Angels of Darkness

than two feet tall.
    The brush shivered and spat three gray shapes onto the grass, one large and two others smaller. They ran upright on a pair of massively muscled legs, their bodies sheathed with gray feathers speckled with spots of black. Long, powerful necks supported heads armed with enormous beaks. The binoculars picked up every detail, from the crests of long feathers on their heads to the tiny vicious eyes.
    The horse galloped for its life, veering left. The bird closest to it slid and swung toward the house to right itself. A flash of pale red shot through the empty air, as if the bird had run into an invisible net stretched tight, and the pressure of its body caused the threads to glow. The bird screeched and fell, catapulted back. For a moment it lay on the grass stunned, and then it rolled back to its feet and rejoined the chase.
    The small horse was getting tired. It slowed. Foam dripped from its mouth.
    The largest bird sprinted. The monstrous beak rose, then came down like an ax, chopping at the horse and knocking it off its feet. The horse rolled in the grass and staggered upright. The three birds danced about it, jabbing and pecking. The horse cried out and fell. Bloody beaks rose again and again . . .
    Karina lowered the binoculars.
    She didn’t know much about zoology, but she knew enough. They weren’t emus; they weren’t ostriches; no, these were something vicious, something ancient, something that should not exist in Texas or the Ozarks. Or the twenty-first century.
    Suddenly she was cold, freezing from head to toe.
    A triumphant screech rolled up from the plain.
    Karina dropped the binoculars on the side table and slammed the window shut.
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    A cloud of oily smoke greeted Karina in the kitchen. By the stove, Henry cursed, slid several charred pieces of bacon out of a pan with a spatula, and deposited them onto a plate. He saw her and waved the spatula around, flinging hot drops of grease onto the table. “Good morning.”
    â€œGood morning,” she answered on autopilot. “I saw . . . birds.”
    â€œTerror birds.” Henry nodded. “Nasty creatures. Don’t worry, there is a large fence around the entire hill. We call it the net—it’s thin wire with a powerful current running through it. You’re completely safe within the vicinity of the house. They won’t come close. Besides, they are mostly cowards. An adult human has nothing to worry about.”
    One of those things would kill a child. A vision of a bloody beak coming down like a hatchet flashed before Karina’s eyes. She swallowed. “My daughter?”
    The spatula pointed to Henry’s right. “Through that doorway.”
    Karina forced herself not to run. She skirted the table and walked through the doorway into a living room. Her heart pounded.
    A small shape was curled on the couch, hidden by a green blanket. Karina pulled back the covers. Emily lay on the pillow. Her mouth was open slightly, her eyes closed, her hair a tangled mess.
    Karina knelt and hugged her gently. Emily stirred and she put her face to her daughter’s cheek and clenched herself, trying not to cry.
    â€œDaniel brought her early in the morning. Arthur told him he would let him speak in return,” Henry said softly from the doorway. “I’ve wiped her memory of the assault in the motel—it was too traumatic—so she won’t recall anything about the place, and that entire day will be dim for her. There are no long-term effects to memory wipes, but there are some short-term consequences: she will sleep a lot more, she will seem confused, and she might have some anxiety. It should last for about a week. Lucas already called the main house. They have a nice room set up for her.”
    Karina turned. “I want her to stay with me.”
    Henry looked uncomfortable. “There is a reason why the three of us are separated from the main house.”
    â€œThree? I thought Arthur lived here.”
    Henry shook his head. “Arthur stays at the main compound. Of our entire group, Lucas is the most feared, Daniel is the most despised, and I’m the least trusted.” He paused. “This house isn’t the best place for a child.”
    She paused. “Henry, why in the world would anyone not trust you?” Of the four men she’d met so far, Henry seemed the least insane.
    He smiled, apologetic, almost vulnerable, and leaned closer. “I can