The White Widow’s Revenge. Jacob Grey

head. Hidden inside that whorl, wrapped in a cloth pouch, was the Midnight Stone. Caw had threaded it on to a piece of cord so he could wear it round his neck, but the tree seemed the safest place to keep it out of sight.

      So that’s what she’s after, said Glum.

      “What about it?” asked Caw.

      “It’s a great burden on your shoulders, Caw,” said Mrs Strickham. “If ever you want help, someone else to hold on to it, then—”

      “No,” said Caw quickly.

      The Midnight Stone had been guarded by his ancestors for hundreds of years – since the days of the greatest crow talker that ever lived, Black Corvus. Caw’s famous ancestor had persuaded other ferals of his time to lend a portion of their powers to the Midnight Stone. This was in order to conserve their lines, in case they were killed without a feral heir. The Midnight Stone could absorb the abilities of any feral who touched its surface and bestow those powers on a normal human.

      Caw’s mother had kept the Midnight Stone safe from the Spinning Man, and had been murdered protecting it. The Mother of Flies had used it to create a fearsome army, and Caw had almost died getting it back. The Midnight Stone belongs to the crow line.

      “All I’m saying—” began Mrs Strickham.

      “I can look after it,” said Caw firmly.

      You tell her, said Shimmer.

      Mrs Strickham smiled. “I know you can, Caw,” she said, touching his knee. Then she took a deep breath. “I should get back to the others.”

      She reached out for the rope ladder and placed a foot on a rung. But once she had climbed down a couple of steps, she stopped.

      “One more thing, Caw,” she said.

      “Yes?” said Caw.

      “Can you talk to Lydia for me? She’s having a tough time. With things at home.”

      Caw swallowed. He wanted to help his friend, but he wasn’t sure how. He knew nothing about families or family problems. He hadn’t even known his own parents.

      “Just hearing from you would help,” said Mrs Strickham.

      “Sure,” said Caw.

      “Thank you.”

      As the lush leaves swallowed Mrs Strickham, Screech flapped on to Caw’s arm.

      What does she want with the Stone? Glum said.

      “You heard,” Caw replied. “She wants to look after it.”

      Or maybe she wants to use it, said the crow. If there’s going to be another war, she could use the Stone to create her own feral army.

      Caw hadn’t thought of that. “No one is going to use the Stone,” he said. “It’s too risky.”

       You say that now—

      “Glum, can you go and check on Selina, please?” Caw interrupted. He’d had enough of the crow’s chattering.

      Me? said the crow. Why me?

      It’s your turn, old-timer, said Screech.

      I don’t mind going, said Shimmer.

      “No. Glum goes,” said Caw. “Please.”

      All right, said Glum. But I’m telling you, there won’t be any change.

      He spread his wings and dropped out of the nest, gliding gracefully between the leaves.

      The other crows were silent, but Caw couldn’t shake the niggling doubts from his mind. Could Glum be right about Mrs Strickham? And if she wanted to use the Midnight Stone, why wouldn’t she come straight out and say it?

      Caw’s neck prickled with an uncomfortable sensation of being watched. He scrambled up a branch until he could push the leaves aside and peer at the house. His house, even if it had been commandeered.

      There was a flock of parakeets on the guttering under the roof’s edge. The upstairs windows were empty.

      Then a flash of orange caught his eye, disappearing behind the chimney stack. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been a fox.

      Caw waited a few seconds, then he let the leaves move back to their natural resting place and climbed down to the nest below.

      

      

aw tugged his companion through the streets, feet splashing in puddles. The hand in his was sweaty. Selina’s black hair was plastered to her head and her skin was pale. Her wide eyes reflected silver specks of moonlight.

       “Come on!” he said, gripping her hand tighter. “We have to run!”

       His breath was like fire in his lungs as they skidded round a corner. He didn’t dare look back. He could feel them following – a menacing presence that grew all the time.

       They ran beside a looming apartment block then plunged through a side door into a deserted stairwell. Caw’s legs burned as they dived up the steps, tripping and sliding. How far was it to the top? Caw glanced down as they flung themselves from one flight to the next and saw a black tide swamping the floors below. It rose fast – faster than they could climb. Selina was pulling on his hand like a dead weight, panting.

       “Leave me,” she said. “I can’t go on.”

       “No!” said Caw. “Don’t give up now!”

       He tugged her after him.

       They reached the door to the roof quicker than seemed possible, and ran out into the open space. It was the roof of Cynthia Davenport’s apartment. There was nowhere else to run.

       “They’re here!” said Selina, terror lacing her voice.

       Caw glanced back and saw an army of spiders pouring through. The eight-legged creatures clambered over each other in a greedy rush, scurrying across the rooftop. Caw felt Selina’s hand slip from his as he backed away. She stood perfectly still as the monstrous tide of spiders approached.

       “Hurry!” said Caw.

       She turned slowly to face him, her mouth open in shock as she clutched her stomach. Her hands parted and he saw a red mark spreading across Selina’s shirt. He hadn’t heard the gunshot, but it was all happening again, just like before. The Mother of Flies had shot her own daughter. And there was nothing he could do but watch.

       The spiders smashed into Selina, rising up her legs and turning them black. She didn’t scream, but her knees gave way and she fell into the arachnids’ fatal embrace. Yet more spiders swamped her body. Caw’s feet were rooted to the spot as Selina was carried like a coffin on a thousand brittle spider legs across the roof.

       All too late, he ran after her, arms stretched out desperately. The spiders had reached the roof’s edge. Caw sprinted, but each step became harder, as if the air was thickening into a swamp.

      Caw? said a voice from somewhere.

       Caw screamed as Selina’s body slid over the precipice …

       Caw, wake up.

      Caw sat bolt upright, making the nest creak. The leaves looked ash-coloured in the dark, and he