her in death. How had she not known that?
He
was the one who held her, who . . .

Her arms loosened their tight hold on Santo, and a strange numbness overtook her.

Yes,
the ravens whispered.
Yes, yes yes. . . .

She put a hand on Santo’s chest for balance as she tried to stand. The birds retreated another inch or two, giving her space. Encouraging her to come . . . come. . . .

She could feel Santo’s heart pounding beneath her palm. Labored, erratic. The beat of it almost penetrated the calm that enveloped her.

What was she doing? They’d gotten in her head. Santo had warned her not to look at them. She couldn’t listen to them. She couldn’t trust in winged messengers sent by Death.