Copyright

First published in Great Britain by

HarperCollins Children’s Books in 2016

HarperCollins Children’s Books is a division of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd,

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

The HarperCollins website address is:

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Ferals: The White Widow’s Revenge

Text copyright © Working Partners Ltd 2016

Cover illustration © Jeff Nentrup 2016;

Cover design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2016

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007578566

Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780007578573

Version: 2016-06-29

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Acknowledgments

Keep Reading

About the Publisher

hey’ve got no idea, thought Caw. No idea how much danger they’re in.

He pulled up his collar, even though he was already soaked to the skin, and looked out across the street. It was quiet because of the awful weather, but a few people still went about their business. A man in a dark suit ate a sandwich under a dripping canopy. Cars swished across the slick road. A boy, holding hands with his mother, rushed into a shoe shop to get out of the downpour.

It had been raining for days, but the low grey clouds showed no signs of being empty. The streets were saturated, and puddles dotted the rooftop on which Caw stood. He looked down at the second-hand sneakers he’d found at a clothing bank. Water had long ago seeped through the fabric, and his toes squelched, but he’d been wet through enough times in his life that it didn’t really bother him. Growing up in the nest in Blackstone Park, he’d survived many storms which had blown through the city and ripped the tarpaulin cover loose. If they couldn’t fix it, Caw and his crows just huddled down, lashed by the wind and rain. He had hated it, but he always knew it would pass.

I’ve forgotten what the sun looks like, said Screech. The youngest of Caw’s crows was sitting on the roof parapet with his feathers puffed out to protect him from the rain. The other two birds perched beside him.

Maybe we should go home, said Glum hopefully. His beak rested on his chest and his eyes were shut.

Shimmer cocked her head. Quit complaining, she said. A bit of water won’t do you any harm.

To anyone in the street below, the three crows would have looked completely unremarkable, Caw thought. But then, nobody but a feral would realise he could understand what they were saying.

“Crumb wants us to wait here while he checks out the bank,” said Caw, nodding at the building across the street.

There are twenty banks in Blackstone, said Glum. The chances of them hitting this one are pretty slim.

Caw shrugged.

I can go down and take a look if you want, said Shimmer, hopping restlessly.

Caw thought about it. Their enemies could be down below, and if they saw a crow acting strangely, it might spook them.

He wondered if he should send Shimmer to the hospital instead, to check on Selina. At least that would give her something to do. She would obey him, though she wasn’t exactly crazy about the daughter of the Mother of Flies. No one was, really, apart from Caw. But Selina Davenport was in the hospital because of him – she had taken a bullet to save his life.

In the two weeks since the battle on top of Commissioner Davenport’s apartment, Selina had lain unconscious in a Blackstone Hospital bed. The doctors didn’t know why she wasn’t waking up. They thought it might be some sort of infection. Caw’s friend Crumb, the pigeon feral, said it might be better if she never woke up. Caw couldn’t reply to that. Despite what everyone else thought, Selina was his friend. She’d stuck by him when it mattered most.

Hello? said Shimmer. What do you say, boss? I can scan the block. No one will even see me.

“OK,” said Caw. “Just be careful.”

Shimmer took off, spreading her wings in a low glide and dipping out of sight.

Caw would ask Glum to take on hospital duty later. Any day now, there must be good news.

He heard a squeak and turned to see Pip, the young mouse feral, and the lanky Crumb climbing up from the fire escape.

About time, said Glum.

Crumb was holding aloft a battered umbrella and Pip stayed close to his side as they hurried across the roof.

A pigeon landed with a clumsy hop beside Crumb.

“Keep watch, Bobbin,” said the pigeon feral. Despite the umbrella, his blond hair lay in wet straggles across his forehead and his scruffy beard was beaded with water. “This is the place.”

Caw looked across the street at the ornate three-storey facade of the Blackstone Savings Bank.

“How do you know?” he said. “Everything looks normal.”

“Turns out the manager is a feral,” said Pip eagerly. The mouse talker’s eyes were eager saucers under the hood of his waterproof jacket. It was at least three sizes too big and came down to his knees.

Crumb nodded. “Pickwick, the sparrow talker. That’s probably why the escaped convicts chose it – they get the money, plus they hit back at the ferals who are trying to stop them.”

