Weyward — Chapter 47: Kate

47

KATE

Kate has been in the attic for hours.

There have been moments of silence, when she has allowed herself to wonder if Simon has given up waiting for her and left. But then: the menacingly slow progress of his footsteps down the corridor. Of course he hasn’t given up. He is never going to let her go. Never going to let them go.

These are the worst moments, when the fear recedes only to close its cold fist around her heart again. But as Kate turns the fragile pages of Altha’s manuscript, as she reads a story that is centuries old but echoes her own life so closely, rage unfurls inside her.

The rain still falls, drumming loud on the roof, like a battle call. She has finished reading the manuscript. She knows the truth. About Altha Weyward. About Aunt Violet, too. About herself; and her child.

The truth. She can feel it spreading molten through her body, hardening

her bones.

This wildness inside gives us our name.

All those years of feeling different. Separate. Now she knows why.

The rain grows heavier. There is something not quite right about the sound – rather than the rhythmic patter of water, it is erratic and heavy.

Plop. Plop. Plop. As though hundreds of solid objects are landing on the roof. There’s a scraping noise, too. At first, Kate thinks it is the wind, a tree branch scraping the tiles. She focuses. Not scraping, scrabbling. Claws. The flapping of wings. Kate can feel them there, a frenzied, swelling mass.

Birds.

Of course. The crow has been there, ever since she arrived. In the fireplace. Watching from the hedgerow, the sycamore tree. The same crow

led her through the woods after the accident. The crow that carries the sign.

She is no longer afraid. Not of the birds and not of Simon.

She thinks of all the times he has hurt her, has used her unwilling flesh as if it were there for his pleasure. Has made her feel small and worthless.

But she isn’t.

Her blood glows warm; her nerve endings tingle. In the dark, her vision becomes clearer, sharper; sounds feel as if they are coming from inside her very skull.

The birds on the roof begin to chirrup and squawk. Kate imagines their bodies covering the house in one undulating, feathered mass.

She thanks them, welcomes them. Puts her hand on her stomach.

I am ready. We are ready.

Simon cries out downstairs and she knows that he has seen them too.

It is now, she knows. Now or never.

She opens the trapdoor.

OceanofPDF.com