Kill Three Birds Page 3

  Prentice didn’t want to ask what had died on his sandwich. Vultures’ love of carrion was legendary. Them and Condors loved the stuff. Blech.

  Prentice put her hands on her talons and started for the door. James didn’t follow.

  Good. She didn’t need anyone in the way if things took a turn. Her talons warmed at her touch, and by the time she crossed the twenty feet to the door, they pulsated in green, ready.

  She walked in and kept her head down.

  “Cacher,” she said, and bit her thumb, hissing at the pain, as she conjured the blood magic needed to fade.

  With each step, she grew dimmer. The roaring music drowned out her footsteps on the wooden floor. Feed had been scattered all over the bar and the floor. Prentice found a spot in the corner, near the back, and watched. A waitress fluttered around the barstools and the few tables. At the bar, a well-built male in an undershirt and pants poured drinks. He had a striking plumage of long flowing red hair and a bright-colorful tattoo along his arm, which the sleeveless undershirt highlighted. His commanding movements and direction spotlighted him as the owner and namesake, Dale.

  Everyone had facial and body scars, the results of pecking order fights. They decorated them with colorful ink and fancy embellishments like jewelry and precious stones.

  How anyone heard themselves talk, let alone think, in this place. The constant shrieking and crowing in time to the music beat hurt her ears, but she couldn’t leave until she saw what kind of folks gathered in here. There was a good chance Gretchen’s killer was in this room.

  “What can I do you for?” the waitress shouted to a patron at the table beside Prentice, tray in one hand, a cup in another. She slammed a drink onto the tiny table, sloshing most of its contents. “We got the usual.”

  “Whiskey. Feed special number four.”

  The pigtailed waitress nodded and headed off to the next table. Ahead, the bar rumbled as two men stumbled to their feet. It erupted into a pushing and shoving match. One swung at the other. A fight unfolded. Prentice watched the dominoes fall. One after the other swung and punched, kicked and screamed. Blood, biting, and a full-out brawl spiraled outward from the bar’s epicenter.

  Prentice didn’t move. She wanted to see if (one) the whiskey would make it to the neighboring table, and (two) if the bartender/owner would do anything to break it up before someone died.

  One of the reasons the Order discouraged fraternizing at coops is that chickens liked their pecking order. It went against the goddess’s teaching, and to be frank, it was violent and dangerous. It often came in partnership with alcohol, and the two things rendered deadly results.

  Prentice sat in the back corner with both hands on her talons. Her fingers hovered above the triggers of each gun. Ready. Always ready.

  A giant boom went off. The mob paused and then, almost as if thinking with one brain, they scattered through the front doors and out of the coop. The bartender stood atop the bar, holding a gun with his hair on end. Furious, his chest heaved. His stance with the weapon meant he intended to use it again—if necessary.

  “Damn you, fowl idiots!” he roared after them. “It’s just now noon!”

  He stepped down from the bar, secured the weapon underneath the counter, and put both hands on the wooden structure. “Darlene! Clean this shit up!”

  Darlene, the waitress, stood up from her protected position behind an overturned table. She nodded numbly at him, adjusted her shirt and shorts, and picked up her tray, before setting off to what must be the kitchen. In all, about four people remained in the coop.

  “Révéler!” Prentice whispered, and the fading ended. She brightened, becoming visible to those around her, the few who remained, anyway.

  Prentice made her way to the bar, picked up a toppled stool, and sat down.

  “What will you have?” the bartender asked, not moving from his position and wet with sweat.

  “Whiskey.”

  “Sure thing.” He pushed off the bar and set about making her drink.

  “Can you tell me if you’ve seen this girl?” Prentice removed a picture of Gretchen from her pouch. She held it up to the other patrons.

  The bartender paused, turned with her glass in his hand, and shrugged meaty shoulders. “No.”

  “You didn’t look.”

  “I don’t need to, Hawk,” he said. He approached her and put the whiskey down.

  “I have witnesses who saw her come in here. She left with two men.” Prentice met the bartender’s gray eyes. He fidgeted. Most people didn’t like looking Hawks in the eyes. They thought her ability to see the unseen didn’t turn off. She did nothing to dispel those beliefs. “Where are those men?”