Caw’s heart began to beat faster. He knew how ruthless their enemies were. A few weeks ago, the Mother of Flies had released Blackstone Prison’s most dangerous convicts and turned them into an army of new ferals, using the power of the Midnight Stone. Commissioner Davenport had given each of them an animal species to control in return for doing her bidding.

Caw may have defeated the commissioner on the apartment rooftop, but her ferals were still on the loose. Crime had been on the rise across the city, made a hundred times worse by the convicts’ new feral powers. Thefts, assaults, vandalism … The papers had picked up a few odd stories about animals at the scenes of crimes – a colony of vultures swooping over the town hall, an infestation of raccoons in the cinema – but the police hadn’t made the connection. Caw couldn’t blame them – they had no idea ferals existed.

That morning, a casino break-in had left two security guards dead, with lacerations to their throats – the work of Lugmann, the new panther feral. It was pure luck that a couple of Pip’s mice had been at the scene and had overheard the plan to hit a bank.

Caw clenched his fists. As the convicts mastered their feral powers, they would become only more deadly. They had to be stopped.

“Should we let the others know?” Caw asked. Mrs Strickham and the other good ferals were positioned all across Blackstone, watching the banks.

Crumb shook his head. “There’s still a chance they’ll hit a different bank. I’m afraid this one’s on us.”

“And Pickwick’s ready?” said Caw, glancing down at his weapon, the Crow’s Beak. The short, black-bladed sword of the crow line hung at Caw’s side, in a sheath he’d made from the remains of an old leather satchel.

“Pickwick’s not a fighter,” Crumb said. “He rarely even speaks to his birds any more. But he’ll get any innocent bystanders out of the way.”

Caw found it strange to think of a feral not using his powers; just living a normal life. Nothing about Caw’s life had ever been normal.

Shimmer swooped up with an urgent squawk.

They’re coming! she said. Black van, five blocks east, stopped at the lights.

“Good work,” said Caw. He turned to Crumb and Pip. “They’re almost here.”

Crumb waved an arm, and several pigeons flocked to him from surrounding buildings.

Pip leant over the edge of the roof. Caw heard a scream in the street below and looked down to see a young girl scramble into her mother’s arms. A wriggling surge of mice had emerged from a drain and poured over the road as passers-by backed away.

Pip grinned. “Who needs a panther when you’ve got a mouse or two?”

With a flick of his hand, he directed the horde of mice up the steps of the bank. The mass of their bodies was enough to open the automatic doors, and they swept through. Screaming customers ran out, and a moment later a small, grey-haired man in a suit and glasses followed, muttering apologies. He looked up to the roof and gave a small salute.

Crumb nodded back. “Let’s get down there.”

“Fetch the others,” Caw said to Screech, and the crows took off as he sprinted to the fire escape. Adrenaline coursed through Caw’s veins as he took the rails in both hands and slid down, his heels slamming into the platform below. He ran to the next set of stairs and did the same, reaching ground level in seconds. Then he darted across the street. What with the plague of mice and the bad weather, the pavements were almost empty.

Mr Pickwick saw Caw coming and squinted. “Sorry, closing early,” he said. “Vermin infestation.”

“I’m the crow talker,” said Caw urgently. They had to get inside before the convicts’ van arrived.

The old man looked him up and down suspiciously.

“He’s with me,” said a voice from above.

Crumb and Pip were hovering in the rain, held by several dozen pigeons.

Mr Pickwick smiled grimly as they landed in front of him. “I stand corrected. Come in – quickly.”

The bank was smart and old-fashioned, with wooden counters embossed with bronze plating, and a huge mural of swirling oil colours on one wall. The air smelt of floor polish and the only sounds were the scuffing of footsteps as Mr Pickwick’s staff hurried out through the back offices.

“How do we lock the doors?” said Caw, looking at the glass panels sliding shut behind them.

“There’s a switch – bottom left,” said Mr Pickwick.

Caw found the switch under a clear plastic hood, and pressed it. The thick glass doors glided shut.

“The glass is bulletproof,” said Mr Pickwick.

“Call the police anyway,” said Crumb.

As the bank manager picked up the phone, a black van screeched to a halt beside the steps outside, making Caw’s heart jolt. He recognised the driver’s crew-cut hair, and his muscular arms blue with prison tattoos. Lugmann.

The convict’s eyes widened as he leant over to look into the bank and saw Caw. He grinned crookedly.

