Chapter 18 #2
What? I really wished I could see into his real face, although those dark eyes were good at withholding the truth.
If something goes wrong and you can’t get in touch with me, fly straight to Hiroshi. Stay there for a month before heading back to D.C. and never return to the mountain.
My eyes closed, and a shiver wracked my spine. My Monster was in trouble. He might have a plan, and a shaky sense of optimism, but the chance of failure was real.
Yes, I promise. But only if you promise me you’ll survive. I’m looking forward to getting you back to the mountain.
I promise, Corvus. I will come back for you.
He left soon after, not waiting until evening like he originally proposed.
I flew with him to the hill above the manor and watched from above until the big house swallowed him whole.
This time, I didn’t make him check in with me.
This was a straightforward mission. He’d either succeed in convincing them, or I’d find a way to get him out alive.
That’s what I kept repeating. He’d convince them, or I’d get him out.
Right. Because I was so well equipped to infiltrate a house full of demigods and engineer a rescue.
It’s almost impossible to roll parrot eyes, so I pretended I could, if only to make me feel better.
For some odd reason, he didn’t warn me to stay away this time, so when the sky darkened, I transformed back into a crow. It wasn’t the same as walking on the ground on my own two feet in my own skin, but at least it felt familiar. Plus, I liked blending in with the night sky.
I flew onto the roof of the house, looking for a way inside.
The red clay roof tiles had looked old from fifty feet away, but up close, I could see they were in good shape—and slippery.
The house had been here a while, built during the Beaux Arts renaissance happening in the area in the early 1900s, but it had been impeccably maintained. Hence, no holes to the inside.
I hopped onto one of the many chimneys and peered down the deep black shaft. Had he come this way last night as a bat? I hopped back and forth from foot to foot, anxious and uncertain.
Why did they even need chimneys? Did it ever cool down enough for a fire?
Claws slipping here and there on the slick edge, I gazed down the deep hole, hoping to see farther than a few feet.
My eyes had long adjusted to the darkness around me, but this blackness was impenetrable.
Did I have the courage to jump down into it?
There wasn’t enough room to flap my wings, not in my current form.
I thought through my options. What could I change into?
A large moth? One of those beefy nighttime pollinators that could hover in place.
But when I really thought about it, about the mechanics of it, I wasn’t quite ready to become an insect. Wasn’t sure I would ever be.
There were small birds though, almost the size of that moth.
Like the clay sparrow Hiroshi had made me.
Two nights ago, I had held it in my palm, only the weight of the clay bird was considerably more than the actual bird.
Hiroshi had gone into great detail with the feathers and markings, and I could picture them clearly.
Superimposing the image of his clay bird onto a light bird skeleton, I began my change, surprised at how easily I transformed.
I finally had the whole bird thing down. Go me.
And now came the real test. I didn’t stop to think about it, diving headfirst into blackness, snapping my wings out for drag.
My small size kept me from scraping the sides of the narrow tube, and I held my breath as I fell, plunging into total darkness.
I spotted the floor at the last moment, noticing the change in light, and landed with a soft thud in a deserted room.
One hop forward, and I froze, peering out into the room.
Nothing moved. Now what? I took a deep breath, willing my heart to stop racing.
I peered up at the base of the bed, a Lilliputian in the land of giants.
There could be someone asleep in the bed, but I couldn’t tell from down here.
Furniture towered over me, painted in various shades of gray, but the door had been left open a crack.
Not giving myself time to think or chicken out, I flew up to the top of the door.
My frantic flight sounded as loud as a marching band, and I caught my breath as quietly as I could, ready to fly out the door if someone heard me.
But nothing moved, and I peered out from under the doorjamb.
Because of my size, I couldn’t see far down the hall, which rose above me, impossibly high.
All was quiet. I stayed still a bit longer, listening.
I had just about convinced myself to fly down the hallway when the sound of approaching voices and footsteps had me pulling back.
Would they find me? My heart beat frantically.
Had it been a mistake to come? No, I could do this.
I’d been a bird for the last few days; I could pretend to be one for a few more, especially one so small.
I held my breath as the people approached, then walked past the room, the cadence of their unfamiliar language preventing me from understanding anything.
When the hallway fell silent again, I flew down to the floor and took a few hops out into the hall, the escape route up the chimney still a comfort at my back.
The hallway was immense, and I flirted with the thought of turning human for a split second, especially since the high-arched ceiling had nowhere for a bird to perch.
That had to be deliberate. The dim lighting was my only cover, and I hated the thought of leaving the room with the easy exit.
Terracotta tiles, many times my size and worn to a dull shine, stretched out in two directions.
No harsh chemicals had been used to clean them, and the smell of clean dirt filled my nostrils.
That was odd. I took a deeper sniff, detecting a faint musky undertone.
The earthy smell came from somewhere behind me, but the action was happening in the opposite direction—the direction those two people had gone, and the same direction my inner compass pointed to my Monster.
Since I was here to save him, or at least keep an eye on him, my destination pointed forward. I hopped in his direction, my speed picking up the farther I got from the room with the chimney escape route. Be brave, Corvus.
The hall ended in giant, wooden, intricately carved double doors.
My inner compass told me my Monster was on the other side, tugging me toward him.
Luckily, the doors were cracked an inch.
Had I been any larger, I wouldn’t have been able to squeeze through, but I held my breath and poked my head through the crack, seeing only the tall backs of many chairs in what appeared to be a large meeting room.
At my size, it looked like a strange cityscape, a vast arena of open-air buildings.
I pushed forward, hearing unfamiliar voices raised in disagreement.
The wood scraped my sides, pulling my feathers, but I didn’t pause until I’d made it through.
I hopped straight for the cover of the nearest chair, not stopping until I was safely out of sight.
The rumble of voices grew louder—I could make out individual words, but not enough to clearly understand what was being discussed. As much as it frightened me, I needed to move closer.
Pause—dodge—hop. I made my way chair by chair over the slick floor. I reminded myself several times to stay calm, but even as the voices drew closer and giant feet appeared amongst the roadway surrounded by wooden pillars, I had never felt so small, so vulnerable.
I tried my best to count feet without getting too close to anyone.
Some people were standing on the edges, driving me toward the center of the room.
With the chair legs in my way, I couldn’t get a good count, but it looked like there were at least twenty people here, maybe more.
Had he known this and kept it from me? For my protection?
When I got as close as I dared and caught my breath, about two rows back from the closest set of giant feet, the first words I heard clearly made my blood run cold.
“When I saw you back at your mountaintop ruin, never would I have believed you’d be stupid enough to attend. But now that you’re here, old enemy, the time has come to pay for your crimes.”
“Crimes? I find it funny you label my actions with that word.” My Monster’s voice boomed out without fear or hesitation, laughter hidden between the folds of sarcasm.
Hiding under an ancient chair, I shook my tiny head. Nothing about this situation was funny.
“Let’s start with the obvious one. I shouldn’t have to remind you of our cardinal rules, but since you seem to have lost your mind completely, I shall.
The most important rule we have all sworn to uphold is never to act in any way that reveals who we are or what we can do.
What have you been doing the past fifty years?
You have reverted to your most primitive self and have risked each and every one of us every time you step outside your home.
Not to mention flying in this form. Don’t even try to convince us that you have never done that.
Perhaps fifty years ago, you could have gotten away with it, but people have evolved.
Their technologies have evolved. There are drones and recording devices everywhere.
Satellites even. Rumors of the monster who lives on the mountain have worked their way to me, and I have not been paying close attention.
This cannot be forgiven. If I am hearing about it, then you have put us severely at risk. ”