Ferals by Jacob Grey

Author:Jacob Grey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-02-19T16:00:00+00:00

13

Caw jerked back out of sight. “It’s Jawbone!” he said in a whisper.

Quaker’s whole demeanor changed at once. He seemed to transform from an eccentric hermit to a creature of stealth, moving like liquid to press himself against a wall. He shot a glance down the stairway and made a clicking sound in his throat. Instantly, his cats sprang up to gather at his side, releasing the crows. Glum let out a pained squawk, and the dogs below growled.

“Looks like you’ve grown lazy in your old age, Quaker,” said Jawbone. “You don’t want to let guys like me get into your hideout. Now come out, little kitty. I know you’re here. My pretties can smell you.”

Felix Quaker pulled Caw’s ear up to his lips. “You’ve done enough damage. Now get out while you still can!”

“But—” Caw began.

The sound of the snarling dogs grew closer.

“Come on!” said Lydia. She darted downstairs into the room with the glass cases, and Caw followed with his crows.

“Don’t bother running from us, Quaker!” bellowed Jawbone. “You’ll only make them angry!”

At the door of the room, Caw stopped. Lydia was already on the window ledge. But something made him drag his feet. The blade—it was calling to him. He had to have it. “Go on without me!” he yelled to Lydia, turning back.

“Wait!” she called. “Where are . . .”

Her voice died as Caw dashed past Quaker and his cats and up the stairs. He bounded into the turret room. Caw, leave it! cried Glum, flapping around the room.

Caw frantically examined the locked case. Nothing to break it with . . . Quaker must have the key. . . .

From below, he heard the screeching of the cats as they attacked, muffled by growling and snapping dogs. “You’ll pay if you hurt a single one of them!” shouted Quaker.

The growling stopped suddenly.

“Now, time for a little chat,” said Jawbone. “You thought you had us fooled, didn’t you? Acting like some doddery old madman. But we know what you’ve got locked away. Scuttle’s roaches crawled into this dump and found it.” His voice went dangerously quiet. “So no more games now. Take me to the Crow’s Beak.”

Caw heard a couple of heavy thumps. Quaker howled. “Get out of my house, you mangy brute,” he spat, his voice twisted with pain.

Caw’s eyes fell on the sword. The Crow’s Beak. This weapon—this was what Quaker was hiding. The words spoke to something deep within him. It was his, this blade. The crow talker’s sword.

“Quit stalling, Quaker,” said Jawbone. “Or shall I call Scuttle in? His friends will burrow through your ears and eat your brain. You’ll be able to feel them long after you can even scream. Or Mamba? One bite from her snakes and you’ll be paralyzed. I swear to you, Quaker, if I have to skin every cat in this house, one by one, I’ll do it. Whatever it takes to make you talk.”

There was a pause.

“Up there,” the cat feral replied, his voice suddenly flat.

Caw’s skin went cold.

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