Caw grabbed the hilt of his sword.

The back doors of the van burst open and a woman with a shaved head and a pierced lip jumped out. Caw remembered her from the fight on the commissioner’s roof. She beckoned to something in the van.

The back of the van lurched downwards, and a giant head peered out. A huge bison sniffed the air then stomped down to the pavement. The sheer size of it made Caw’s knees turn to liquid – its hooves were the size of dinner plates. Its head swayed towards them, and it gave a guttural bellow as strings of drool dripped from its mouth.

“Is the door bison-proof?” asked Crumb, his face pale. They stood transfixed as the enormous beast lumbered up the steps, snorting through flared nostrils.

Lugmann stepped out of the van, a large, sleek, black cat following at his heels. He looked up and down the street and then straight at Caw. The panther feral put his hands together as if in prayer then moved them apart, mouthing, “Open the door.”

Caw shook his head.

The shaven-headed woman commanded the bison, and the creature charged forwards, slamming head first into the door with a huge crash.

Everyone jumped back. The glass shook, but didn’t break. The bison backed up then charged once more. The glass held, but the metal door hinges were twisting out of shape.

“They must have cut the line,” said Mr Pickwick, holding the phone limply. “It’s dead.”

Caw’s heart sank. But he pushed his fear aside and let his mind reach out, searching for his crows. Clenching his fists, he drew the birds towards him.

Through the glass, he saw a black cloud swoop down from the surrounding buildings.

Get the bison! He sent a murder of crows at the creature, and others broke off and attacked the female feral with their talons.

Her hold on the bison must have been severed as she flailed under the assault of the black birds, because the huge beast staggered back down the steps and thumped into the side of the van.

Lugmann appeared through the flock of birds, wielding a sledgehammer. As he reached the top of the steps, he swung it at the glass doors. The impact reverberated throughout the bank, making Pickwick jump. Lugmann took a step back and swung again, throwing all his weight behind the hammer. A few cracks appeared in the glass.

Then Crumb’s pigeons joined the fight, smacking into Lugmann as he hefted the hammer again. He tried to shake them off, but more swarmed over him. He dropped the sledgehammer and retreated to the van, slamming the door behind him.

“Goodness,” said Pickwick. “Are we … Is it over?”

The grunts of the bison were muted through the glass. Lugmann and the feral woman were trapped in the van by the crows and pigeons, staring out with cold malice. Surely someone outside had called the police by now.

But Caw’s heart refused to slow down. It can’t be this easy …

“We did it,” said Crumb.

“Not quite,” said someone in a familiar Southern drawl.

Caw flinched and spun round. The oil-painted mural that covered one wall was shifting in a way that made his eyes strain and blink. Then the shape of a man emerged, the colours of his suit flickering before settling into pale cream. It was Mr Silk, the moth feral. He tipped his broad-brimmed hat.

“Mighty nice of you to join me, Caw.”

Caw flung out a hand, but all of his crows were still outside. He glanced at Crumb, but the pigeon feral had made the same mistake.

“Who are you?” asked Pickwick.

“Just a customer, come to make a withdrawal,” said Mr Silk. “A substantial one.”

“Pip, get him!” yelled Caw.

A surge of mice flooded towards the moth feral, but Mr Silk merely looked bored as he raised both arms. The walls and ceiling came alive. Thousands of moths peeled from every surface, burying the mice in seconds and smothering Caw’s face. He twisted and writhed, struggling to breathe, so thick was the air with tiny fluttering wings. Through the chaos, he saw Pip rolling into a ball and Crumb stumbling over a potted plant.

Caw heard an almighty crash and felt a shower of sharp rain across his back. Glass. Silk is just a distraction!

He threw himself aside as the bison crashed through the doors and stomped to a halt in the bank lobby, steam rising from its back and nostrils.

In the next moment, the moths lifted away. Light and air rushed over Caw, and he heard a terrified wail.

The bison was looming over Pip, pawing at the ground with its horns lowered. The mouse feral was pressed up against a counter, shaking in fear.

Caw’s crows massed by the door, but he held out a hand to stay them. One wrong move and the creature could crush Pip or rip him to pieces with its horns.

“Smart decision,” said Lugmann. He stalked past Caw, wielding his sledgehammer once more. His panther flashed its teeth in Caw’s direction. Caw flinched as he felt the heat of the big cat’s breath.

