On the ground lay a human, a male with yellow curls and closed eyes. From the air, I could see blood in his curls, on his neck. My stomach rumbled. This one’s flesh would be firm and ripe. But the hunger soured. Something about him made me think, No, not this one, and I blinked, trying to remember. It was the brass-haired female, the one who made the child cry. She was the prey.
A wolf paused by the fallen man and sniffed at him, then, with a pink tongue, tasted his blood. The sight filled me with fury—why, I didn’t know. But I dove. Landing beside the man, I spread my wings and screeched at the wolf. Stay away! I warned. The wolf growled, lowering its head and showing its teeth. Its ears lay back; its hackles raised. I lowered my own head and shook it, as the snakes strained to strike the wolf anywhere they could reach, in its muzzle or eye. One of my beauties struck home, because the creature yelped and jumped backward, yanking my head and then pulling away. It turned and ran across the lawn, its tail between its legs.
I flapped my wings and screamed. Anyone else?I challenged the pack. No creature approached. None dared. Hunger stirred again, and I looked for my prey. At the spot where I’d downed her, one human foot stuck out from a pile of creatures. The screams that pushed themselves from beneath those furred bodies were sweet, sweet sounds. But they belonged to me; that brass-haired woman was mine. Mine! Shrieking, I hopped toward the group, ready to fight those others for the prey.
Then I heard a small sound, like an injured chick. I stopped, cocked my head. The sound came from a clump of bushes. I hopped over to see what was making it.
It was the child. Again, the sight of her flooded me with calm. I wanted to be alone with her somewhere, away from humans and creatures alike. I wanted to soothe and protect this one as I would my own chick. I thrust my head into the bushes. The snakes might frighten the child, so I cooed to her, clucking reassuringly. She screamed and buried her face in her hands. But then she peeked out from between her fingers. “Aunt Vicky, is that really you?” she whispered.
Vicky—a familiar name, although I couldn’t place it. But the child’s eyes held hope when she said it. How strange. Hope was an emotion I’d never seen in a human’s face. On this one, it was lovely. I bobbed my head up and down. I backed up a few paces, keeping up the soft cooing, then looked back. Follow me. I did it again. Follow me, little chick. The child hesitated, but then she crawled out of the bushes.
I spread my wings, then looked at her. I repeated the gesture. She wrinkled her forehead, then nodded. She understood. She spread out her arms, as I’d asked. I jumped into the sky and alighted on her shoulders, gently closing my talons around her outstretched arms. No tearing, just holding. It was an odd way to deal with a human.
Then, flapping my mighty, powerful wings, I lifted us both into the air.
In a moment, we’d cleared the treetops. Below us, the ground flowed with the movement of creatures. I could see no more humans, save for the yellow-haired man I’d chased the wolf away from. He lay still and alone. For a moment, I felt I should do something for him, lift him away from that place in the same way I carried this child. I shook my head; my tresses hissed softly. The strange feeling faded, and then the yellow-haired man was out of sight.
Below me, the child sobbed quietly, but she didn’t struggle. Trying to soothe her, I sang to her, but she cried, “No, no!” so I fell silent. I flew without direction, content simply to be with the child. Holding her small arms felt so good, and I felt we could fly this way forever.
Then I heard a sound, one that was unfamiliar yet beautiful. I listened with a sense I didn’t know I had. It was a call. Someone was calling this child. Not with words, but with the heart.
Hearing the strong, constant heart-call, I had no choice but to heed it. We flew south, the setting sun to our right, shadows stretching across the land below us.
28
HARPIES, OF COURSE, ARE SUPERIOR TO OTHER WINGED creatures. We’re larger, we’re fiercer, we’re more beautiful. And we fly faster, because we have access to portals that flesh-and-blood birds do not. Within minutes, I’d locked on to the heart-call that beckoned the child I carried. Following that call, we came to a landscape cluttered with human dwellings, laid out in rows. A good hunting ground for another day. For now, that pure, clarion heart-call guided me like a beacon. It came, clear and bell-like, from a square white dwelling surrounded by grass.
“There!” the child shouted, squirming. “That’s my house!”
We alighted gently, so as not to hurt her. The house’s door flew open, and a woman rushed down the steps. “Mommy!” The child ran to the woman and wrapped herself in her arms. A picture came to mind of a chick enfolded in its mother’s wings.
The picture lasted only briefly. I stood on the grass, tensed and ready to flee. This dwelling was not a place for my kind. The woman, who’d lifted the child from the ground and pressed her face against her, raised her eyes to search the lawn. When she saw me, she gasped. She put down the child and stepped in front of her, protective, then approached me, making shooing motions with her arms. “Get out of here, you damned Harpy! I will not have a revenge demon invade my home!”
I screeched in anger, but I hopped back.
“Mom, no—” The child stepped in front of the woman and grasped her wrists in her small hands. “It’s Aunt Vicky. She brought me home.”
“Vicky? Oh, my God. How did—? You can’t—? A Harpy? That’s impossible.”
“It’s her, Mom. I saw her change. Look, it’s wearing Aunt Vicky’s necklace.”
“Vicky?” the woman said, tentatively putting out her hand.
The name meant nothing to me. I tossed my head, setting the snakes to hissing. I was to be feared, not petted. The female snatched back her hand and held it to her chest. Good.
We stared at each other. But no waves of fear rose from either woman or child. Their eyes held something, some emotion that I didn’t understand. Confusion filled me. The snakes hissed impatiently. There was no prey here—why was I wasting my time? The woman, her eyes bright, said, “Thank you.” I cocked my head. I’d never heard such words before; I did not understand their meaning.
Then, like a jolt through my marrow, I felt something that I did understand, something I knew well. It was a call. Not the heart-call that had compelled me to carry the child to this woman, but the trumpet sound of a call for revenge. Revenge! I stretched my wings; my beauties sang their hissing songs.
This was a call from one of my own kind—not a Harpy’s voice, but a demon’s. It spoke a language I understood. The voice carried power, great power. It called to me, and my heart sped in excitement. Bloodlust, eagerness, a hunger for vengeance, those delicious feelings, all swelled within me. I called out my answer: Yes, yes, I’m coming! Shrieking my excitement, I rose into the air.
“Vicky, where are you going?” yelled the grown female. But I had no thought for these humans or their strange ways. A call had gone out, a call to all demonkind. I must obey. I flapped my powerful wings. With all the speed I could muster, I flew east, into the gathering darkness, toward the city.
THE CALL THUNDERED THROUGH THE NIGHT SKY. ALL around me, other demons flew, clamoring their replies. We were an army, a mighty force of vengeance. I trembled with anticipation, eager to find my target. My prey. I had not fed sufficiently before, and hunger seared my innards. To war!
The city sparkled with lights. Nighttime. Feeding time. Just outside of it, huge, hulking shapes stood—a whole legion of them—shaking their fists and pounding against thin air. Hellions, they were, held back from the city by some kind of magical boundary. They roared their anger, nearly drowning out the call that brought us all here.