by Nicole Kurtz
It wasn’t a coincidence.
It was a pattern.
Prentice wrote down the information in her pad. She stood up and stretched. Outside, the daylight faded. She groaned, stretching her wings in the tight space. She’d been reviewing and working for well over an hour and a half.
She opened the door and stepped out into the hallway. The busy station had calmed. Those who’d come in during lunch had left. She found Jamison at the front desk, talking to a man seated there. She recognized him as Eagle Smith, and she waved as she approached.
“Hello,” Prentice said.
Jamison turned around and so did Eagle Smith, who shot out of his chair.
“Are you finished already?” Jamison asked.
“I’m done with the reports. Thank you for letting me review them. Can I speak to you, in private, Eagle Jamison?”
“Of course.”
He followed her back down to the closet-sized room. She shut the door behind them.
“Four people missing from Coopertino. All roosters. That’s a pattern and a problem, Eagle Jamison. All within two weeks. You should have daily patrols down there.” Prentice fought to keep her voice level.
Jamison rounded on her, his face a mask of anger. “You aren’t going to come here and tell me how to patrol my egg!”
“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t have four people missing and one confirmed dead girl!”
Jamison hissed. “I told you. We’re investigating it.”
Prentice said, “And while you drag your feathers, people will continue to die.”
With that she collected her items. She thought about telling Jamison about the two bodies on the green, but she didn’t want to tip her hand yet. Not until she had full confirmation about the victims’ identities. She couldn’t trust him or the rest of the eagles to be smart about identification.
Jamison collected the reports. He left without a word. She heard him farther down the hall demand Smith to come collect the tea tray. She left without another word to either of them. As she walked out of the station, she found James seated on the stairs. He had a glass of water in his fist, and his usual expressionless face pointed toward the horizon.
“Ready, Hawk Tasifa?” he asked, getting to his feet.
“Call me Prentice.”
“Yes, Hawk Tasifa.”
She got into the carriage and pondered what she’d learned.
“Destination?”
“Carlita Starbucks.”
“Yes, Hawk Tasifa.”
Prentice laughed. “James!”
The carriage door locked, and it rocked gently as James climbed into the driver’s seat. The reins snapped and the horse pulled forward, carrying them out onto the path and along their way. As they pulled away, she spied Eagle Jamison come out onto the porch and watch them.
She could see his cigarette smoke drifting into the air.
Chapter Ten
About thirty minutes later, Prentice knocked rapidly on Carlita’s door. The doorknob jiggled from the opposite side, but it didn’t open.
“It’s me. Open up, Carlita.”
The door opened, and Carlita hugged themselves. Dressed in a long black dress with short sleeves and a high collar with boots, they appeared to be grieving. Their long dark hair had been pulled into a high ponytail, held by a silver and diamond clasp. Chunky silver bangles adorned their wrists.
“What do you want?” They didn’t meet Prentice’s eyes, but tears stained their cheeks.
“I needed some fresh air, and I’m here about Alicia Redfern.”
Carlita frowned. “The waitress at Dale’s Coop?”
“Yes.”
“Has something happened?” Carlita fell back enough to allow Prentice to enter their home. The treehouse had been tidied since Prentice’s last visit. The leather loveseat now faced the leather chair adjacent to the stone fireplace. Lanterns sat in equal measure on the mantle. Shiny and colorful vases gleamed beside the glowing lanterns.
“She’s dead,” Prentice said as she closed the door behind her.
Carlita gasped. They walked into the living room, picked up their throw pillow, and collapsed into the chair. They gestured for Prentice to sit across from them. A thick tree stump made a makeshift table. A bone-white teacup sat with steaming liquid inside. A saucer contained a partially eaten sandwich.
“She was so ordinary,” Carlita said, drawing Prentice’s attention back to them.
“What does that mean?” Prentice asked as she came over and took a proffered seat across from them.
“She was like everyone else. Hustling hard. Trying to enjoy her life.”
