Black Wings Read online

  The bird flew over the roof and landed on the front porch railing with a squawk. Marian couldn’t hear what Briella was saying, but she could see the girl pull a handful of something from her jacket pocket and hold it out. Goldfish crackers, it looked like. The bird pecked a few delicately and flapped its wings before flying off.

  Marian opened the car door. “People food can’t be good for it.”

  She wanted to say more than that. She wanted to ban the damn bird, but what was the saying? Keep your enemies close, something like that? The bird wasn’t an enemy, exactly, but it was definitely not Marian’s friend.

  Briella had turned with an almost comical look of surprise. She watched as her mother heaved herself out of the front seat, then ran down the front porch steps to greet her.

  “Mama, what the heck?”

  Marian laughed softly at the kid’s expression, even as she gave her own confused look. “What are you doing home so early? Are you sick?”

  “No. Everyone got out of school early. There was a message sent out to the parents.”

  That damn parent portal must have screwed up again. Marian was getting totally frustrated by it. She closed the driver’s side door and hitched her bag higher on her shoulder. She tucked a strand of Briella’s curly hair behind her ear. “Why was everyone sent home?”

  “I don’t know.” Briella shrugged.

  “I didn’t get the message, so I guess it’s a good thing I got home when I did. How was school?”

  “Oh, it was awesome. Today I got to work in the art room, at least until Mrs. Addison got sick. Hey, Onyx!”

  The bird had returned. Marian suppressed her distaste as it swooped around them to land on the railing again. Something shone in its beak. Briella held out her hand, and the bird dropped its gift into her palm.

  “Briella,” it said.

  “Thanks! Look, Mama. What is this?” Briella held up a small silver key attached to a tiny scrap of crimson ribbon.

  “It looks like the key to a diary. Someone’s going to be sad they’re missing it,” Marian said. “You should tell it to take it back.”

  Briella snorted laughter and stroked the bird’s sleek black head. “You always say you don’t believe he’s that smart, you know, but then you want him to do stuff like that.”

  “Fair enough,” Marian said as she got the front door open, pushing hard because it tended to stick. She cast a few last warning words over her shoulder. “It doesn’t come in the house.”

  “I know, I know. Onyx, I’ll play with you later, in the backyard.” Briella followed her mother into the shadowy front hallway. “You smell like burgers. Are we having burgers for dinner?”

  Marian pushed away her guilt, glad she’d forgotten the empty wrappers in the car so she didn’t have to explain her greedy indulgence. “You have a nose like a bloodhound, you know that?”

  “Does that mean you think I look like a dog?” Briella swung her backpack onto the hook by the closet and kicked off her shoes.

  “It means you’ve got a really sensitive sense of smell.”

  “Yeah, I do. Like when I smelled Daddy’s mom, and I knew she was…you know.” In the dim lighting it was hard to see Briella’s expression, but her tone was casual, even though she cut herself off.

  Marian went into the kitchen. “We’re having baked chicken and mashed potatoes with green beans for dinner.”

  “Yuck. Would rather have burgers and fries! Why can’t we go get some?”

  “Because I already planned for us to have baked chicken and mashed potatoes and green beans.” Marian opened the freezer door to pull out the package of chicken to defrost.

  Briella kicked at the floor. “Ugh.”

  “C’mon, Bean. Briella. You like chicken.”

  Briella shrugged and gave her mother a sideways glance. “Did you go to see Grandpa today?”

  “Yes.” Marian hesitated, facing the sink as she washed her hands. She kept her question light. “How did you know?”

  “I can smell it on you,” Briella said in a low voice.

  Marian was silent for a moment. She dried her hands. She turned to her daughter. “He’s going to die, isn’t he?”

  Briella looked caught, guilty, although she had no reason to feel that way. “I don’t know.”

  “You can tell me, Briella. If you know something. If…Onyx told you.” Marian cleared her throat. On impulse, she moved forward to take her daughter by the shoulders and held her still so she could look deeply into Briella’s eyes. “Please. I know you love Grandpa, and you love me.”

  “I don’t know anything,” Briella insisted. Her eyes were bright, but not with tears. “I’m going to play outside in the yard, okay?”

  Marian nodded, then added after a pause, “Don’t leave the yard.”

  “Why can’t we have burgers?” Briella cast this last plea over her shoulder.

  “I’m making the dinner I planned, and that’s what you’ll eat.”

  And there it was: Marian had lost it completely. That tenuous thread of bonding with her child. Marian’s biting tone had clearly broadcast her irritation. The scant few moments they’d shared in which she had thought maybe she might be able to connect with her kid had vanished.

  She was a shitty mother.

  Marian’s hands went protectively over her belly. The baby inside probably twisted and squirmed, but it was too early to feel it kicking. The child in front of her gave Marian a steady, unblinking stare.

  “Go outside and play,” Marian said in a low voice.

  It was still a little too early to make dinner, but it took her only a few minutes to defrost the chicken in the microwave and put it in the oven along with the potatoes she would serve baked instead of mashed – less effort that way. Before she’d even had time to finish cleaning up the counter, Briella had returned.

  “I thought you were going to play outside.”

  “It’s cold.” Briella shrugged. “I’m going upstairs to read.”

  That was even better, since a sudden wave of exhaustion had washed over Marian. “Dinner’s in the oven. You can have a small snack if you want one.”

  Briella declined a snack. It would be another few hours before Dean woke up and it would be time for dinner. Marian went into the den and powered up the old computer. She fought with the slow browser and changed her password one more time to get into the parent portal. When she was finally able to access it, she checked the email address listed for her. Once again, the same as it had every other time she’d been locked out, her email had been subtly changed by one letter.

  “Damn it,” she muttered.

  She changed it back to the correct address. Along the side of the site, a menu bar listed several options. One of them she’d never paid attention to before was ‘Previous History’. She clicked on it. It listed each of her failed log-in attempts and password changes. It also listed several other log-ins with password changes, all of them to that same subtly incorrect email address.

  She stared at the list for a long time.

  She rarely used the computer, but when she did, it was never at two, three or four in the morning, which was when the previous email addresses and passwords had been changed. Marian clicked on the portal’s News tab. She saw the announcement for the early dismissal, and the reason why.

  Mrs. Addison, Briella’s homeroom teacher and her advisor for the work on the Blackangel project, had suffered a severe grand mal seizure during class. The trauma had been enough that the administration had sent all the kids home early.

  Marian closed the browser window and shut the computer down. She went upstairs, feeling very calm. Very measured. She knocked on Briella’s door, but didn’t wait for a greeting to push it open.

  She found the girl sitting on the window seat, the window open. No sign of the bird, but that meant nothing. Briella turned when Marian came in.