“No one do anything stupid,” said the convict. “Tyra’s beast can kill that kid in a heartbeat. It’ll take more than a flock of birds to stop it.”

Mr Pickwick finally let go of the useless phone. He laid it gently in its cradle. “What happens now?”

“Show Mr Silk to the vault,” said Lugmann.

Mr Pickwick hesitated, and the convict rolled his eyes. Instantly the panther pounced, landing on the counter beside the sparrow feral. It swiped a paw, almost playfully, across his arm. Pickwick cried out as its claws gouged through his suit and blood spattered on to the floor.

“Do as he says,” said Crumb, his voice quaking. “Lugmann, if that boy gets hurt …”

“Quiet,” said Lugmann. “If you do as we say, he’ll live.”

Mr Pickwick led the moth feral to a door at the back of the bank, and tapped in a code. Caw angrily watched Mr Silk’s cream-coloured suit disappear with Pickwick. The last time he’d seen the moth feral, Mr Silk had plunged into the Blackwater, the filthy river that flowed through the city. Caw had assumed that he’d drowned.

“You’re pathetic,” said Pip suddenly, his lips trembling.

“Shut your mouth,” said Lugmann, brandishing the sledgehammer.

“I’m not scared,” retorted Pip.

“Quiet!” said Crumb.

“No!” said Pip. “Even if he kills us, the other ferals will still stop him!”

Tyra laughed. “With birds and mice?” she said. The bison snorted, its massive flanks heaving.

Pip swallowed. “You’re just a bunch of greedy crooks,” he said. “We work together, and you only look out for yourselves.”

“Pip!” said Crumb. “Please, stop!”

“The boy’s got more guts than you, pigeon talker,” said Lugmann.

Some of the bank employees who’d been hiding in the back came through the door, shouldering the weight of huge canvas sacks with notes spilling out of the tops. They gazed at the bison and the panther in terrified astonishment.

“Load up the van!” said Lugmann impatiently, waving his sledgehammer.

The bank staff carried the sacks through the broken glass doors, down the bank’s steps and began to place them in the back of the van. They barely seemed to notice the hundreds of birds massed outside, and as soon as they had loaded the van, they ran off down the street.

Mr Silk reappeared and Lugmann tossed him the van keys.

“We’ll be out in a minute. I haven’t quite finished here,” Lugmann sneered.

Tyra summoned the bison to her and patted its matted fur.

“We’ve got what we came for, my friend,” said Mr Silk, a hand on Lugmann’s arm. “Almost three million, by my estimate.”

Lugmann shook off the hand, and his cold eyes fell on Pip. “Yes, but my pet hasn’t eaten yet.”

Caw tensed, ready to jump up. He could sense his crows outside, spreading their wings. Nothing would happen to Pip, not while Caw was still breathing …

Mr Silk paused, removing his hat. He shot a look at Pip, who had begun to cry as the panther paced towards him. “Those weren’t our orders,” he said quietly.

Lugmann and the moth feral eyeballed each other.

Caw hesitated, his breath catching painfully. Orders? Who’s giving them orders?

“I’m … reading between the lines,” said Lugmann. “Wait in the van, Silk. Unless you want to watch.”

The moth feral replaced his hat and, without a backwards glance, he swept out of the bank.

“You promised not to hurt Pip,” said Crumb.

“No,” said Lugmann. “I promised he’d live. And he will. He can live with one leg, can’t he?”

“You’ve got your money,” Caw growled. “Just go.”

“Do it,” Tyra said, eyes gleaming.

The panther opened its jaws wide.

aw summoned his crows, driving them with all his willpower. As his birds shot into the air, he heard growling and a pack of wolves streaked past him.

Caw’s heart soared. Racklen must be here!

Two wolves leapt on to the snarling panther, raking it with their claws. Another sent Lugmann sprawling to the floor. The bison backed off in panic, as three more snapped and growled in its face.

No, not wolves. They were too small and lithe. Their fur was sandy and pale, not grey.

Coyotes.

The panther rolled then lashed out with a paw, as it backed away across the stone floor.

Tyra ran to Lugmann, but instead of helping him up, she grabbed the sledgehammer. She could barely lift it, and the crows swooped in, pecking at her wrist. She screamed and dropped the hammer, the head crunching into the floor. The crows’ claws snatched at her clothes, lifting her up and dropping her behind a teller’s counter with a thump. Pigeons joined the coyotes, and the massive bison bucked and crashed into furniture in its effort to escape.

