Page 21 of The Unknown Birds

As if on cue, the beetles began to glow, one after another. She’d never seen anything like it.

Ash swallowed. Was she also bioluminescent when Rook was nearby? She certainly felt as if he made her glow. She would have to be much more careful.

“Why are they in a jar?” she asked.

“I collected them.”

“For a bit of whimsy, sir?”

He chuckled again and handed over her tea. “Yes, and to save on candles.”

“How do they glow like that?”

“Transfixing, isn’t it? Out there it can look like stardust sprinkled through a field.”

Ashley smiled at the poetry of such an image, and for a moment Captain Davies seemed to forget his burdens and smiled back. But just as quickly the smile faded, and his whole demeanor became grave.

“We move back into the front line soon.”

“Soon, sir?”

“Soon,” he repeated, placing a bundle of papers on the desk before her. “Your own set of maps. One for you, one for Tomasson.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Memorize them quick as you can. In the heat of the moment, there won’t be time to stop and consult a map. You’ll have to fly on memory and instinct and grit.”

Ashley’s stomach tightened.

The trenches. It was nearly time for the real war to begin. “I’m equal to it, sir, I promise,” she said in the hope of convincing them both.

Out in the field, the lads had almost finished re-erecting their tent, while Rook loitered nearby keeping watch.

“All right?” he asked, handing his cigarette off to a grateful Stewart before stepping closer, enveloping her in his sweet cheroot and bergamot scent. Gently, he tilted her chin up to get a better look at the newly forming bruise where Reid had hit her, and his touch branded her like fire.

“Fine,” she whispered. “He gave me maps.” She held them up for him to see. “We’re going into trenches soon, he said.”

The muscle in Rook’s jaw popped, but he nodded, any trace of emotion vanquished into dust. “When the time comes, fly safe, Little Bird,” he told her with a sober nod, and she grinned at him.

“When the time comes, fly true,” she told him back, because it felt right. Then, “Your bullets,” she explained, feeling silly.

“True as steel,” he replied with a cocky smirk.

“True as Troilus?” she asked with a laugh.

He tilted his head. “More Shakespeare?”

“You know it?”

He sighed. “I did once. Goodnight, Ash,” he said, but she remained, stock still, staring into the night long after he had faded into darkness.

Chapter 8

London, January 1939

I was twenty years old when alarm was sent,

And that was a night ago;