The White Widow’s Revenge. Jacob Grey

raking it with their claws. Another sent Lugmann sprawling to the floor. The bison backed off in panic, as three more snapped and growled in its face.

      No, not wolves. They were too small and lithe. Their fur was sandy and pale, not grey.

      Coyotes.

      The panther rolled then lashed out with a paw, as it backed away across the stone floor.

      Tyra ran to Lugmann, but instead of helping him up, she grabbed the sledgehammer. She could barely lift it, and the crows swooped in, pecking at her wrist. She screamed and dropped the hammer, the head crunching into the floor. The crows’ claws snatched at her clothes, lifting her up and dropping her behind a teller’s counter with a thump. Pigeons joined the coyotes, and the massive bison bucked and crashed into furniture in its effort to escape.

      Mr Pickwick scrambled out of the way. Crumb swept Pip up in his arms as the panther spun and growled. It hurled a coyote across the bank as if it weighed nothing, and swatted another to the floor with a howl. But more wild dogs rushed in; so many that Caw lost count.

      The bison staggered behind the counter, emerging a moment later with a barely conscious Tyra, her collar clutched in its mouth. It dragged her down the steps as fast as it could.

      Lugmann was on his feet again and, with his panther shielding him from snarling coyotes, he ran out of the bank’s shattered front door. They stumbled into the back of the van and the doors closed.

      Caw rushed to the top of the steps, calling his crows to action. They swarmed the windshield as Mr Silk cranked the van into gear. It lurched forwards, crashing into a lamp-post, then veered across the wet street and smashed into a parked car, scattering glass across the road. The back doors swung open and several sacks spilt out. Lugmann hauled the doors closed and, with a screech of rubber, the van tore off down the street. Feathers and rolls of cash littered the ground.

      Mr Pickwick appeared at Caw’s side, clutching his bleeding arm, misery etched on his face. The bank was wrecked. Blood was spattered on the floor, mixed with clumps of fur and feathers. Chairs were smashed, and a clock hung askew on the wall. Around a dozen coyotes lay down and began to lick their wounds.

      “Where did they come from?” asked Caw.

      Crumb was still holding Pip, breathing heavily. He glanced around as a new voice spoke up.

      “Well, I thought you might need a hand.”

      Caw turned to see a man of about thirty skipping up the steps of the bank. He wore blue jeans and a pristine white T-shirt, with leather shoes and a leather jacket. His blond hair curled as it reached the nape of his neck, and his eyes sparkled a pale blue. He smiled warmly, and the nearest bloodied coyote pushed its head against his leg.

      “Brave work, Vic,” he said. “All of you.”

      The coyotes let out a collective noise, halfway between a purr and a growl.

      “Fivetails!” said Crumb.

      “Who?” said Pip, clearly as bewildered as Caw.

      “Johnny Fivetails,” said the man, holding out a hand to the mouse feral.

      Pip looked at it, blinking.

      The man grinned then clapped him on the shoulder instead. “Still in shock, I guess. It was a hell of a fight.”

      “What are you doing here?” said Crumb. “How did you—”

      Sirens wailing in the distance cut him off.

      “I’ll explain later,” said Johnny Fivetails. “Right now, we need to leave.”

      Still reeling, Caw led the way to his house through the backstreets of Blackstone. The rain was falling hard, and he and Pip sheltered under the umbrella, while Crumb and the coyote feral followed behind. Crows and pigeons silently alighted on the buildings and the trees along the way at regular intervals. If there were any coyotes below, they were well hidden.

      Caw glanced back and saw Johnny looking about and smiling, despite the rain.

      “This place hasn’t changed much in eight years, has it?” he said.

      “Not really,” said Crumb. He looked a little confused. “I thought you’d left Blackstone for good?”

      “So did I,” said Johnny.

      Caw muttered to Pip, “So do you know him?”

      Pip shook his head. “I’ve heard of him though. The great Johnny Fivetails! Fought for us in the Dark Summer. No one’s seen him for ages.”

      Johnny must have overheard. “Never liked staying in one place,” he said. “Always been like that.”

      “So why are you back?” asked Crumb.

      Johnny grinned, revealing dazzling white teeth, and pointed at Caw. “Because of this guy.”

      “Me?” said Caw.

      “Your fame travels, kid,” said Johnny. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet the crow talker who went to the Land of the Dead and returned! The hero who defeated the Mother of Flies! Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you don’t really look like a tough guy. Mind you, neither did your mum.”

      The sudden mention of his mother caught Caw off guard. “You … you knew her?”

      “Sure!” said Johnny. “Bravest woman I ever met. Beautiful too, but I was only twenty at the time.” He blushed. “Sorry – you probably don’t need to hear that about your mum.”

      “It’s OK,” said Caw awkwardly. “Thank you, by the way – you saved us back at the bank.”

      “Lucky I showed up,” said Johnny. “Never met a bison feral before, but we showed her who’s boss, right?”

      “Right!” said Pip.

      Crumb looked less impressed. “So you were just passing by?”

      “Not quite,” said Johnny. “I’ve been in touch with Maddie. You know Maddie – the squirrel talker?”

      “Madeleine,” said Crumb, with a brisk nod. “Yes, I know her.”

      Caw sensed the temperature dip, and he felt sorry for Crumb. When Caw had been helping the pigeon feral shift his meagre belongings from his old hideout back to Caw’s place, an old photo had fallen out. It showed teenage Madeleine and Crumb on a fairground ride, arms round each other.

      “Well,” Johnny carried on, clearly unaware, “she told me that there were some new ferals who don’t play by the rules. I heard something about a casino last night, and a bank raid today. I guessed it might be Pickwick’s place. Pretty fortunate, really.”

      Crumb nodded. He looked a little shaken.

      “Maddie – sorry, Madeleine –” continued Johnny, “is looking great. Finally out of that wheelchair – I’m so happy for her.”

      Caw saw Crumb wince again. Time to change the subject.

      “So are you staying in Blackstone?” he asked.

      “I haven’t decided yet,” said Johnny. “I’m not great with decisions, to be honest. Hey, is it true you can actually, y’know, turn into a crow?”

      Caw blushed.

      “It’s true!” said Pip.

      “That’s so awesome,” said Johnny. “You have to show me that trick.”

      Caw hadn’t even tried it since his battle with the Mother of Flies, but he sensed the power lurking within him. “Er … sure,” he said.

      “Where are you staying?” asked Crumb.

      “Some dump by the river,” Johnny replied. “The lift doesn’t work and it smells bad, but at least it’s out of this rain!” He smoothed strands of damp hair back from his face.

      They’d