Harper took another step before she realized what he’d said. She stopped dead, turned in the fog and rain, her eyes widening with fear.

“No, no!” she shouted.

But it was too late. The Morris was already twisting off the pavement, spinning in the road. Its headlamps flashed on as it swiped by her, caught her with one hand outstretched, her mouth open on her cry.

But Bernard either didn’t see this or ignored it. The Morris kept spinning. The engine gave a hoarse rumble. The Morris darted forward—and then was gone after the black car. A moment later, and the noise of both their motors faded away, leaving the square humming softly with city noises, pattering with rain.

Harper’s hand sank back to her side. She stood, gazing at the place where the cars had gone out of sight, her heart thumping heavily.

Then a wrenching, tormented scream sounded above her.

Startled—frightened—she lifted her eyes just in time to see an enormous black shape launch itself from the corner house’s gable top. A raven—its wingspan enormous—soared off above her head. A vast, outreaching blot against the sky. Then it was past her, over the dead garden trees. Out of sight. Another shriek, fading into the distance. And the street was quiet around her once again.

Harper let out a breath, raised a hand to her thundering chest. She looked at the dark door of the house, from the house back to the corner where the cars had gone. She knew an evil omen when she saw one, and she felt dread in her belly like a weight of stone.

Her shouders slumped, her steps weary, she headed towards the house.

5

She did not ring. She pushed the door. It came open—she expected that—but it made her swallow hard just the same.

She stepped across the threshold. The foyer was dark, but there was a light on somewhere in the back of the house. In the misty fluorescent glow of it, she could make out the objects strewn about her feet. An overturned umbrella stand. A flimsy lowboy under a mirror to her right, pulled open, emptied. Umbrellas, drawers, papers scattered everywhere. She stepped gingerly through the mess into the sitting room.

The light was brighter here, filtering in directly through an open doorway. Harper could see the upended sofa. A standing lamp lying lengthwise. The peaks of books that had been cast from their shelves to the carpet. The carpet was slashed into strips. The entire place had been ransacked.

Her breath came out unsteadily. She shifted her grip on her stick. She hobbled forward, kicking the books aside. She reached the lighted door. Her eyes, behind the thick spectacles, peered into the kitchen.