Mr Pickwick scrambled out of the way. Crumb swept Pip up in his arms as the panther spun and growled. It hurled a coyote across the bank as if it weighed nothing, and swatted another to the floor with a howl. But more wild dogs rushed in; so many that Caw lost count.

The bison staggered behind the counter, emerging a moment later with a barely conscious Tyra, her collar clutched in its mouth. It dragged her down the steps as fast as it could.

Lugmann was on his feet again and, with his panther shielding him from snarling coyotes, he ran out of the bank’s shattered front door. They stumbled into the back of the van and the doors closed.

Caw rushed to the top of the steps, calling his crows to action. They swarmed the windshield as Mr Silk cranked the van into gear. It lurched forwards, crashing into a lamp-post, then veered across the wet street and smashed into a parked car, scattering glass across the road. The back doors swung open and several sacks spilt out. Lugmann hauled the doors closed and, with a screech of rubber, the van tore off down the street. Feathers and rolls of cash littered the ground.

Mr Pickwick appeared at Caw’s side, clutching his bleeding arm, misery etched on his face. The bank was wrecked. Blood was spattered on the floor, mixed with clumps of fur and feathers. Chairs were smashed, and a clock hung askew on the wall. Around a dozen coyotes lay down and began to lick their wounds.

“Where did they come from?” asked Caw.

Crumb was still holding Pip, breathing heavily. He glanced around as a new voice spoke up.

“Well, I thought you might need a hand.”

Caw turned to see a man of about thirty skipping up the steps of the bank. He wore blue jeans and a pristine white T-shirt, with leather shoes and a leather jacket. His blond hair curled as it reached the nape of his neck, and his eyes sparkled a pale blue. He smiled warmly, and the nearest bloodied coyote pushed its head against his leg.

“Brave work, Vic,” he said. “All of you.”

The coyotes let out a collective noise, halfway between a purr and a growl.

“Fivetails!” said Crumb.

“Who?” said Pip, clearly as bewildered as Caw.

“Johnny Fivetails,” said the man, holding out a hand to the mouse feral.

Pip looked at it, blinking.

The man grinned then clapped him on the shoulder instead. “Still in shock, I guess. It was a hell of a fight.”

“What are you doing here?” said Crumb. “How did you—”

Sirens wailing in the distance cut him off.

“I’ll explain later,” said Johnny Fivetails. “Right now, we need to leave.”

Still reeling, Caw led the way to his house through the backstreets of Blackstone. The rain was falling hard, and he and Pip sheltered under the umbrella, while Crumb and the coyote feral followed behind. Crows and pigeons silently alighted on the buildings and the trees along the way at regular intervals. If there were any coyotes below, they were well hidden.

Caw glanced back and saw Johnny looking about and smiling, despite the rain.

“This place hasn’t changed much in eight years, has it?” he said.

“Not really,” said Crumb. He looked a little confused. “I thought you’d left Blackstone for good?”

“So did I,” said Johnny.

Caw muttered to Pip, “So do you know him?”

Pip shook his head. “I’ve heard of him though. The great Johnny Fivetails! Fought for us in the Dark Summer. No one’s seen him for ages.”

Johnny must have overheard. “Never liked staying in one place,” he said. “Always been like that.”

“So why are you back?” asked Crumb.

Johnny grinned, revealing dazzling white teeth, and pointed at Caw. “Because of this guy.”

“Me?” said Caw.

“Your fame travels, kid,” said Johnny. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet the crow talker who went to the Land of the Dead and returned! The hero who defeated the Mother of Flies! Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you don’t really look like a tough guy. Mind you, neither did your mum.”

The sudden mention of his mother caught Caw off guard. “You … you knew her?”

“Sure!” said Johnny. “Bravest woman I ever met. Beautiful too, but I was only twenty at the time.” He blushed. “Sorry – you probably don’t need to hear that about your mum.”

“It’s OK,” said Caw awkwardly. “Thank you, by the way – you saved us back at the bank.”

“Lucky I showed up,” said Johnny. “Never met a bison feral before, but we showed her who’s boss, right?”

“Right!” said Pip.

Crumb looked less impressed. “So you were just passing by?”

