Chapter 1
Chapter
One
PRESENT DAY
The air buffeted my wings as I circled the corn maze lazily. The dull grey sky grew lighter with each passing minute as the sun chased the night away.
From my literal bird’s eye view, I could see everything with a clear perspective.
It was akin to witnessing a game of chess on a battlefield from the vantage point of the gods.
The way the town prepared for the upcoming week-long fall festival, the plots of farmland that bordered the area for acres, and every dull routine of the residents of Falston, waking to start their day.
I flapped my wings several more times, black feathers slicing through the air as I dove down into the center of the corn maze. Nearing the ground, I slowed my flight and landed on the shoulder of a rather lifelike scarecrow.
If I could have smirked in my crow form, I would have. The best I could do was tilt my head to one side with one beady eye, scrutinizing the face of the stuffed figure.
The patchwork cap on top of his head angled low enough to shadow his face. Despite the partially obscured view of the tanned fabric stretched tight, the stitching of his mouth seemed to quirk up just enough to look smug.
Bale’s arms were spread open on the wooden cross frame, like some crucified autumnal offering. Instead of appearing stiff, pinned up there, the jackass looked comfortable, given how his elbows hooked over the horizontal piece of wood at his back.
The weathered canvas jacket fluttered in the gentle breeze, rustling the fabric enough to almost mimic breathing. Just underneath the outerwear was a threadbare wool vest, missing a button and secured over a sun-bleached cotton shirt.
Thankfully, his pants were in decent shape this year.
There would be no bitching about his junk swaying in the wind during the winter months.
The canvas trousers were patched up in a few places with scraps of burlap, but otherwise, his modesty remained intact.
Only the fraying at the bottom near his scuffed leather boots hinted at further wear.
I hopped down the length of his arm, stopping at where the formerly pristine leather driving gloves used to shine but had dulled from exposure to the elements.
There was a fleeting moment where I considered dropping a shit on his hand after last night’s debauchery, where he’d drunkenly declared me his wingman for life in the middle of Falston’s only bar. He had thought the phrasing had been hilarious. Me? Less so.
Alas, I ultimately decided not to leave my mark while he slept off the night of hunting for our perfect match. Instead, I took flight just overtop his head to land on his other shoulder.
He’d awaken soon enough. The bastard needed his beauty sleep as much as he needed pussy. Bale may have been my best friend, but fuck if that asshole didn’t have an appetite, a dramatic one at that.
Insistently, I pecked at a piece of straw poking out from underneath the jacket’s grey collar. Once the dry stalk came loose, I clutched it proudly like a carnival prize in my beak.
Stupid fucking crow brain.
Couldn’t run—or fly—from avian instincts.
Grudgingly, I gnawed at the brittle golden strand several times before letting it fall to the ground. I really needed to get the hell out of here. Otherwise, I was likely to peck at every piece of straw that poked out from the edges of Bale’s clothing.
Extending my wings, I launched myself back into the air.
Curiosity had been tugging at me. The past few days, the gossip mill churned with whispers of a new family moving into the old Faust homestead. I decided to take it upon myself to see what I could find out regarding the latest addition to our sleepy little town.
There was one main drag in Falston, the stereotypical Main Street that all small midwestern towns seemed to have in common.
It was lined with stores that hadn’t changed in damn near fifty years—a tailor, Margie’s Bakery, an old-time pharmacy that not only filled scripts but provided home remedies, and other boringly ordinary mom-and-pop shops.
Coasting through the air, I swooped past old man Grier’s head just to hear him curse and wave his cane about half-blindly. The resulting rant involving wartime memories and insurgents was well worth my near collision with the dairy delivery truck. Fucker was definitely going over the speed limit.
I hung a sharp left at the end of Main Street and navigated past several historical landmarks, including a bronze statue commemorating the town’s inaugural fall festival.
It was a little over seven feet tall, depicting a bundle of cornstalks with fall blossoms wrapped around its center and various sized pumpkins and other gourds at its base.
Painful memories flickered across my mind, ones that I didn’t dare allow to spiral into full-on manifestations. No, they didn’t deserve that power over me. Not more than they already held.
Shortly after bypassing the carved hunk of bronze, I landed on top of a weathered split-rail fence of the farmland that used to belong to the town’s founders, the Faust family.
Without any living heirs to stake a claim to the land, it was placed for private auction.
The realty sign remained, but a large red sticker was slapped haphazardly across it, declaring boldly, “SOLD.”
A telltale sign of recent activity was evidenced by the disturbed gravel in the driveway, two depressions in the dirt created by a heavy vehicle making multiple trips to and from the house at the end of it.
Intrigued, I launched into flight again towards the vintage farmhouse, a quarter mile deep into the ten-acre property.
There was an aged beauty to the two-story home with dual stone chimneys on either side.
Dusty blue shutters added a pop of color to the house, which had siding painted the same color as tufts of freshly picked cotton.
The wrap-around porch was showing signs of wear with peeling white paint, but otherwise, the structure remained sound.
It provided perfect cover from the elements for the two rocking chairs positioned in the corner facing the expanse of land where crops used to flourish but had remained barren for years.
If you stared long enough, you could almost imagine old Grammy Faust rocking in one of the chairs with a cup of her steamed milk and honey cradled between her wrinkled palms. Tiny and frail as she had been, she used to be able to call out across the fields like a general directing troops.