“Did you see a lot of her at the Coop?” Prentice asked, leaning forward, resting her elbows on her knees.
“We didn’t go to Dale’s all the time, so not really.” Carlita picked up the teacup with one hand and held the throw pillow tight in the other.
“You ever see Carno at the Coop?” Prentice asked.
“Gretchen’s brother?”
Prentice nodded.
“Only twice, maybe. One time he came down there angry at Gretchen. They argued something furious.”
“About?”
Carlita shrugged. “Dunno. There was loud music, shouting, and whatnot.”
Having been to Dale’s, Prentice understood. “Go on.”
“After a period of sulking and being surly, he tried flirting with one of the hens there. He ended up manhandling her until they went outside.”
“What happened to the woman?” Prentice asked, having a good idea of where this was heading. It didn’t surprise her Carno had tried to force his way. He had weak character. The goddess wouldn’t approve.
Carlita hugged the pillow close. “Hens can be mean. Which is why you shouldn’t mess with them. When Carno came back inside, he had scratches all over his face and neck, if we remember correctly.”
“What did he do then?” Prentice wrote notes down in her pad.
Carlita fingered the pillow’s tassels. “Dunno. He stormed off to the restroom or something. Gretchen used to say Carno got volatile when he didn’t get his way, so he got mouthy with the hen again and Dale tossed him out.”
Carlita unknowingly had witnessed Carno attacking a woman.
“Was the woman Alicia?” Prentice asked.
Carlita cast their eyes on the fire. “No. I think this was a few days before Alicia left.”
Alicia left. Prentice didn’t show it on her face, but she found it strange. Carlita had alluded to Alicia leaving as if on a trip or vacation. Prentice wondered who had spun that narrative. She’d have to go down to Dale’s and follow up. They could shed more light on who might have hurt Gretchen and the others.
“Can you tell me how Gretchen reacted that night?”
Carlita chuckled. “She blew it off. She was with Boris. Oblivious.”
Prentice thought about how a young woman in her first real relationship would be happy to be rid of her overbearing brother. So, she decided to switch gears.
“How did Gretchen feel about her family?”
“She was irritated with them, and she loved them.” Carlita sipped her tea.
“But…”
“But, Carno scared her. He was a dark person. You understand? You could sense he was capable of hurt.” Carlita shuddered. “There never seemed to be a real person in there. But I’ve only met him two or three times.”
Did something darker lurk beneath Carno’s attractive façade? Prentice had seen the mask slip and the real monster peek out when she reviewed their limited interactions. His arguments with his grandmother had seemed over the top.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Prentice asked, shaking her head.
“You dunno how powerful the Finch family is in Gould. Plus, our best friend had been killed. We were numb, shocked, and we didn’t know if we were next. We still don’t know.” Carlita wiped their eyes. “Our stomach bubbled, and we were shaking and sweaty…”
“I’m sorry. You’re right to b
e cautious. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Carlita sobbed. “She wanted someone to fill the void inside her. She was so lonely. That’s all.”
In a home filled with family, Gretchen shouldn’t have been lonely.
“Thank you for your time. I will be in touch.” Prentice stood.
Carlita had curled up into the chair, and sipped their tea, lost in the dancing flames.
James had fed the horse while Prentice interviewed Carlita. His expression didn’t change when she emerged. He only nodded in greeting. She got the carriage steps down herself and climbed in without waiting for James. Her conversation with Carlita had left her much to ponder. The sun hugged the horizon, and her stomach grumbled for food. She closed her eyes.
“Would you like to return to the church now, Hawk Tasifa?” James’s deep rumble asked.
“Yes, please. I’m sure the dove wants you back. I’ve taken you from your chores most of the day.”
“My brother is there today,” James replied.
“No wonder he was so adamant I take the carriage. He must’ve wanted me out of his hair.” Prentice laughed.
James grunted.
“You don’t have to agree with him.”