“Not quite,” said Johnny. “I’ve been in touch with Maddie. You know Maddie – the squirrel talker?”

“Madeleine,” said Crumb, with a brisk nod. “Yes, I know her.”

Caw sensed the temperature dip, and he felt sorry for Crumb. When Caw had been helping the pigeon feral shift his meagre belongings from his old hideout back to Caw’s place, an old photo had fallen out. It showed teenage Madeleine and Crumb on a fairground ride, arms round each other.

“Well,” Johnny carried on, clearly unaware, “she told me that there were some new ferals who don’t play by the rules. I heard something about a casino last night, and a bank raid today. I guessed it might be Pickwick’s place. Pretty fortunate, really.”

Crumb nodded. He looked a little shaken.

“Maddie – sorry, Madeleine –” continued Johnny, “is looking great. Finally out of that wheelchair – I’m so happy for her.”

Caw saw Crumb wince again. Time to change the subject.

“So are you staying in Blackstone?” he asked.

“I haven’t decided yet,” said Johnny. “I’m not great with decisions, to be honest. Hey, is it true you can actually, y’know, turn into a crow?”

Caw blushed.

“It’s true!” said Pip.

“That’s so awesome,” said Johnny. “You have to show me that trick.”

Caw hadn’t even tried it since his battle with the Mother of Flies, but he sensed the power lurking within him. “Er … sure,” he said.

“Where are you staying?” asked Crumb.

“Some dump by the river,” Johnny replied. “The lift doesn’t work and it smells bad, but at least it’s out of this rain!” He smoothed strands of damp hair back from his face.

They’d reached a crossroads. One route headed west towards Caw’s house, while another climbed towards the park in the north and the Strickhams’ place. Caw wondered how Lydia was. She was the first human friend he’d ever had – and the best – but he hadn’t seen her for over a fortnight. He missed having her around, smiling and cracking jokes. Lately it felt as though there wasn’t much to laugh about.

“Actually, I’ll say goodbye here,” said Johnny. “Need to find some food for the pack.” He held out his hand to Caw. “An honour to meet you, crow talker. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”

Caw felt a little weird, but took it anyway.

Johnny shook firmly, staring at Caw. “You look so much like her, you know?”

Caw felt his cheeks reddening once more.

“Come to Caw’s!” said Pip. “There’s loads of room with us.”

Johnny put up his hands. “Oh, no. I couldn’t.”

“I’m sure Johnny wouldn’t want—” began Crumb.

“You must!” said Pip. “You just saved our lives.”

“I guess that’s up to Caw,” said the coyote feral. “It’s his place, after all.”

Crumb had fallen silent, but Caw thought Pip had a good point. And perhaps Johnny could tell him a bit more about his mother too.

“You’d be welcome,” he said.

Johnny shrugged. “That’s very kind of you, Caw. Is it the place your folks used to have? I think I even remember the way.” He pressed on ahead of them, whistling a happy tune.

As they walked to the house, Caw thought about the bank heist. A bison … He hadn’t noticed one of those on the roof when the Mother of Flies was creating her new army. He wondered what else had been up there – what other horrors awaited them.

And then he remembered something that Mr Silk had said.

“Those weren’t our orders …” Caw muttered.

“I’ve been wondering about that too,” said Crumb quietly. “It sounds like they have a new boss.”

“One of the other convicts?” asked Caw.

“Perhaps,” said Crumb, but he didn’t look convinced.

Caw shuddered as another possibility came to him. “You don’t think the Mother of Flies—”

“No way,” said Crumb quickly. “She’s in Blackstone Asylum. Her connection with the flies is broken. She’s no longer a threat.”

Caw nodded. But somehow he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

The rain had let up by the time they reached the abandoned street where Caw lived. Johnny Fivetails walked by Caw’s side, marvelling at the dark empty houses.

“This place has really gone downhill,” he said. He turned to Caw. “Sorry, man. It’s just a shock.”

“It’s OK,” said Caw. “I like the privacy.”

“The Dark Summer drove people out,” said Crumb pointedly.

“I guess,” said Johnny.

Caw suddenly felt embarrassed as they approached the overgrown front garden and boarded-up house. When Crumb and Pip had moved in a fortnight before, they’d been full of plans to give the place a fresh lick of paint and repair the windows. But fighting the escaped convicts had taken over from all of that.

Caw saw a faint light coming from the dining-room window. The other ferals were already here.

