Я так вижу. Романа Романишин

nearly stumbled on something beneath his boot. And when he looked up, Sorrel stood in front of him, holding the candle.

      On her shoulder was an owl.

      Zinna.

      Sorrel smiled and nuzzled the feathers that tufted around the creature’s foot.

      Mother and daughter.

      Raven tried to run, but he couldn’t move. His limbs had been paralyzed. Was this what the Chiricahua called ghost sickness? Was this the first symptom?

      He stood like a scarecrow, and the owl’s yellow eyes burned into him.

      “Mother is going to curse you.” Sorrel unbuttoned his shirt, then reached up and grabbed the amulet he wore, snapping the leather thong that held it in place. The necklace, a flat stone with an engraving of a raven, had been a gift from his wife. She’d given it to him for protection. And now Zinna’s daughter had it.

      He knew he was doomed. He should have heeded Vanessa’s warning about walking alone after the sun went down. But it was too late.

      The witch was winning. She flew at him and her body grew bigger, expanding right before his eyes. Soon she was a human-size owl. A monster that was nearly as tall as he was.

      She clawed his chest with her talons, leaving scars, making him bleed. He could feel her poisoning his veins, drawing energy from him.

      “Mother is taking part of your soul,” the child said. “But you won’t die. Not for a hundred years.” She closed her fist around the amulet. “You will live as a raven. A bird that flies through the century in a timeless battle.” She paused for effect. “And then the day will come when Mother will take the rest of your soul.”

      He tried to speak, but his voice was trapped, silenced in the wind. He watched the flame on the candle flicker.

      Sorrel continued. “That day will be more painful than you can imagine. You will die an excruciating death.”

      And Zinna would torture his soul for all eternity, he thought.

      He wanted to lash out at her, to tear her apart, to rip the feathers from her body. But he was still paralyzed, unable to move, to defend himself.

      So he prayed in his mind, asking Usen to help him. But he had already been cursed. He fell to the ground.

      Sorrel stood over him with the necklace. “This is mine now. It belongs to me.”

      He glanced up at the amulet and saw colors swirling inside it, making the etching glow. Sorrel tipped the necklace, spilling the colors onto the ground, grinding them with her foot. He knew she had just stepped on the missing part of his soul.

      He closed his eyes, and suddenly he was a raven, soaring through the sky.

      He tried to fly in the direction of his home, to stay near his wife, to look after her, but his wings forced him in the opposite direction, away from Fort Sill, from the Chiricahua. Being alone, missing the people he loved, was part of his fate, the isolation thrust upon him.

      And as everything familiar disappeared from view, he heard the laughter of a child.

      Then the dark, deathly screech of an owl.

      Allie’s heart filled with shame. What Zinna and Sorrel did to Raven only reinforced the viciousness that marred her ancestry.

      But it told another tale, too.

      “I think the curse can be broken,” she said.

      Raven blinked at her. They still stood in the studio, with rain beating on the roof and a puddle of water on the floor. “Why would you say that?”

      She gestured to the painting, to the image she’d created of him. “Because a portion of it has already been broken. You’re human once again. And you’re not paralyzed. You can walk and talk. The ghost sickness is gone.”

      “Half of my soul is still missing.” He put his hand against his chest. “I can feel it.” He paused to frown at the portrait. “And I am not completely human. I still have wings.”

      “You only have them because I painted you that way.”

      He spread the wings in question and they opened like enormous fans, as dark and compelling as the expectancy in his eyes. “Can you unpaint them? Can you make them disappear?”

      “I can try. But I’ll need some time to prepare.” To get in the right frame of mind, she thought. To stop thinking of him as an angel.

      “What about the rest of the curse? How do I get my soul back?”

      “I’m not totally sure, but it seems possible that if someone in Zinna’s family—someone who practices positive magic—returned the necklace to you, it could become a talisman, drawing your soul back and breaking the rest of the curse.”

      “Are you offering to do this?”

      “Yes.” Her pulse jumped in anticipation. “How many years has it been? Is it closing in on a hundred?”

      “In another month, it will be so.” He took a step in her direction. “How will you retrieve the necklace after all this time?”

      “I’ll delve deeper into my ancestry, into the witch realm. Sorrel took the amulet from you, and she was my grandmother. She’s dead now, but I’ll track her life, her old belongings.”

      “Did you know her when she was alive?”

      Allie shook her head. “She died before I was born. But my mother spoke of her from time to time.”

      “Does your mother still live?” he asked.

      “Yes.” A shiver shot through her veins. “She’s in prison. For three counts of murder,” she added, her stomach clenching. “I’ll have to visit her.”

      “And this will be difficult for you?”

      “Emotionally, yes. Technically, no. When she first went to prison, she mailed my sister and me the visitor’s forms. I wanted to throw them away, but Olivia said we should fill them out and send them in.”

      “Olivia is your sister?”

      “Yes. She’s psychic, and she had a premonition that one of us would have to see our mom. She didn’t know exactly why. Sometimes Olivia doesn’t get clear-cut visions or feelings. Sometimes it’s only snippets of information. Things that don’t seem to make sense at the time.” She shifted her stance. “We both hate our mom.”

      His eyebrows furrowed. “Then why did your mother send the forms?”

      “That’s what prisoners are supposed to do if they want someone to visit them. But we knew she’d done it to be snide. To remind us that no matter what, we were still her daughters. Still related to her by blood.”

      “To a killer?”

      “Yes.”

      Raven didn’t say anything else, and his silence was deafening.

      She noticed his hair was still dripping with rain, and his clothes remained slightly damp. She reached for a towel, taking it from a nearby shelf. She always kept a supply of linens in the studio.

      He dried off and returned the towel to her. She clutched it for a moment, then draped it over an empty easel. “Why don’t we go into the living room? It’s cold in here.” She walked toward the door. “I can fix some tea. And I can tell you about this century.”

      He followed her. “I am already familiar with the way the world is now. I have watched it change. I know of its progress.”

      Of course, she thought. He’d seen it through the eyes of a raven. She walked into the hall and waited for him, but he couldn’t get through the door.

      His wings were stuck.

      He struggled in the narrow opening, turning his shoulders, trying to force his way through.

      Finally,