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“No way. No.” She shook her head adamantly. “I’m sorry. I know it was your grandfather’s. But there is no way I feel comfortable with that thing being in the same housewithmy son. At least not without it being locked up and hidden somewhere.”
“I didn’t even know this was in here,” I admitted sheepishly, not knowing the first thing about what to do with the damn thing. “I didn’t know Grampa had a gun.”
God, was it even legal?
Why did he have it at all?
“Well, um, can we get rid of it?” Ray was wringing her hands in the bottom of my T-shirt she had taken to sleep in.
“Yeah,” I promised, my resolve firm. “I’ll just put it back in the closet until I figure out what to do with it. I’ll talk to Patrick.”
“Pleasehide it,” she begged me, and I satisfied her by concealing it in a bundle of spare sheets.
But even though neither of us said as much, we both knew there was no way we’d forget it was there until it was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
MURDER OF ONE
A long time ago, back in the 1600s, some people had believed that the number of crows in a murder could determine their fate.
One meant death or a catastrophic event—something of that nature; two meant joy, good things; three or four decided whether someone would have a girl or boy … and so on.
It was something I had read in a book from the Wayward library, and I remembered thinking then that it was nutty. That people had once known so little about life and science and just the way things worked altogether that they felt they needed to look to the birds in afreakin’ tree to know what the hell was going on when Jacob or some shit had come down with a killer case of consumption.
But now, as Noah and I walked down to the shore, with our tackle box and rods in tow, I looked to the single crow that seemed to be following us, and I started to wonder …
What if they were onto something?
“That bird is freaking me out,” Noah mentioned without knowing what was going through my head.
“You and me both.”
“You should give it some food. Maybe it’ll go away.”
I shook my head, glancing at the grim black bird. “Feeding it will just make it want more.”
“Well, I mean, it obviously wantssomething,” Noah said, rolling his eyes up at me.
Yeah. My soul.
I cringed inwardly at the thought and shook it away. I was being irrational and ridiculous, and I knew it. But I had woken up with the eerie sense that something was about to go wrong, and no matter what I did, I could not get rid of it. It was the same foreboding I’d had for months, sneaking up when I least expected it. But this was different. It was powerful and consuming, needling away at my brain, and that crow wasn’t helping.
However, as we turned off Main Street and onto Oak toward the beach, we did get rid of that damn bird. And I tried to take that as a good sign.
***
“All right, buddy. So, what youwannado is reel in your line until it’s hanging about a foot or so.” I demonstrated and then gestured for him to do the same.
Noah slowly cranked the reel until he did as I’d instructed. “Like this?”
“Yep. Perfect. Now, pull back your arm like this, then quickly sweep the rod forward.” I did just as I’d said as Noah watched intently, eyes widening as the fishing line sailed through the air and into the water fifteen feet away. “Now, don’t forget to release the reel button, too, or it won’t go anywhere.”
He nodded, and then, with determination set heavy in his eyes, he mimicked my movements and dropped his lure just a couple feet closer than mine.
“How’s that?” he asked with a triumphant smirk.
I held tight to the rod as I clapped him on the back. “I’d say prettyfreakin’ good. I mean, for your first try.”
