Love without a Compass. Lindy Zart

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      I stare at her.

      “I hummed. It helped.”

      “What’s a little bird going to do to you? If anything, the worst you have to worry about is it pooping on you. You are washable.”

      The words come out through lips that don’t move. “It isn’t little—and there’s more than one.”

      I frown.

      Carefully raising an arm, Avery points up.

      I follow the direction of her finger. A massive tree slants down the hill not far from Avery, the limbs crooked and thick. It looks as if millions of black leaves cover the branches, and it isn’t until one caws and takes off that I realize why the branches droop so far down. The tree is filled with crows, not leaves. I readjust my glasses and turn to Avery.

      She hasn’t moved; she doesn’t appear to be breathing.

      I watch the birds for a moment. They seem to watch me back, one in particular keeping its gaze trained on me. . The sight of Avery’s pale face and shaking form chips away at my resentment until it all but disappears. I sigh, hoping this isn’t all an act. One never knows with Avery.

      In a low voice, I meet her gaze and say, “Tell me what to do.”

      “Make them disappear?” Her tone is hopeful; her expression says she knows better.

      “Sure. I’ll wave my magic wand I keep right here in my back pocket”—I pat the backside of my gray shorts— “and that’ll be the end of the crows.”

      “Yes.” Avery nods her head rigorously. “Do that.”

      A crow separates itself from the others, twisting its neck to peer from me to Avery. I think it’s the same one that stared at me. I watch it, literally jumping when it turns its head and I’m hit with its eyeless wonder. A jagged scar resides where an eye should.

      Awe coats my voice when I say, “Do you see that? That crow is missing an eye.”

      “Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Avery screeches

      I readjust my glasses, but the crow remains the same size. It’s proportionate to a small cat, and with its one eye missing and a jagged white scar in its place, badass for a bird. It caws, and a strange choking sound leaves Avery. I face her, watching as what little color her skin holds drains away. She isn’t joking. She’s afraid. Or she’s playing one of her games again. It’s too bad that I can’t be one hundred percent positive either way.

      Releasing a sigh, I take a step closer. In a low voice, I tell her, “It won’t hurt you, I promise. Let’s just keep walking. It will go away.”

      She focuses on me. A crease forms between her eyebrows, splitting the smooth skin. Her eyelashes are impossibly long. Damn, she’s got beautiful eyes. “Are you sure?”

      Even with knowing I’ll most likely live to regret it, I soften at the fear in her voice. “Positive. We’re probably in their territory. We’ll leave, and everything will be fine. Trust me.”

      “Okay,” Avery says softly, nodding. “Okay.”

      We take slow, small footsteps, Avery’s eyes finding the crows again and again. She continually knocks into me, bringing her scent and warmth each time. It’s maddening to the baser part of me I try to tramp down in regards to the woman beside me. If only my brain was the lone high-functioning part of my anatomy.

      The one-eyed bird squawks and takes off, the high branches shaking upon its departure from the tree. Leaves fall, spiraling to the ground.

      I turn to Avery. “See? It’s already leaving. I’m sure the others will follow.” She grabs my biceps and squeezes until I stop walking. “What?”

      “It isn’t leaving.”

      Sure enough, the crow lands in a tree ahead of us, its profile in view and a single beady eye trained on us. I wonder how it lost the other one. It verbally announces its dislike for us once more. If I had to guess, I’d say its animosity is strictly toward Avery. Birds know. They can’t be fooled by pretty exteriors and sugary words like humans. When the crow moves to a closer tree, I study it. It cocks its head, still and silent as we watch each other.

      Okay, this is a little strange.

      “Why won’t it go away, Ben?”

      I put large doses of confidence in my voice as I say, “It wants to make sure we don’t hang around, that’s all. It can probably sense your fear.”

      “What, are you suddenly a bird expert?”

      “You asked.”

      “We’re going to die,” Avery whispers.

      “Oh, come on,” I scoff. “How is a crow going to kill us?”

      “It’s going to attack us, and peck out our eyes, and then we won’t be able to see, and we’ll fall off a cliff, and we…will…die.”

      I slowly look her way, waiting a moment to reply. “Do you think maybe you’re overreacting a bit?”

      Avery glares at me.

      “Let’s keep moving.” I take a step and she takes one with me.

      As soon as we move, Avery reaches for my arm, clutching it between her hands. We’ve intentionally touched a total of one time in the months of our acquaintance. But then, it only took once for everything to blow up around us.

      I pause, glancing at Avery. She stares ahead, her expression resolute.

      It is one thing to help her; it’s another to get sucked into her warped reality. I’m not letting that happen. No touching is a good idea. I try to pull away and Avery only digs her nails more firmly into me. I grind my teeth around the sting and resign myself to the situation.

      As we make our slow trek through uncivilized terrain, the bird flies from tree to tree, always keeping us within its sight. Its cry is freakishly loud, ominous. I get paranoid the longer it hovers.

      It seems to be tracking us.

      “It isn’t going away!”

      I open my mouth to respond but am unable to produce a sound as all the crows, seemingly offended by Avery’s voice, spiral into the air, blackening the sky in a death cloud. Their shrill cries pierce my eardrums. I gape at the sight, never before seeing so many crows together at once. Even louder, and shriller, is Avery’s scream as she dashes off. Her hair flies behind her like a waving flag of surrender.

      I shout at Avery to stop, but she keeps moving, not even looking where she’s going. Eyes trained up instead of ahead, her face is set in a caricature of horror. I grab her arm and swing her around when she almost sprints past me. She about ran right off the side of the mountain. “Avery! Avery, stop!”

      Avery blinks and finally focuses on me. I squeeze her shoulders reassuringly, staring into her eyes. She looks terrified. I frown in response. The fight slowly goes out of her. She slackens against me, breathing heavy, smelling of fear. Avery trembles, СКАЧАТЬ