by Nicole Kurtz
Prentice’s fingers tingled and had grown numb. She wished she’d brought a pair of gloves, but too late now. Her vindictiveness would be her folly. Her nana had told her as much. Could she have waited until tomorrow to speak with the Finches? Yes, she could’ve, but that wouldn’t have proven the point.
It was part vindictiveness and part curiosity. A dangerous combination for a hawk. She wanted to push Carno’s buttons, to get him off-kilter, just to see what he would do. It could backfire splendidly.
Just when she felt she’d flown to the farthest corner of the nest, she spied it. Glowing like a beacon on a lighthouse, the Finch house sat on the banks of the Sugar River, large and majestic. Multiple chimneys and sweeping architecture that spoke to multiple generations of builders.
Prentice coasted until she landed with a small tumble about a block from the Finches’ home. Everything vied for her visual attention. Crickets in the grass. Lanterns glowing along the street. The water dripping from roofs. She wanted to retract her hawk vision, but if she did it now, she’d be blind until her human sight returned.
She didn’t know how long that would be.
Focus!
The wad of spit dangling from the branch of a rose bush held hints of blood. She could see the scarlet-bespeckled dots. Prentice pulled her attention back to the street that ended at the Finches grand estate. Ahead, the road narrowed until she arrived at the front gate. Wrought iron and heavy, it spoke to an earlier period of Gould history. It had a heavy lock and thick chains threaded through the bars. Fencing hugged the gate and sectioned off the Finches’ land from their closest neighbors. These homes, dwarfed by the Finches, only had one story. Prentice wondered if these smaller homes had been servant quarters long ago and now held those descendants. Free from servitude, but still serving in the master’s house.
Prentice spied the caller in a covered box position on a pedestal. She picked it up and blew. The scarlet caller shot out a small bubble, about the size of Prentice’s hand.
A man appeared, but unlike the others, he looked like sour milk. “Finch residence.”
“Prentice Tasifa to see Bella Finch.” Prentice tried not to focus so hard on the tiny hairs along the man’s nostrils. They crawled out as if attempting an escape. His hairline had receded, and his over-sized front teeth made closing his mouth difficult.
“Yes. You are expected.” The bubble burst.
Prentice placed it back in the box and waited. She rubbed her stiff fingers and shook out her wings to pass the time. Someone would have to physically come down from the house and unlock the gate, and then they’d have to walk back up to the house, which—from what she spied—was roughly a half-mile up the drive.
Tall trees, evergreens, firs, and pines stood like sentinels along the sides of the house. The original architects and builders had cleared only the trees necessary to construct the home. The later generations had followed the same course as they expanded the residence. As a result, the trees now stood taller than the structure itself. A beautiful, lush forest existed around the Finch homestead.
A lantern bobbed in the dark as it exited the front of the house. Even from this distance, she spied one of Gretchen’s sisters. Her cloak bore her initial, a scarlet R, and she climbed onto a horse. The beautiful sable brown mare with jet-black mane galloped down the path. The girl leaned into the ride as she went as fast as the horse could take her.
Prentice grinned. Still time for fun, even in the wake of one’s sister’s death.
The young girl reached the gate, climbed down and set about unlocking it with a rather big key. It took both her hands to turn it. Prentice ended up steadying the lock itself. The girl watched her as she removed the chains from the bars.
“Your eyes look funny. They’re glowing. Orange.” The child swallowed anxiously, as if she doubted she should’ve said it.
“I’m a hawk,” Prentice explained. She could see the goosebumps and tiny hairs rising along the girl’s arms as well. “Do not be afraid.”
“I’m not scared,” the child pushed out bravely. “You’ll have to walk back. Muffin doesn’t let anyone ride ’er but me.”
“What’s your name?” Prentice asked, seeing the cold sweat along her lip, even five feet away. The girl kept her distance, just out of arm’s reach. Smart.
“Rachel Finch.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Rachel Finch.”
