Once the pain stopped, She of No Name looked at her wings. They were now part of her. Not for a moment, but forever. She merely had to think what she wanted and her muscles would twitch and the wings would do what she needed.

“I guess we won’t be running away,” one of her sisters joked.

“They’ll never make us run again,” she said, smiling.

She shook out her wings and the men riding toward her yanked on the reins of their horses, pulling them back.

“Demons!” the men screamed. “They are demons! Run!”

“My son!” their leader screamed. “Find my son!” But his men, in their fear, ignored their leader and ran. They ran from former slaves.

“Now what?” one sister asked.

“We find a place to rest and eat. I’m starving,” she suddenly realized. And now she would eat whatever she wanted. No more scraps from anyone else’s table, fought over with the dogs.

“We’ll just walk around with these wings? They’re huge. The villagers will just try to kill us.”

Realizing her sister had a point, she who was once a slave twitched her muscles and thought, hard. She realized it was becoming more difficult to create what she wanted for her body. That ability was quickly leaving her. But with some strong effort, the wings retracted into her, disappearing completely behind flesh. Then, with another twitch, the wings came out again.

The other sisters laughed. “That’s brilliant!”

“Now can we go and eat?” she said. “All this killing has made me so very hungry. But first . . .”

“But first . . . what?”

“But first”—she stretched out her arm and pointed at the dead leader’s father—“him.”

Together they flew up and over to the man. He was still on his horse and pulled his sword, swinging wildly at them. She who was once a slave dove at him first, wrapping her legs around his waist and holding him while she stabbed at him with her blade. Two more sisters dropped on him and grabbed hold, stabbing at him as well. They kept stabbing, screaming as the man screamed, delighting in his blood and pain and misery as he had delighted in their subjugation. Finally, when the man no longer screamed but slumped in his saddle, only held up by them, one of the other sisters hovering nearby called out, “His men return!”

Now they would go.

They released their hold on the body and their wings lifted them, leaving the field of death behind. As they flew, they soon realized that the crows from the battlefield followed them.

“Why do they follow?” one of the sisters asked over the cold northern winds.

And she replied, “Because we are now one of them. Because we are now crows. For we, too, are the harbingers of death.”

That night they slept likebabes. No longer fearing anything. Not even death itself.

Erin watched as Kera suddenly opened her eyes and looked around the room.

“You okay?” she asked Kera.

“I have to go,” Kera said, getting to her feet.

“But—”

“I have to go. I’m sorry. I have to go.” Then she was gone. Across the office and out the door.

“Jesus Christ, she’s snapped,” Leigh said.

But Betty didn’t agree. “No. She hasn’t.”

“But she’s running,” Erin pointed out.

“No. She’s not running.” And Betty smiled. “She’ll never run again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Vig was about to make himself some breakfast when his front door opened and Kera walked in. She stood there, staring at him for a long moment. She was still in her battle gear from the previous night so she hadn’t been back to the Bird House. He really hoped that she and Erin hadn’t gotten into another fight.

“I need your help,” she finally said.

“Anything.”

She stepped farther inside. “I have to do this. I have to be a Crow.”

“You already are a Crow.”

“Not until I can do my job.”

“What do you need, Kera?”

“I need to learn how to kill. The Crows just threw me in, but you taught me how to fly.” She cleared her throat. “I thought maybe you could teach me how to kill.”

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“I am now.”

“Okay.” He walked over to her, held his hands out. “Give me everything in your pockets.”

Kera handed over her cell phone and several twenties. Vig dropped them onto the side table by the couch.

He grabbed Kera’s hand. “Come on.” He pulled her out the door and off the porch.

“Where?”

“You’ll see.”

Vig glanced up at the sky. “Hurry.” He pulled her through the woods until he reached his sister’s house. Katja was just walking out, her winged helmet on her head, her too-tiny-for-his-comfort silver Valkyrie skirt and silver tank top on.

She stopped when she saw Vig and Kera, blinked in surprise. “What are you two doing here?”

“I need your help, sister.”

First, Kat stared at him in confusion; then her eyes widened, and she shook her head adamantly. “No, Vig. No.”

“Kat—”

“No. Taking you is one thing. But her? No way.”

“Please. I’m asking you as the sister who loves her brother—”

“Oh God.”

“Do this for me.”