Soon the carriage started on its way. She’d gotten used to the swaying and bumpy ride through Gould’s streets and pathways. James had lowered the windows, so the forest’s sweet smell wafted in. Beneath those odors came the river’s earthiness and the flush of floral aromas.
She awoke to James unlocking the carriage door. Darkness had descended, and her muscles felt stiff from the awkward angle she’d slept in. Rubbing her neck, she stepped out of the carriage.
To her surprise, Balthazar didn’t come out to greet her. As she looked around, carriages filled the lot, all arranged in neat rows. Music and voices drifted from the church’s sanctuary.
“It’s Wednesday evening services.” James answered her unspoken question. “Good night, Hawk Tasifa.”
She’d lost track of the days.
“Good evening, James.”
Prentice headed through the courtyard and into the side hallway that led to the dove’s office and the spiral staircase up to the living quarters. She went into the guest room and found the fire lit and fresh fruit placed on the table beside her bed. It confirmed what she suspected. James maintained contact with the dove.
She’d debrief the dove in the morning. Right now, she was starving. She picked up an apple and bit into it. A folded piece of parchment sealed with the dove’s symbol rested on her bed. Prentice opened it to find a message from Balthazar.
Prentice—
I also asked Dr. Little to come up and examine those remains as you requested. She arrived just after you left. I believe she spent the greater part of the afternoon back there on the green. She said she’d have findings for you soon. The remains have been removed.
“Thank you!” Prentice said to the letter.
While she ate, she took out her notes and re-read them. It bothered her that so many people had disappeared and the eagles didn’t find it necessary to investigate. Sure, roosters didn’t line the church’s pocket with birdsong, but they deserved basic empathy.
Moving on, she took out the glass container of bones and teeth and the second glass container with the hair. She sat on the floor and removed parchment from one of her pouches, unfolding it and securing it on the floor with heavier objects at the corners, her notepad, one of her boots at the other end. Next, she drew a circle on the page and divided it into four quadrants. She wrote the names of each of the missing people, one in each area.
Then she removed her dowsing pendulum. It featured a hawk that rested at the end of a silver chain. Prentice removed her pen dagger from its sheath on her utility belt. It bit into her index finger and she wiped the blood across the casting stone’s talons.
She whispered, “Determiner.”
She opened the glass jar and held the stone above the bones and teeth. Once she had counted until ten, she moved the pendulum above the names on the parchment. She continued to chant the word. The room bled away, leaving only herself and the parchment. The pendulum swung around the names and, as it slowed, it settled on the name Prentice had believed the burnt ashes to belong to all along.
Alicia Redfern. Her spiritual essence rose from the parchment with a moan. She drifted into the ceiling and vanished.
To confirm the skeletal remains’ identity, Prentice removed the jar and opened it.
“Determiner.”
Just as it did with Alicia’s remains, the pendulum swung toward Tammy Jo’s name etched on the parchment.
Exhausted, Prentice croaked, “Fin.”
She closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she’d returned to the guest room. From the clock, only fifteen minutes had passed. Prentice cleaned the pendulum and her pen dagger in the bathroom sink. She placed her things away and hung up her utility belt.
Prentice made herself a drink of warm tea, crafted from Lanham leaves, water from the bathroom’s tap, and her own conjured flame. She held it close, allowing its warmth to seep into her body, chasing away the cold indifference she found in death. She sipped and pulled the blankets over her legs.
Prentice could feel the case drawing close, and as the pieces came together, she knew the next few steps would be the most difficult. She stretched her wings and wrapped them around herself.
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
Prentice drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Eleven
The clear morning sky held the night’s chill as the sun crested the horizon. Birds chirped and roused Prentice from her sleep. She stared at the ceiling beams. They stretched the length of the room and cradled shadows cast by the low fire’s flames. She pushed herself to a sitting position. An empty glass, an extinguished candle, and her notepad littered the tiny table beside the bed. Groaning, she got out of bed. She went to her utility belt and removed her cigarettes. Only two remained. With another groan, she stuck one of the remaining two into her mouth and held it in her teeth.
