AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But the man was in the apartment now, and he was going to die.
Dahlia could tell.
It was strange how it felt, a kind of darkness out on the edge of her consciousness, a strange and eager pull. Dahlia could see him in her mind’s eye, could see his emaciated body naked on the bed in the back bedroom, see the scabs on his arms from the needles, see the hollow and hungry look in his eyes.
Dahlia had not disclosed her status as a raven mocker to anyone in her field practicum. She was not required to by law, as it could be used for purposes of discrimination. So, she could come clean now, and tell the social worker she was shadowing that she was feeling the effects of her species and that she would need to leave.
But this would blow up in her face, and she knew it.
It would make her appear as if she was not trustworthy, and then it would all come out. There would be conversations about raven mockers, about if she could be dangerous, about how much control she had over herself, and none of it would be good.
They wouldn’t be allowed to cite a species-related reason for not giving her a good recommendation to her college program, of course, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t do it and simply call it some other reason.
She could not let on how she was feeling.
So, Dahlia forced herself not to react.
She could feel the man on the edge of her consciousness and she could hear his heart beating. She could practically taste his heart. The taste wasn’t a taste on her tastebuds, not exactly, though when she fed, she got a strong welling up in the back of her throat, metallic and frankly delicious. She was anticipating that.
Her wings were tingling.
They wanted to burst into flame.
They wanted to beat against the air and take her into the sky, where she would let out a long, keening cry, and dive down onto that man in the back bedroom (maybe she’d have to plunge through the roof? If she went into the sky, how was she going to get into the house?) and then take him.
He was gone, anyway.
He’d be dead from however much of the drug he’d pumped into his veins within five to six hours. He was too fragile. He had used his body up and it was nothing more than a husk now.
The apartment was small. It had only one bedroom, something that Maisie was hoping to change. To get her children back, even with part-time custody, she’d need to show that she could care for them properly, and not having a bedroom for them didn’t look good. Maisie was saving up money, week after week, to get a bigger apartment.
Today, Maisie was nervous.
The social worker noticed. Dahlia would have noticed, too, even if she hadn’t felt the presence of the boyfriend and known everything. The boyfriend was fae.
“What’s going on, Maisie?” The social worker sat down on the couch with her.
“During a home visit, do you have to go into my bedroom?” said Maisie quietly. She had short brow curls and an upturned, freckled nose.
“Who’s in your bedroom?” said the social worker, catching onto all of this immediately.
Maisie shook her head.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” spoke up Dahlia in a voice that sounded like dry leaves, because it was so full ofneed. “Your boyfriend.”
Maisie’s lower lip trembled. “He showed up wasted. I swear, I didn’t do anything with him. I managed to say no, and I took what he had and flushed it. I know I’m supposed to send him away, but he…” She raised her shoulders. “How do you do that to someone you love? I know people will say to me that you can’t let someone hurt you over and over again, but I don’t feel like love is a scorecard like that, do you know what I mean? If you love someone, you let come him inside out of the cold if he needs you.”
Dahlia felt this go through her, her own words, twisted out of this woman’s mouth, and she wondered at herself.
She was no drug addict, of course, and she was no desperate woman.
Tommy wasn’t like that twisted half-alive bag of bones barely breathing on the bed back there.
It was nothing the same.
But it struck her anyway.
“He’s here?” The social worker was on her feet. “He’s in your bedroom?”