“Head on back, so I can close the gate,” Rachel said, gesturing with the chains for Prentice to move.
Prentice obeyed and started walking up the dirt path toward the Finches’ front door. She heard the chains clang behind her as Rachel locked the gate. A few minutes later, Muffin and Rachel thundered by on their race back home.
The ache started in the back of her eyes, but Prentice ignored it. Too late to shut down her hawk vision, she swore at her own failed timing. Part of interrogating and questioning people involved seeing their reactions, their body language. She swallowed the throbbing ache, deep in the recesses of her eyes. She’d kept at it too long.
Damn her stubbornness.
She ran and leapt into the air, choosing instead to fly to the front door. She could have sailed over the gate too, but that would’ve been rude and an abuse of power. It would be the same as if she used her abilities to spy on Balthazar in the bath.
Prentice landed, noting Muffin and Rachel were nowhere to be seen. Fog rolled gently over the grounds, and the hushed quiet gave the area an eerie atmosphere. Through the haze, she found the doorknocker. As she raised her hand to knock, the door handle rattled, and the door yawned open.
The man who she’d seen on the bubble now stood before her. Short, squat, and serious, the man turned and started down the long foyer.
“Follow me.”
Prentice closed the door and did as instructed. She had to force herself not to take in every single detail snaring her attention. She had to focus on the task at hand. The gleaming polish on the framed pictures, the candle wax dripped down the edges of the candelabras, all screamed for her notice. A sharp stabbing pain shot through her left eye. She grabbed it, hissing in pain.
“Madam?” the butler asked, over his shoulder.
“I’m fine. It’s nothing. I’ve flown a long distance.” She offered a grin.
He’d already turned around and resumed his pace to the great room. The foyer emptied into a semi-circular room with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the Sugar River. In the center of the windows, a great marble fireplace and stone mantle stood. Above it, a portrait of a rather bland woman, round from wealth and privilege, glowered out at all who entered. All of the room’s color scheme centered around gold and ivory. Three couches—arranged in a horseshoe—faced each other, with the central one facing the fire and the giant windows. A massive coffee table covered in a scattering of bowls filled with different seeds and grapes completed the center of the room. Along the edges were grander artworks and portraits of the Finch family matriarchs.
The Finches sat on couches. The entire family except Rachel.
“Welcome Hawk Tasifa.” Bella Finch rose from one of the elegantly shaped sofas and came to greet her.
Prentice stopped. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”
“We knew we’d have to have this conversation eventually,” Bella said. She smiled, but it stretched tight against her pale skin. Thin lips pulled over teeth.
“I won’t take much of your time.” Prentice swallowed against the searing agony in her left eye.
“Are you all right? Your eyes are...glowing.” Bella fell back a step, her hand to her mouth.
“Yes. I’m fine.” Prentice gestured to the family.
Rachel came in through a side door. She took off her riding cloak and boots in the alcove just inside the entranceway.
“You reek of horses,” Geraldine said.
“Well, the barn is right there,” Rachel retorted, her pink face pinched in annoyance.
“Go wash up,” Oliver said gently to her.
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br /> Prentice came farther into the room and passed Rachel.
Heating this room during the long Gould winters must cost scores of birdsong, but Prentice didn’t ask that question. Instead, she turned back to the family.
“Shall we begin?”
Prentice spied Carno’s head among Bella’s daughters. He wore a greasy smirk. Bella joined Oliver on the sofa adjacent to their children minus Rachel. Across from them sat four other Finches; the family resemblance stained their features. Prentice took out her pad and pencil.
“Let’s do introductions. Tell me your name and relationship to Gretchen.” Prentice nodded at Bella, who sat beside her husband and two other individuals. She recognized them from lunch at the church, but she didn’t know their names.
