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with tears. With my hand still on the handle, I turned and looked over my shoulder, looking at
Edgar, showing him what I felt. He had forced me into this situation, purposefully made it harder on
me. That was not an act of love, but an act of jealousy. I scowled, angry that he didn t even bother
to stand up to Nicholas, too weak to even resemble the strong man I had once known. I let a lone
tear fall and then wiped my eyes to clear my vision. I saw Edgar blink a few times, hiding the fact
he was hurt, but I did not care it felt good to let him wallow.
With one last inhale, I turned back and twisted the handle, the door flying open on a gust of wind. I
braced myself against the gusts as the chandelier in the hall filled the room with the sound of tin-
kling crystal. I quickly changed into a raven, using the loft in the windy air to my advantage. It
would be a difficult ride from here to Seattle, but I had the strength of hatred fueling me, plus I
needed the time to think.
As I took to the sky, I heard the door to the house slam behind me. I cut up and over the trees, fol-
lowing the same river that had brought me here two years ago. I watched as the blue grey water
crashed below me, the rapids swollen with mud and debris. The dam of Lake Diablo loomed behind
me, brimming with angered water and threatening to break. Adjusting the feathers on my wings like
rudders, the wind carried me down the mountain. I blinked back the rain, streaming it to my feath-
ers, now drenched and heavy. After a while of determined flight, the river finally spilled into the
Puget Sound, the San Juan Islands speckling the enraged ocean below. I marveled at the color of the
water, a deep turquoise as it churned like a whirlpool.
I tilted and followed the mouth of water south, keeping my eyes on the roughened shoreline. I flew
over spent fields where tulips once thrived and rivers with swollen banks of mud that now engulfed
the low-lying towns, leaving nothing but rooftops. Cows were gathered on hillsides that were sur-
rounded by water, and as the country disappeared, I saw more and more cars littered across the
roads, abandoned and gathered by the flash floods that had plagued the area.
I was shocked to see that it had gotten this bad horrified by what had become of the place I had
once called home. I had avoided it for so long, scared away by the memories and false existence I
had lived here, lost and alone. I had avoided visiting my dear friends out of selfish fear, but I now
ran to them, because I did not know where else to go and I did not know who else would even care.
Scott and Sarah had moved back to the city after the wedding, taking the money I had given them
and investing in a small house on the hillsides of Seattle that was in one of the old neighborhoods. It
was a place I was thankful they had invested in, high above the swelling waters and hopefully still
safe from the wind.
Ahead, the port-side piers I had once visited every day came into view, but their docks were well
under water, the roofs now peeking above the waves. I circled around the Space Needle, the blink-
ing red light that once was so reliable now smothered out, the tip of it leaning as the whole structure
began to sink into the sodden ground below. Long strips of black pavement were left cracked and
barren, reminders of the structure that once existed here.
The city ahead was dark and abandoned. The once-busy streets were desolate as the air teemed with
the sweet smell of wet cement. I circled back and over Lake Washington, the body of water that
separated Seattle from the main land, connected only by two floating bridges that had blown away
and sunk into the water.
Scott and Sarah had gotten a house that looked away from the Sound, on the protected side of the
hill where the wind seemed calmer. They looked over Lake Washington, now resembling an ocean
as the waves rose to twenty feet. I dove down, looking from house to house, trying to recall the col-
or from the pictures they had sent me in the mail.
It was a small cream, Tudor-style home, with a round window over the door and a copper overhang.
It was in need of remodeling, but it didn t matter to them. They had a home and that was enough.
When they d gotten it, I remember wondering how much had been in that envelope from my foster
mother and how it was that Heidi had managed to afford it. I was the only child she had ever loved
like a daughter, and perhaps in that love, she had found family.
As payback, I had sent her something in return, packaging up one of my many Van Eyck paintings
and having it delivered. She was the one that had taught me to live, to breathe again. She was the
only one that had faith in me when no one else did. I knew Heidi would have never accepted her
money back, so the priceless painting was the perfect answer. I should have never abandoned her as
I had it was selfish of me, and cruel. If she had loved me like family, then why had I thrown that
love away when I knew it was something to value? The answer was clear, though. I needed to find
myself in order to love again, and I had.
I felt guilt fill my heart. Why hadn t I gone back? I wondered what she had thought of me and the
painting. Had she wondered if I d stolen it? Had she really worried about me like a mother would? I
closed my eyes and shook my head, the rain splashing away and around me. When I opened them,
there it was: the Tudor with the round window. It was facing the street directly below, right next to
what looked like a park, or at least what used to be.
I dove down, leaving my guilt for Heidi behind and promising to see her in the end, when all was
well. I aligned myself with the street and landed on the bare branches of a tree in their front yard.
Looking to the windows, I saw a warm organic glow emanating from inside. I yearned to be near it,
my wings trembling from the cold.
The tree below me slowly groaned and moved then, its bare branches curling toward me in desper-
ation. With horror, I drew my attention away from the house and to the street. The neighboring trees
had all been chopped down, leaving nothing but severed stumps. Following the sidewalk and down
to the end of the street, I saw a pile of fire wood was stacked in the road.
What were they doing? I asked myself. They were speeding up the process. I looked back at the
house, seeing the warm glow flicker once more. It was then that I realized they had no choice.
Could I blame them? The humans needed warmth to survive, the trees sacrificed in their attempt to
stay warm. I blinked hard, trying to justify it but finding it hurt something deep inside. I felt the
same way I did about the trees as I did human flesh, and to me, it was still murder.
The tree under my feet branched out toward me, running a tip through my feathers with affection. A
tear fell from my eye and over my beak, landing on the sodden wood where it sprouted a young
green leaf. The tree acted surprised, the branch shaking with what I hoped was joy. I let out a happy
cry, but as the whole tree began to shake, I started to worry. I pulled my wings from my sides to bal-
ance myself, the tree rocking and twisting from side to side. It was then that the whole tree popped
with life in a sudden display of color and light. Sprouts shot up between my talons and I found my-
self dodging away from them, the tips exploding with flowers and leaves, like tiny fireworks. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]