Off to the side of the typically empty driveway, alongside a line of apple trees still filled with ripe fruit, several vehicles cloaked in their shade.
Nearest to the house was a moving truck, then next to that were several personal vehicles. All of which had out-of-state plates.
Bingo.
Unable to help myself, I needed a closer look. Just who were these strangers, and why in the gods’ names would they come to Falston of all places? Nobody willingly just up and moved here.
Eventually, I found myself perched right outside an open window that peered into the kitchen. The scent of mildly burnt toast and bacon grease wafted through the air.
“Girls! Breakfast is getting cold!” A middle-aged woman stood in front of the stove, yelling towards the swinging kitchen door.
She looked a bit too ‘city’ to belong in a place like this.
She wasn’t even wearing a godsdamned apron over her clothes.
That silk blouse of hers was one crackle of pig fat away from a stain that would haunt the fabric forever.
Instead of the girls she had summoned, in strutted a man approaching his silver fox era.
He wore an overpriced Stetson that screamed ‘fresh off the shelf,’ freshly ironed jeans, a belt buckle large enough to make Texas jealous, and a tucked-in plaid shirt with a color scheme that bordered on criminal.
The man, presumably her husband, greeted the woman with a peck to her cheek before pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee fresh from the pot. One sip of the brew, and the moment the lady of the house turned her back, he grimaced and dumped the contents down the drain.
“Look at that, I’m already running late to meet with the mayor. Heard there is an open seat on the Town Council. I’ll be back before dinner!” Comically, he almost burst into a sprint to leave the kitchen before she could respond.
On his way out, he stopped short of colliding with a young girl with long brown hair down to her waist and chocolate eyes. She barely looked out of high school and radiated with equally immature energy.
“Mornin’, Dad!” she greeted cheerfully.
His hands steadied her by the shoulders before he leaned in and whispered none-too-quietly, “The coffee tastes like sadness and regret, I recommend avoiding it at all costs.”
Internally, I chuckled as the woman aggressively rolled her eyes, obviously having overheard the warning.
The girl gave a solemn nod before passing him and plucking a piece of toast off a plate resting in the center of the kitchen table. Not another word was spoken between father and daughter before the man made his escape.
“Sweetheart, there’s a fresh pot of coffee if you—”
“Oh! Uh, thanks, Mom. But Harlow and I have a sisterly coffee date this morning. Trying the local cafe, supporting small business while bonding. All that good stuff.” There was a slight tremor to her voice, betraying the lie she spoke.
As if on cue, the kitchen door swung open again as a young woman entered. Mid-twenties, if I had to go on appearances alone. But I knew better than most that appearances could be deceiving.
However, once I caught sight of her eyes, I knew I was done for.
Fuck, at that moment, some poor sap could have shot me with a hunting rifle and I wouldn’t have given a damn—not that bullets would have killed me. Being a supernatural shapeshifter had its perks, and living through mundane injuries was one of them.
My chest instinctively puffed out, I anxiously shifted on my little clawed feet, and couldn’t tear my eyes away from her.
Jet black hair woven into a loose braid and the greenest eyes I had ever seen outside of a freshly shined emerald.
And the way she moved? Graceful, elegant, seductive, and effortless.
Something about her made my crow instincts vibrate in both alarm and possessiveness.
I couldn’t even focus on what she was wearing because everything about her on a deeper level sang to my dark and tormented soul. The scent of her was musky with hints of black tea and jasmine layered beneath it. If an aura could sing to you, it would radiate mystery and sharp instincts.
Crows mate for life, and goddammit, she was it. I’d stop the Earth on its axis for her. I’d freeze Hell to prevent her demons from haunting her dreams. If she wanted to pluck each of my feathers clean off? I’d let her.
Mine. You’re mine. No one else will do. Mine. Mine. Mine…
If I had been in my human form, I likely would have shamelessly busted a nut on the spot. Instead, I just had the fucking gland that was my asshole twitching in excitement. Fucking birds and their cloacas–the one-stop shop for shit, piss, and sperm.
Catching the tail end of the younger girl’s statement, my future and destiny tilted her head with curiosity.
“What good stuff?” she asked as she approached the coffee pot.
“Harlow! No! Our coffee date, remember?!” The girl shrieked, eyes wide, and made aggressive slicing motions of her hand beneath her chin to send the clear message to abort.
So, this was Harlow? Somehow, the name was perfectly fitting. It was as though there was never a possibility for it to be anything else.
Forgetting my bird form, I tried to taste the way her name rolled off my tongue. I opened my mouth and out came a croak as rough as sandpaper. It was a sound harsh enough to startle me back to the realization that I remained a mere crow perched in the kitchen window.
Caught mid-pour of the sludge moonlighting as coffee, Harlow locked eyes with me. For once in my damn life, I felt like the prey staring into the eyes of a predator. It was a dizzying effect; one I wasn’t accustomed to.
The mug in her hand overflowed, scalding her skin and making a mess of the counter.
“Shit!” Her eyes tore away from me as she snapped into cleanup mode.
Reluctantly, I flew away from the open window. I needed to get out of there before I lost all my senses and shifted into my human form. I couldn’t risk an interaction with her too soon. Whatever I felt between us was electrified with volatile heat and a twist of fate.
If I had my way, the annual hunt in the corn maze during this year’s fall festival was going to get even more interesting.