She wrote down their names as they went around. Bella’s sister, Skylar, and Skylar’s husband, Evan, sat wedged between the sofa arm and Oliver. Across from them, sat the family matriarch, Geraldine Finch, her husband, Robert Finch, and Skylar’s children, two toddlers.
The clatter of Rachel’s shoes on the wood floor interrupted Prentice. She waited until the young Finch got seated and comfortable before she continued.
“Tell us about you, Hawk Tasifa. That’s a Kahassian name, isn’t it? Judging by the markings on your face, you are what? Tisonian?” Geraldine Finch asked, her hands folded politely in her lap, despite the rude undercurrents.
The question took Prentice by surprise. Most people this far north hadn’t even heard of Tison, and no one else had mentioned her markings.
“Yes, I’m Tisonian.”
“Those three yellow dots along your forehead and the green and black ones down the nose, give it all away.” Geraldine chuckled to herself.
As if Prentice was trying to hide it. She could explain the three tattoos across her forehead represented the goddess, her flock, and herself. The three tattoos along her nose represented the goddess’s three pillars of love, peace, and obedience. Instead, she turned back to Bella.
“Tell me about Gretchen.” Prentice glanced up at them. As she listened, she watched their fingers. She scanned for broken fingernails.
“At first, we thought someone had kidnapped her and was holding her captive. We couldn’t grasp what happened,” Bella said, swallowing hard and clutching her husband’s hand. Manicured nails polished an off-white color. None broken.
“We thought someone had dragged her out of her carriage.” Oliver brushed his bangs aside. Manicured nails clipped to respectable levels and polished with a clear polish.
Bella picked up the thread. “We scraped the earth looking for her, but nothing.”
A circle of lanterns sat on the coffee table, casting a soft light on everyone.
“Tell me about her,” Prentice explained. “Who was Gretchen Finch?”
“She was a bright star extinguished too early. She’d just started coming into her own.” Geraldine Finch mopped her eyes with a handkerchief.
“She’ll be in our hearts forever,” Oliver added.
Both parents’ hands, like her daughters, were clean and well done. Polished with polite, mute colors, just like the men. The broken nail didn’t come from them, though it was possible they could’ve had them repaired.
The atmosphere was stifling. The massive hearth poured out heat.
“As you can imagine, this has been devastating to our family.” Geraldine sounded sober, stern. “Gretchen liked to go to the crows and wallow around their shallow pools.”
Beside her, her husband’s face bore no expression or visual response. Prentice didn’t know if the senior Finch could talk or move. He sat still, hushed and restrained.
“The crows?” Prentice asked, to be polite. She shifted her gaze to the siblings, the four of them all seated on the sofa in a perfect row, backs straight and hands folded in front of them.
“Yes, have you talked to them? They’re shrewd and calculating,” Geraldine Finch said with her nose high.
Before she could reply, Carno barked out a harsh laugh.
“It wasn’t the blasted crows!” He pushed off the sofa, forcing his siblings on either side to complain and fall into each other. Rachel scowled. The other two daughters cried and held hands.
“Yes, it was! They’d do anything to get at us!” Geraldine shouted, twisting in her seat, back ramrod straight.
“Don’t talk to your grandmother that way, Carno,” his mother interjected gently. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “Apologize. Now!”
“Gretchen was a cow! She had to be the bride at every wedding! The center of attention.” Carno cackled, his wild eyes locked on Prentice.
“Carno!” His mother shouted, bolting to her feet. “Enough!”
“It’s the truth!” Carno didn’t break eye contact with Prentice. He glowered, his chest heaving in anger.
Prentice wouldn’t look away, despite the growing agony in her eye. She could tell he enjoyed that they skated along the edge of an explosive argument.
“That’s your warped truth,” Oliver said in his calm voice. He frowned at his son.
Prentice watched Rachel, the youngest sibling, chew on her bottom lip. Carno’s outbursts weren’t new to this family, and it wasn’t the effect of grief. The other daughter beside Rachel had her hands over both ears and both eyes closed. Prentice had been granted a peek behind the Finches’ veil, and she knew she had to be cautious.