  “Look, pay for your whiskey and go.” He crossed his arms but looked away.

  “I can get a condor down here…” She placed her talon on the bar’s scarred surface. “Or I can use my talon to make you talk. You decide. I know she came here.”

  The remaining patrons quietly exited the bar, leaving only the bartender and Darlene.

  “Put the talons away. Okay? A lot of people come through here. You saw that already.” The bartender shrugged.

  “This one didn’t belong here.” Prentice waved the picture in front of him.

  He rolled his eyes and swore.

  Darlene stumbled in from the kitchen with a wooden bucket in one hand and a mop in the other. When she spied Prentice’s talons, she dropped the bucket. Water splashed all over her ankles and shoes.

  “You’re a Hawk,” she stammered. “A real one.”

  Prentice put her attention back on the bartender. He paled. “The girl. The two cocks who left with her.”

  “Tell her, Dale!” Darlene shouted. “She’s a fucking Hawk. They can kill you. They have permission from the Order to do that. I don’t want them on our ass. We have enough to deal with those damn eagles.”

  Prentice loved how rumor and legend did her most of her job for her.

  “Were they dating?” Prentice asked, putting Gretchen’s picture away.

  “Yeah. Been dating for months. They hung out here, away from her family’s prying eyes,” Dale said with a chuckle.

  “What happened two nights ago?” Prentice sat back down on the stool but kept one of her talons out and in her fist.

  “They got into a huge row. Right, Dale?” Darlene said as she came up to the bar.

  He nodded. “She stormed outta here. Boris went right after her and Brian right after him.” Dale shook his head. “They’ve flown the coop.”

  “Have you seen Boris or Brian since then?”

  “No.” Dale shook his head.

  Prentice turned to Darlene.

  “No, Hawk.”

  Prentice slipped the talon back into its holster around her waist and stood up. “If either of them comes here, let me know immediately.”

  Her lingering questions would have to wait.

  She took out two bright yellow callers from her pouch and handed one to each of them. “Call me.”

  They nodded.

  The doors to the coop burst open. Dale and Darlene jumped. Dale scrambled for his weapon. Darlene screamed.

  “Hawk Tasifa!” James burst in with his fists raised.

  “Yes?” Prentice walked to the door. She waved the others down. She stared up at James for a few seconds, shook her head, and started for the exit.

  “Are you all right?” James asked, his face stoic but his tone revealing his confusion. He looked around the deserted coop. “I saw everyone rushing out, but you didn’t so I…”

  “…waited long enough to make sure I was dead.” Prentice cleared the door and started down the steps. She stopped at the bottom and turned to James, who seemed frozen to the spot—either shocked or appalled. “I’m joking. Come on.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” James followed her to the parked carriage.

  Chapter Four

  As the carriage pulled into the front drive of the church, Balthazar approached. He wore a casual ivory short-sleeved, collared
shirt and matching slacks. Outside the billowing folds of his ceremonial robes, the dove struck a handsome figure. Square jaw, warm brown eyes, and closely clipped woolly hair, Balthazar probably had more than a few fans in the congregation. Prentice smirked at the thought as she climbed out to meet him.

  “I started to get concerned. Any longer and I would have called the eagles,” he said, cocking his head to the side, but smiling.

  James grunted something Prentice couldn’t make out.

  “I apologize, but I was following the evidence.” Prentice turned to James with a dry throat. She cleared it. “He’s a great help.”

  James nodded at the compliment but said nothing.

  Balthazar chuckled. “Great. Thank you, James. Come in, Hawk Tasifa. I have lunch prepared and some sweet milk for you. I want to hear what you’ve found out.”

  Overhead, crisp blue sky and milky white clouds drifted along on gentle breezes. They walked down the open airway corridor toward the church kitchen. The dove strode by lush gardens; flowers bloomed in a variety of colors, and honeybees buzzed about in glee. They walked beneath connected arches carved from stone. They decorated the outdoor breezeway. Marble fountains in the goddess’s likeness poured water into the cooling pools. Strategically placed benches provided places to sit and enjoy the splendor. Prentice spied a few of the church members among the vegetation enjoying the day’s perfect weather.

