Came Back Haunted (Experiment in Terror #10) - Karina Halle Page 0,36

fuck was that?” Dex cries out, getting to his feet. It sounded like a bird hitting the window, multiplied by a million.

We all get up and hurry through the living room to the sliding doors that open to the deck and the backyard.

The sun has already set at four-thirty, but the sky is still lit by the endless twilight, showcasing absolute carnage.

Ada gasps loudly beside me, reaching for my hand. The noise I make gets choked in my throat.

The glass doors and windows are a mess of smudges, feathers, and spots of blood. On the deck below are at least fifty birds, all dead.

“Good heavens,” my dad says softly. “A whole flock. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

I walk closer, peering down. It feels like I have an icy finger running down my spine as I stare at their lifeless bodies, heads bent at an unnatural angle, white beaks speckled with blood. They’re Oregon Juncos, my favorite kind.

“God this is awful,” Ada cries out, quickly turning around and walking away, shaking out her arms.

“At least they all died together,” Dex says. “Doesn’t seem like any of them made it.”

“I’ve seen the flocks around here doing their thing,” my dad says, running his hand over his face. “Making these marvelous patterns in the sky, all moving as a single unit. So strange that they would all fly into the windows. I guess they thought they could fly right through.”

But I know that’s not it. Juncos don’t fly in those kind of swarms, and while they’re jumpy birds, I don’t think they’d all go for the window at once, especially after the sun has set. Naturally, I’m thinking about the seagull who crashed into the window the other day.

“Dex, want to help me bury the poor things?” my dad asks him.

Dex agrees, and they go to the garage to get a shovel.

I quickly walk over to Ada, who is in the kitchen, pouring herself more wine, looking about as shaken as I feel.

“That was fucking weird, right?” I ask her, picking up my glass, leaning against the table. She nods, her eyes swimming with tears.

“Ada, are you okay?”

“Yes,” she says through a sniffle. “Just the birds, you know. It’s so sad. I hate when they fly into the windows like that. And all of them at once, I…” She takes a large gulp of her wine.

Ada does have a soft spot for animals, but she’s not overly emotional, not in a sad way. So the tears make me think even more that there’s something else going on.

“Hey,” I say, going over to her. She eyes me warily. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” she says, flicking her manicured nails against the stem of the wine glass. “All those dead birds have me spooked.”

“Anything else have you spooked?” I ask.

I swear I see her flinch.

Then her eyes go past me to the window.

I turn and see the lights from the Mercedes go on outside.

Jacob.

Eight

“I’ll be right back,” I tell Ada, quickly putting down the wine and running to the hall, throwing on my coat before heading outside, hearing her go, “Perry?” before I close the door on her.

I’m not about to miss this opportunity.

I run right in front of the Mercedes before it has a chance to pull away, and though the headlights are blinding me, I can tell Jacob is probably cursing me under his breath.

Satisfied that he’s not going to drive off, I head to the driver’s side where he manually rolls down the window and eyes me.

“Miss Palomino,” he says to me in his dry British accent, his thick red hair and amber eyes glowing in the street lamp, the scars on his face looking craggy in the shadows.

“Mrs. Foray,” I correct him. “And hi. Sorry to flag you down like this but I was hoping I could speak with you.”

He presses his lips together for a moment, squinting at me with distaste. Then he sighs. “I figured you would at some point. Why don’t you hop on in?”

“Where are you going?” I ask, feeling a bit uneasy about getting in the car with him, though I don’t really know why.

“To get a pack of smokes,” he says. “Old habits die hard, don’t they?”

There was definitely some extra meaning in that.

“Sure,” I tell him, going around the back of the car, sliding in the passenger side.

Here’s the thing about Jacob “The Cobb” Edwards: He’s not normal. And I don’t mean it in the way that I’m not normal, I mean it