“That’s right. That’s my truth. You’re all too blind to see who she really was!” Carno glowered at Prentice before stalking out of the room.
“My apologies, Hawk Tasifa.” Bella watched her son storm off.
“No need. Outside of the crows, who else would want Gretchen dead?” Prentice’s left eye burned so badly it had started to weep.
She dropped her head and wiped it discreetly. She pretended to be making notes. Her right eye could see the right half of the room. The grandparents, the younger grandkids, and two of the five siblings as Carno had disappeared into the inner reaches of the house. The veil of normalcy slipped.
A thick silence took up residence in the rather grand room. It didn’t feel quite so impressive. Prentice stood up, her movements slow. She’d viewed the hands of everyone. All well-maintained fingertips and hands that never done a hard day’s work in their lives.
Except for one.
Carno.
“You can’t think of anyone else who may have hurt her?” Prentice placed her pencil and pad into her pouch. She adjusted her hood. The optic pain progressed from throbbing to outright inflamed fury.
“The crows! Are you deaf?” Geraldine threw up her hands. She tsked and shook her head in disgust.
Bella came to Prentice and said quietly, “Our lives changed in that moment when Gretchen went missing and pivoted again when they found her dead. She was a beautiful, if rebellious, girl. She wasn’t perfect, but she didn’t deserve to die like this.”
Oliver came up behind his wife and held her close to him.
“No, she didn’t. I will find the person who hurt your daughter.” Prentice started for the door. “I’ll see myself out.”
She made her way down the hallway. Thankfully, she recalled it led to the front door.
The butler closed and locked that door behind her.
Then everything in Prentice’s vision snapped.
Oh, the irony.
Chapter Seven
Standing outside the door, Prentice remembered the half-mile long walk to the Finch gate and its lock. She stood under the lantern’s beam of light. She could attempt to fly, but the idea of flying blind did not appeal to her. If she’d been familiar with the terrain, she would do it. She started walking, using her memory of her earlier flyover to navigate significant pitfalls.
The horse’s gallop announced Rachel’s arrival before she spoke. Prentice stopped.
“Hawk Tasifa, do you want to ride down to the gate?” Rachel asked.
“You said Muffin wouldn’t allow anyone else to ride her.”
“I can give her some nice oats to
let you on.”
“Then you’ll have to walk.”
“Yes, but I walk this path sometimes,” Rachel said with a giggle.
Prentice shook her head. “You ride, but I would like to hold on to the saddle.”
“Okay.”
Prentice waited until Rachel took her hand and guided it to the saddle. They started down the path. She heard the nocturnal animals moving against the velvety night. The smell of the horse, Rachel’s soft perfume, and the cold were all stronger than when she’d first arrived.
“Hawk Tasifa, you’re not well, are you?” Rachel asked.
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Your eyes were doing funny things, and now they’re closed and leaking.”
Perceptive youngster.
Prentice remained silent. Hawks didn’t broadcast their failings. She focused on trying to figure out what to do next.
She couldn’t fly back to the church in this state. Perhaps she could sit by the Sugar River until her sight returned, then return to the church.
“Are you gonna find out who hurt my sister?” Rachel asked.
“Yes.”
“What if it isn’t the crows?” Hesitation made her voice shake.
Prentice kept walking along with Muffin and Rachel. She waited. Experience taught her that people didn’t like silence and would rush to fill it. So, she waited to see what else Rachel would tell her.
“I mean, it is probably the crows who hurt Gretchen. Anyway, Mom told her not to go around them, but she didn’t obey. She liked to do whatever she wanted. Gretchen pushed the edge a little bit,” Rachel explained.
“What if it isn’t the crows?” Prentice turned the question around.
“I dunno. It could be someone else. The not knowing is hard to deal with.” Rachel whispered this last. “Gretchen did some despicable things…”