  The aroma of delicious food greeted her before they entered the dining hall. Balthazar opened the door for her, and she waited for him to enter. She didn’t like people at her back, especially entering places she hadn’t been before.

  “After you, Dove.”

  “Hawk Tasifa,” he said, gesturing for her to enter. “Please.”

  “No, after you.”

  The shift in her tone told him she would stand out here all day, but she wouldn’t enter the hall before he did. If someone meant her harm, the dove would get it before she did. Harsh? Yes. She trusted her training.

  “Come on.” He entered ahead of her. She followed. A bustling erupted on the other side of the door. The entire church had turned out for lunch. Tables, complete with white tablecloths, were decorated at intervals with colorful flowers in vases. Voices and random laughter filled the space. Prentice paused just inside the dining hall and took in the view.

  Balthazar turned back to her. “You don’t trust me.”

  “I don’t trust anyone. Don’t take it personally.”

  He quirked an eyebrow. “You must have a lonely life.”

  They walked to one of the tables, already set for lunch.

  “Welcome, Hawk Tasifa.” A woman wiped her hands on a towel. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  “Thank you.” Prentice inclined her head as she took her seat. One of the hens, an apron around her round fluffy body, beamed at her. She wore her hair back in a bun and square glasses sat perched on her nose. She had rosy cheeks and thin lips. She smelled like onions and garlic.

  “This is Martin’s sister, Molly. They keep the church fed.” Balthazar sat down across from Prentice. The servers were all men. Dressed in traditional Gould male regalia—bright colored clothes and flamboyant hair filled with spikes and bows.

  Once Molly had placed all the food on the table, Balthazar stood. At his standing, the others quieted down to silence. Chairs scraped the floors as others sat. He stood, and the congregation obeyed, instinctively knowing what to do.

  Prentice searched the crowded room full of faces and wondered if a killer resided among them.

  “Thank you for joining us today for lunch. This meal is in remembrance of Gretchen Finch. The Finch family needs us now more than ever. This time of fellowship and love for them will show them they’re not alone in their grief. The goddess teaches us to be empathetic to those around us. Eat. Drink. And remember the love Gretchen showed us all, and to value the lives of your own loved ones. Tomorrow is not promised.”

  More than a few people sobbed. How anyone could eat at a time like this, Prentice didn’t know, but Balthazar sat back down across from her. The clatter of forks on plates and glasses spoke to how wrong she’d been about that. Her belly rumbled in hunger.

  “So, did you discover some good information?” Balthazar asked as he forked lettuce into his mouth. He chewed with his lips closed, unlike the person two seats over.

  “I did retrace some of her steps and found out some things. As I said last night, it is early days yet. There’s much I don’t know.”

  The dove nodded as he chewed. Once he swallowed, he said, “I don’t intend to get into specifics here. We do have an appointment with Doctor Aiesha Little.”

  “Who is that?” Prentice forked her salad greens and ate.

  Balthazar leaned closer to her and whispered, “It’s a local raven who serves as the doctor...and coroner. James took the body to her for examination. She wants us to come down to discuss her findings. Tis rare for us to have such a death, Hawk Tasifa. We use what we have.” He leaned back and continued eating. He shrugged. “They’re quite knowledgeable.”

  “I meant no offense, Dove.” Prentice picked up her glass of sweet milk. She would’ve preferred some meat with the greens, but beggars couldn’t be too selective about what they received. The scattering of seeds among the lettuce provided texture and a salty treat with each bite.

  True to his word, Balthazar engaged in small talk throughout the rest of lunch. He asked questions about being at the Order’s court in Lanham. She told him about the grandeur of court and entertaining stories about life amongst the cardinals and falcons. Balthazar proved an amazing listener.