As she lit the tip, someone knocked on her door. She inhaled. Who the heck is awake this early? The clock gave the time as 6:12.
“It’s me. Balthazar. May I enter?”
Prentice grabbed her cloak and wrapped it around her nudity. “Come.”
Balthazar came in dressed in a long black cloak embroidered with the goddess’s sigil in golden threads. Long sleeves peeked out from beneath the cloak and he lowered the hood. In one hand, he held a steaming bowl and in the other a glass of what appeared to be sweet milk.
“How did you know I was up?” she asked, holding her cloak closed and smoking. Not for the first time did she suspect the dove spied on her.
“I didn’t, but I hoped you remembered we’re releasing Gretchen to the sky today.” He placed the bowl and the milk on the fireplace mantel. The ceremony is at eight.”
“No one mentioned it to me.”
Balthazar frowned. “If you want to attend, we’ll be on the church green where her nest is already being set up. Eight o’clock. Molly has already placed a clean towel and soap in the bathroom for you.”
“It sounds like I don’t have a choice.”
“It would be best for you to attend, as a representative of the Order.”
Prentice blew out a stream of frustration with her smoke. She didn’t like morning, but she did want to do right by Gretchen, the strong-willed daughter who didn’t feel a need to conform. She rebelled against the confines of the small egg and indulged her wild heart, only to be killed for it. All her plans came to abrupt and violent end.
“Thank you for breakfast,” Prentice said. “I’ll be down.”
Relief made Balthazar’s face handsome again. “Thank you. I have to go prepare. See you then.”
He left, shutting the door quietly behind him. She locked it. She took the sweet milk and the bowl of oats to her bed and sat down cross-legged, allowing her cloak to fan out around her. Rolled oats had been a childh
ood treat. She would add honey and nuts to sweeten and give it crunch. But here, she had none of those, so she poured some of her sweet milk into the bowl, stirred with the spoon, and ate the first bite.
“Oh, this is good.” She shuddered in pleasure.
Realization that she hadn’t had a good, solid meal the day before hit her like a stone. Within minutes she’d devoured the breakfast and had started on one of the apples from the bowl of fruit provided last night. She drained the last of the sweet milk. Next, she crafted a cup of Lanham tea. One check of her tea and tobacco supplies reinforced that she needed to slow down their consumption. She didn’t know how long she’d be in Gould.
Full, Prentice added two more logs to the fire, fanned the flames a bit, and removed her cloak. She wanted the room warm when she returned from the bath. She started the water with relief, thankful the guest room had an adjoining bath with running water. Sure enough, Molly had placed fresh towels and soap in the room, probably yesterday. It was as neat as a pin.
Prentice had been too tired to pay much attention. In the wee hours of the morning, she had used the toilet, washed her hands, and sleepily returned to bed.
Now awake, she saw the detail Molly had gone through to decorate and make the guest room inviting and comfortable. Rather than view it as an invasion of privacy, Prentice saw the attempt to make her feel welcome. Fresh, fragrant flowers sprouted from colored vases that adorned the shelves above the sink. The claw-foot tub had a spout where water poured into it. Above the tub, a round window complete with a wooden cross in its center allowed in sunlight. A plush fur rug, probably from a fox, lay in front of the tub. The floor’s wood warmed in the early morning rays.
While the tub filled, Prentice looked through her satchel for something suitable to wear to a funeral. Somber events, funerals held at court were also opportunities for everyone to wear their best clothes. She doubted it would be any different here. She removed her more decorative head-wrap. This one was ebony and gold, like Balthazar’s cloak. She would wear this one today, along with her black pants and dark green shirt. Her cloak, with its scarlet red, would stand out in the crowd, but that couldn’t be helped. Hawks were meant to be seen, the color a warning of their presence.