Untamed

A single croaking raven that sounded like it was so close that I should be able to see it within the night-sleeping shadows of the nearest tree. His cry was taken up by first one, and then another and then another. That simple sound was indescribably terrifying. I understood why they were called mockers of ravens because, even though you could easily mistake them for regular birds, if you listened just a little more carefully, you heard in their suspiciously mundane call the echo of death and fear and madness. The breeze that had been warm and sweet-smelling was replaced by an icy nothingness, like I'd just entered a mausoleum. My blood went cold.
    Nala hissed long and menacingly, staring back over my shoulder at the darkness surrounding the huge old oaks that were usually so familiar and welcoming. Not tonight. Tonight they housed monsters. I automatically started to walk faster, looking frantically around for the kids that had just moments ago seemed to be all around me. But Nala and I had turned a corner in the sidewalk, and we were totally alone with the night and all it shrouded.
    The ravens cried again. The sound made the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand up. Nala growled low in her throat and hissed again. Wings fluttered all around me, so close, I could feel the cold wind they were displacing. I smelled them then. They reeked of old meat and pus. A scent that was deadly, sickeningly sweet. I tasted the bile of fear in the back of my throat.
    More croaking caws filled the night, and now I could see darkness within the darkness of stirring shadows. I caught glimpses of something flashing, sharp and hooked. How could they have beaks that shone glossy in the softness of the gaslights if they were just spirit? How could spirits smell like death and decay? And if they weren't just spirits anymore, what did that mean?
    I stopped, unsure of whether I should run on or go back. And while I stood there, frozen with panic and indecision, the blackness within the nearest tree quivered and launched itself at me. My heart was hammering painfully, and I was on the verge of panic that was making me dumb with numbing fear. All I could do was pant with terror as it got closer. Its horrible wings displacing freezing, putrid air, it came at me. I could see it—I could see the man's eyes within the mutated bird's face . . . and arms . . . the arms of a man with twisted, grotesque hands held up in the shape of ragged, dirty claws. The creature opened its hooked beak and shrieked at me, forked tongue extended.
    "No!" I cried, scrambling back from it, keeping a tight hold on my hissing cat. "Get away!" I turned and ran.
    It caught me then. I could feel its horribly cold hands hook on my shoulders. I screamed and dropped Nala, who crouched at my feet, snarling up at the creature. Its horrible wings unfurled on either side of me, holding me there. I felt it lean into my back in a mockery of an embrace. Its head craned over my shoulder so that its beak hooked around my neck, resting against the place my pulse beat frantically in my throat. It stayed there, and its beak opened just enough to let the thing's red forked tongue slide out and taste my neck, like it was savoring me before it devoured me.
    I was absolutely frozen with fear. I knew it was going to slice open my throat. Aphrodite's vision was coming true, only it was a demon who was going to kill me and not Neferet! No! O Goddess, no! My mind shrieked. Spirit! Find someone to help me!
    "Zoey?" Damien's voice was suddenly in a questioning wind whirling around me.
    "Damien, help me . . . ," I managed in a broken whisper.
    "Save Zoey!" Damien shouted.
    A violent blast of air knocked the creature from my back, but the thing was still able to slide its beak across my throat. As I fell to my knees, my hand went to my stinging neck, expecting to feel the wetness of my life's blood pouring hot and thick, but there was nothing there except a raised line that hurt like hell.
    The sound of flapping wings regrouping behind me had me jumping to my feet and whirling around. But this time the wind that smoothed against my skin wasn't frigid and rank with death. It was familiar and filled with the strength of Damien's friendship. The knowledge that I wasn't alone—that my friends hadn't deserted me—cut through the paralyzing mist of panic that had clouded my thoughts like a goddess's avenging sword, and my frozen mind began to work again. Spirits or monstrous birds or minions of