She had been well behaved since the creeps from the church had brought her over. Once Tarantula had told his contact at the church that he thought Charlotte Goode was up to something, it had all happened so fast. After strangling Goode, they watched the house and saw Margaret and Sheryl Ann come and go from her basement apartment and then followed them to the Hollywood sign. And luckily, ever since Sheryl Ann had been taken, she had kept quiet. Didn’t act up when allowed to go to the bathroom or eat. He’d told her all she had to do was sit quiet and she’d be released as soon as Charlie and his wife gave back the docu—

Crack!

This time he saw what it was: an enormous black bird flying into the large bay window. It wasn’t like when dumb sparrows mistake a clean window for the sky and accidentally kamikaze into it; no, this seemed predatory, intentional. Tarantula scurried over to the huge safe where the tabloid stored the most salacious, exquisitely damaging photographs and receipts, the evidence that kept Hollywood, Manhattan, DC, and Chicago cooperative. Material far worse than what was in the files at work. He had a gun in the safe too, and he began spinning the combination lock: three times to the right to 35, twice to the—

The window shattered as the black bird burst through, sending shards of glass throughout the room.

Sheryl Ann looked away, but pieces of glass hit her arms and face, leaving behind a confetti of small cuts.

Tarantula managed to open the safe. He reached for the gun but failed to grab it before the raven flew at him. He fell on his back and tried to fend it off, and suddenly there was another raven, and another, and another. Sheryl Ann watched, dumbfounded, as a conspiracy of ravens—two dozen or so—dived at Tarantula’s face and body, pecking viciously. They left Sheryl Ann alone. Tarantula let out a high-pitched shriek as he tried to bat the birds away. It was such an insane spectacle, Sheryl Ann barely noticed when Isaiah Street appeared outside the window as if by magic, standing on a ledge, clearing the remaining glass away with a handkerchief, then stepping through the frame.

Street looked at Sheryl Ann, then at Tarantula wriggling on the ground as the ravens continued their attack, then back at Sheryl Ann. He held up one finger—One second—then ran into the living room. She could hear him opening the front door and others entering the apartment. Her heart pounded. She had no idea how many days she’d been here.

“Sheryl Ann!” yelled Margaret, running to her from the living room. She took the gag out of her friend’s mouth. Sheryl Ann tried to speak but her throat was dry.

“Oh, thank God,” Sheryl Ann finally said.