The Summer King by O.R. Melling Page B

stones around her. Her cold fingers fumbled even as the creatures began to land in the garden.
    The moment the Fir-Fia-Caw touched the ground, a harrowing change took place. With savage contortions they each unraveled to a tall and almost human form. Feathers melded together to make the black greatcoat that she remembered. As arms and legs emerged, the bird talons contracted into clawed hands. A dark layer of skin slid over the face; the beak became a sharp nose. Like a horrible budding, the broad-rimmed hat burst from the top of the head. In the final stage, the lightning-white eyes were flooded with darkness and rimmed with gold.
    The first to land was the leader, to whom the next six bowed. Laurel recognized him instantly. Her attacker at the station! The madness that stamped his features set him apart from the rest. He turned his head this way and that as he scanned the area with burning eyes. She was crouched on the ground, in the act of putting the last stone in place. Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it. She had completed the circle, but it seemed so flimsy, an absurd protection against such creatures. How could she possibly be safe?
    The Fir-Fia-Caw stood together, oblivious to the pouring rain, talking to each other in their croaking language. Raucous squawks trailed into mournful sighs and rattles. They wore human shape, but they were not men.
    Laurel straightened up carefully, poised to run. The leader looked her way. He cocked his head sideways as if sensing her presence. Now he moved toward her. She stood deathly still, too terrified to breathe. He came so near she could have touched him. Her legs went weak, threatening to buckle, but she dared to meet his ferocious stare.
    Only the shapes of the garden were mirrored in his eyes. There was no sign of her there. The fairy charm was working! His gaze glanced off her and into the distance. Turning quickly on his heels, he signaled to the others to enter the cottage.
    A new bout of horror struck her. Ian! He was defenseless. They would tear him apart with their claws! She couldn’t stand by and do nothing. They had come for her, not him. She was about to step from the circle and challenge the creatures, when they jerked to a halt in front of the porch. The leader spat out harsh words. Laurel guessed what they meant. Salt. Knives. Running water. She suppressed a laugh of hysteria. The other charms were working too. The way was barred.
    Did that mean they would leave?
    No such luck.
    The seven formed an arc in front of the house. Opening their mouths wide in a shock of bloodred, they emitted a sinister sound. The hair on the back of Laurel’s neck stood up. The drone was strangely compelling. She could sense it seeping under her skin, snaking through her bloodstream and into her brain. Her limbs began to twitch. She knew what was happening. Her mind was betraying her, commanding her body to answer their call. Against her will, her right leg began to move. She struggled to stop it. Slowly but surely her foot left the ground, ready to step from the circle.
    The leader’s dark eyes searched the garden again. Laurel stood poised on one leg, holding herself back with agonizing effort. If she lost her balance, she was done for.
    Please make them go.
    The chanting broke off suddenly. Ian had lurched into the porch and opened the front door. Bracing himself between the jambs, he stood on the threshold, battered by the wind and rain. His eyes were blank.
    When the Fir-Fia-Caw saw him, they exploded with rage and ear-splitting shrieks. In fitful spasms, they shriveled back to raven form. Now great wings beat the air and they flew away, disappearing into the night.
    Safe at last.
    Laurel staggered from the circle. Drenched, freezing, and trembling all over, she stumbled toward Ian.
    He stared at her, bewildered. His hair was plastered against his face, his wet clothes clung to his body. Like a sleepwalker slowly coming awake, he tried to focus and make sense