  Toward the end of the meal, the dining hall had emptied except for several members tidying up the leftovers and dirty dishes. Prentice nursed her drink, and Balthazar sat with his legs crossed, sipping warm tea, comfortable and content. This was his element, and Prentice envied that a tiny bit. She had no such place to feel so connected, so free.

  A man approached their table. He had blond hair and freckles. Prentice noted his wild eyes, sharp blue and restless. Her wings prickled and she straightened her posture. Her right hand went to one of her talons.

  “Oh, hello there, Carno.” Balthazar spoke softly to the man.

  “Good day, Dove. I’ve come to meet the hawk.” Carno turned to glare at Prentice. His teeth flashed in a quick, greasy smile.

  A sense of dread fluttered down over her. Prentice met his stare.

  “I am Hawk Prentice Tasifa.” Prentice introduced herself. She didn’t extend her hand for the right one rested on the talon and the left one held her mug. “You are?”

  “This is Carno Finch, Gretchen’s brother,” Balthazar said. “I explained to your mother, that Hawk Tasifa is working. Later, perhaps tomorrow, she will meet with the family to update them on what she’s found…”

  Carno’s emotionless face glared at Prentice.

  Ah, you’re the grieving brother. Yet it didn’t feel that way. Carno set off all sorts of alarms, but she didn’t react. Not yet.

  “It is nice to meet you, Carno, although I wish it were under better circumstances,” Prentice said.

  “Why are you here? Eating food when you should be searching for who killed my sister!” Carno growled at her, almost foaming at the mouth.

  Prentice let out a slow breath. Carno had gone from a blank slate to full on rage in seconds. No, this wasn’t grief. This was something more akin to performance or drugs. Whatever it was, it didn’t reside in his concern for his sister. At this thought, Carlita’s words came filtering to the forefront.

  Gretchen liked men. She didn’t like her family.

  Before she could reply, Balthazar spoke. “The Hawk must eat. Rest. Same as you and your family. Now, leave us. We have other business to attend.”

  Carno didn’t move. His hands balled into fists. His teeth clenched. He simply seethed. Prentice couldn’t understand it. They found Gretchen’s body yesterday morning. She arrived within mere hours of Balthazar’s request.

  Balthaz
ar stood up and placed his teacup down. “Carno, heed my words.”

  “I want to know why she’s still sitting on her arse!”

  Balthazar smacked his hand to the back of Carno’s head, and shouted, “Obey!”

  The dove’s voice reverberated throughout the hall. Prentice covered her ears. Carno stumbled forward into the table from the impact. Gracefully, Balthazar kept Carno from falling into the table completely, and steered him around to face him. He placed his palm on Carno’s forehead, held his head, and began to pray.

  Prentice slipped out of her seat with her hands on both talons. She waited for Carno’s next steps. If he rejected the dove’s prayers, she would blast him with her talons. The magic therein would restrain him and bind him. According to the Order, obedience to the dove’s directions brooked no defiance. People had freewill, but—inside the church—the dove’s words must be followed.

  She had a feeling in her feathers about Carno, and she didn’t like what it told her. Indistinct talking reached her ears.

  Just then a shriek rose from the opposite end of the dining hall.

  A group of well-dressed people, all pale and freckled, raced toward them. Prentice moved to stand beside the dove with her hands on her talons. The woman, taller than the male beside her, ground to a stop just before Balthazar.

  “Don’t punish him, Dove!” She had dull red hair and plain facial features.

  Balthazar ignored her as he prayed.

  The woman shifted her hazel eyes to Prentice. “Forgive us, Hawk. We’re grieving, and Carno hasn’t taken our daughter’s death well…”

  The male beside her nodded in agreement. His hair, blond with golden streaks, shimmered. He also bore freckles across his face, but they added to his beauty. Although shorter than his wife, his dress spoke of careful consideration and meticulous decisions. Khaki dress slacks, shiny shoes, rainbow-colored vest, and golden striped shirt with a bronze jacket.

  “Yes, what my wife says is true for all of us,” he added.

  “You’re Gretchen’s parents?” Prentice removed her hands from her talons.

  “We are,” the woman agreed. “I’m Bella Finch, and this is my husband, Oliver.”