Rant of Ravens Read Free Page A

followed the parakeet. “Did you say something?”
    Perky .
    There was no question the bird had spoken, its voice soft and clear. Maybe she could reason with it.
    “Is that your name?” she asked.
    The parakeet didn’t answer.
    “All right, Perky, just stay back. I’m not in the mood to play.”
    No problem, chicky baby .
    What a strange bird—and a tenacious one at that. She dodged as Perky swooped past her face. Well, she’d be damned if a nine-inch parakeet was going to stop her from kicking off her shoes and getting comfortable. “Where’s Aunt Miriam?”
    Miriam , Perky said, buzzing Rachel’s head. Her arm arced through the air. Perky slammed against her hand and dropped to the floor.
    Rachel stared down at the lifeless bird. He lay on the Navajo rug, wings outspread, feet stiff in the air. My God, she’d killed him. She dropped to her knees and scooped the parakeet into her hands. She hadn’t meant to hurt him. She’d just wanted him to leave her alone.
    A door creaked at the back of the house, and Rachel’s heart pounded. Aunt Miriam? A few moments ago, Rachel could hardly wait to see her, but now… What was she going to say? “Hi, Aunt Miriam. I killed your bird”?
    The parakeet shuddered in Rachel’s hands.
    Maybe he wasn’t dead after all.
    She lifted him close to her cheek, willing a whisper of air to pass through his tiny nostrils. She considered giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, then dismissed the idea.
    But what about CPR? She’d taken a Red Cross first aid class at the office. She must have gleaned something that would apply here.
    She brushed a finger over Perky’s breast, ruffling his white feathers. The parakeet was about one-twentieth the size of a newborn baby, but where was she supposed to press? If she applied too much pressure, she could crack his chest. Scratch the CPR idea.
    Perky jerked.
    Was he having a seizure?
    The bird twitched, flipped onto his belly, then flew at her face without warning. Sharp claws dug into her scalp. He pecked her head. She felt a sharp tug. Then he flew, landing on a painting high on the wall, an auburn strand of hair dangling from his beak.
    “Why, you little beast!”
    Perky wants a hair .
    “Get somebody else’s.” Rachel rubbed her head. “Dumb bird.”
    Stuff it , Perky said. Then he flew away.
    Rachel didn’t know much about birds, but already she disliked this one. Picking up her suitcase, she leaned her tennis racket against the wall. It was definitely time to find Aunt Miriam.
    The house was just as Rachel remembered it. The coat closet, the size of her New York City apartment bedroom and perfect for hiding in during a game of hide-and-seek. The den with its massive desk that looked like Uncle Will had been working there just this morning. The circular bar with its soda fountain. The library with its stacks of books.
    In every room, wood and rock walls, antler chandeliers, and fur rugs mingled with overstuffed leather couches, iron tables, and the occasional William Matthews water-color. Each room boasted a fireplace, burned black over time, now converted to gas. The house smelled of old smoke, burnished wood, new leather—and bird.
    At the thought of Perky, Rachel glanced nervously around. Where had the parakeet gone? She was beginning to regret not having had Aunt Miriam meet her at the airport. Instead, she had rented a car, planning for Aunt Miriam to drop it off in two weeks when she left for Cairo.
    But Rachel had forgotten how treacherous mountain driving could be. Heading toward the snow-capped mountains on the straight ribbon of highway had been a piece of cake. But just outside of Loveland, the road made a sharp uphill turn, threading its way through a deep canyon. Steep cliffs of granite rose on either side, boxing in the road and the Big Thompson River. The river was so swollen with runoff that it had spread beyond its banks in places, spewing sand and gravel across the blacktop. The highway had climbed from a mile above