Owl was surprised and pleased. River hadn’t said more than two words since her grandfather’s death and her recovery from her bout with the plague. To hear her speak like this, sounding strong and self–assured again, was a small miracle.
“River’s right,” Sparrow echoed.
“How are we gonna protect ourselves?” Panther demanded, unwilling to give it up. His face was dark with anger. “Tell me that!”
“Where’s Logan Tom?” Hawk asked. “He was sent to protect us. He can help.”
“He can’t protect no one!” Panther sneered. He brushed angrily at the air in front of him. “Why do you think he’s not sitting in on this, O mighty one who sees and knows all?”
“Watch your mouth, Panther Pee!” Sparrow snapped at him. She was on her feet, her fists clenched. “Watch your own mouth, birdbrain!” Panther rose, as well.
“Oh, sit down and grow up!” Cat growled from back in the shadows. Rabbit hopped out of her lap and hissed. “Go on, little children! Sit down!”
She said it without shouting, but there was an edge to her words that stopped both where they were. Glowering at each other, they sat.
“Logan is in a coma,” Owl interjected before Panther and Sparrow could start up again. “He was in a terrible fight, and he was almost killed. Panther and Catalya rescued him, but he’s been unconscious ever since. We’ve done what we can to help him, but he won’t come awake.”
“Might not ever come awake,” Panther muttered, giving Sparrow a hard look.
Quickly Owl said, “Why don’t all of you tell Hawk and Tessa what happened to us after they disappeared?”
The others were eager to do so, and for a time the conversation turned away from the end of the world and the journey ahead to a recounting of the escape from the city and the trek south in the wake of the invasion off the harbor. They told about the attack on the compound; about the boy with the ruined face and the death of Squirrel; about the encounter with the “Creepers,” as Panther had named them; and about the attack on the camp by Croaks that had led to Candle’s kidnapping. Everyone shared a piece of the story. Even Catalya took part, relating how she had encountered Logan and taken him to the Senator and what had happened afterward.
Owl let the others talk without joining in, content to watch how they interacted, paying particular attention to Hawk. She was still getting used to the idea that he was alive. It wasn’t that she had believed he was dead. It was mostly that she had lived for so long with the possibility of it. Having him back was such an enormous relief that she was overwhelmed by it.
She found herself thinking about how much the members of her little family had changed since they had left their city home. They had grown, some differently than others, but all in one way or another. She was pleased that River had come back from the loss of her grandfather, her dark despondency and apathy faded into the past. Fixit was better, too. He no longer talked about his failures and his shortcomings. He no longer agonized over his part in the death of the Weatherman. Even Cat was beginning to feel like one of the family. Slowly but surely, the others had accepted her, in small ways first, then in large measure. Panther was especially attentive, as if what they had shared in rescuing Logan Tom had forged a bond between them.
Maybe we can’t make this journey Hawk wants us to make, she thought. But it doesn’t feel that way. Not to me.
“So we got out from under the stands,” Panther was saying. “All these Krilka Koos stump heads start running for their lives. Logan, he was throwing fire at them with that black staff, yards of it, everything burning. It was something! But we got to him, me and Cat–he didn’t burn us–and we got him out of there and back up to the freeway. That’s where the Ghosts found us.”
“I brought the AV back to get them,” Fixit said proudly. “I told Owl we couldn’t wait anymore to see what was going to happen, that we had to come back for them. We would have gone right into that camp if we’d had to! Wouldn’t we, Owl?”
He stopped suddenly, staring at her. “What’s wrong?”
They were all looking at her, and she realized that she was crying. She wiped at her eyes, knowing she couldn’t explain why. “I was just thinking about Squirrel,” she lied. “Go ahead, keep talking.”
They hesitated for a moment, not sure what they should do, then gave in to their excitement and went back to their story. Owl took a deep, steadying breath. Fixit had been so unexpectedly brave, telling her he had to go, wheeling the AV around with only Chalk and Sparrow for company, leaving the rest of them to wait. Had to be quick and mobile, he had told her, so the wagon and the other Ghosts had to stay behind. She was afraid for him, but she knew that he was determined and that what he was doing was the right thing. Chalk was his reluctant companion; he went because Fixit was his best friend and they did everything together, even the things that one of them didn’t want to do. Sparrow went because she knew how to use the Parkhan Spray.
“We been heading south ever since,” Panther finished up. “That’s how you found us, coming down the freeway to find you.”
“Logan Tom is still unconscious?” Hawk asked him.
“Ain’t said a word or moved a muscle since we got him out.” The other boy gave him a dark look. “So what’s to keep us from being sliced and diced out there on the trail once you take us to wherever,
Bird‑Man? We ain’t got Mister Knight of the Word anymore. We ain’t got anyone with real skill in the staying–alive way. We got some firepower with the flechettes and the sprays, but nothing like that black staff.”
“Maybe we do,” Hawk said quietly.
They all looked at him, Owl hardest of all.
“Hawk, don’t …,” Tessa started to say.
He held up one hand quickly, like he knew what she was going to say and didn’t want her to, Owl thought. Tessa, in turn, it seemed, was afraid he was going to reveal something that he shouldn’t. Owl didn’t know what it was, but she was pretty sure it had something to do with the way he had changed on finding out the truth about who and what he was. She could sense that change, but not yet define it. She watched him closely to see what he would do next, searching for the answer.
Then all at once Hawk was staring right at her.
“Can I have a look at Logan Tom?” he asked.
Owl LED THE way, wheeling herself with help from Candle, who climbed down off her lap and walked beside her. The others trailed along behind, whispering among themselves. The night had gone deeper and darker, and while the stars continued to fill the sky with their pinpricks of light, the moon had disappeared. In the distance, lost in the blackness, a dog howled.
Cheney, who had risen from his repose to follow Hawk, never even so much as glanced in the direction of the sound, his dark muzzle swinging from side to side in that familiar way. Hawk was watching Owl again, thinking that she recognized that something was different about him and was wondering what it was. She was too smart not to pick up on it, too connected to him. She knew it was real; she just didn’t know yet what form it had taken because it wasn’t something she could see.
Eventually, she would figure it out. They all would. Or events would force him to reveal it.
That the magic that had formed him had surfaced from its dormant state and was now a full–blown presence.
He was a boy, same as always. But he was a gypsy morph, too. It was odd to think like this. He didn’t feel any different than he had before the King of the Silver River had saved him and brought him into the gardens. But where before he had lacked knowledge of his origins, had accepted his memories of his childhood as real, now he knew the truth. Not only knew it, but had seen the extent of it demonstrated at that militia–controlled bridge where he had used his magic–almost without knowing what he was doing–to turn everything into a tangled green jungle.