He led the way to the front door, and pushed it open.

Several people were sitting round the dining-room table, and candles were lit across the room. There were familiar faces – like Ali the bee feral, Racklen the wolf talker, and the bat feral Chen – but strangers among them too. In the past couple of weeks, Mrs Strickham the fox feral had been gathering to their cause all the loyal ferals she could find. Some had refused, but most had agreed to join them, reasoning that they were stronger in numbers. Across the floor lay an assortment of dogs, and a few birds and lizards clung to the furniture.

The room was heady with a potent mix of food smells. Some ferals were digging into takeaway cartons, while others had scavenged plates, bowls and any containers they could find from his kitchen.

When Caw had agreed that the good ferals could use his house as a base, he hadn’t realised quite what Mrs Strickham had meant. But it was too late to go back on his word. It made sense to relocate here – their enemies might guess where they were, but at least no innocent people were living nearby. And Mrs Strickham couldn’t volunteer her own house. Caw knew that her husband, Lydia’s father, would never allow the ferals to use his family home for their war councils. Until a couple of weeks ago, the warden of Blackstone Prison hadn’t even known his wife was a feral, and from what Caw could gather, he wasn’t all that happy about it. If it wasn’t for her father, Lydia might be here with them now. She would have found a way to make Caw feel better about all this.

The tall figure of Mrs Strickham strode over to them. She was dressed in dark jeans and brown leather boots, with a pale roll-neck jumper. Her long hair was tied back. “We heard what happened,” she said. “I’m glad you’re all OK.”

“They got away with the money,” said Caw, lowering his eyes.

Mrs Strickham touched his shoulder, and he looked up. “But everyone’s all right?” she asked.

“I think so,” said Caw. “It could have been a lot worse …”

Mrs Strickham’s eyes shifted away then went wide. A smile slowly lit up her face. “Johnny?” she said.

“Vel!” cried Johnny Fivetails.

Mrs Strickham flew past Caw and embraced the coyote feral. Caw had never seen her look so happy. There was a commotion as several others crowded round, taking it in turns to hug Johnny or shake his hand. Even Racklen, who rarely smiled, was beaming.

Caw noticed Crumb was hanging back in the doorway. He didn’t like crowds either. All these people sitting on his furniture made Caw feel like a stranger in his own home. It was becoming hard to breathe in here.

“So what happened?” asked Mrs Strickham, addressing Caw.

He felt the room turn its attention on him. “Lugmann hit Pickwick’s bank,” he said unsteadily. “We tried to stop them, but they had the bison feral.”

“And Mr Silk,” Johnny pitched in. “It was well planned.”

Mrs Strickham nodded grimly. “I suspected the moth feral wasn’t gone for good.”

“Mr Fivetails came to our rescue!” said Pip. “The bison was going to maul me!”

Johnny shrugged modestly. “Thank the coyotes, not me,” he said.

“Our enemies are getting bolder,” said Crumb. “A bison in the city – it wouldn’t even have happened in the Dark Summer.” He lowered his voice. “We think there might be a new boss.”

Velma Strickham’s eyes widened again, and she gestured to the wolf feral. “Racklen, Crumb, Johnny – we need to discuss this properly. Caw, do you want to get some food and join us?”

The room filled with a hubbub as the other ferals began talking with each other and with their animals. A snake wound down the banister and butterflies fluttered around the lampshade. A Great Dane lay sprawled across the sofa, drooling on the carpet. Caw was beginning to feel dizzy.

“I might go outside and get some fresh air first,” he said.

Johnny looked a little surprised. “We could do with your input, Caw,” he said.

A bright parrot flew past Caw’s face and sparks flashed across his vision.

“Back in a minute,” muttered Caw, as his feet carried him towards the back door. He just needed to get away from all the noise. Crumb would say it better than he could anyway. He tripped over a snoozing fox, which bared its teeth at him.

“Stop it, Morag,” said Mrs Strickham. “Sorry, Caw, she’s old and grumpy.”

Caw stumbled into the kitchen, where a couple of lizards eyed him from the counter. Pip caught his arm.

“Hey, Caw, let me show you something,” he said. “I’ve been practising my power.”

“That’s great,” said Caw as the room spun around him. “But can it wait?”

Pip lowered his eyes. “I guess so.”

“Maybe later?” said Caw, feeling guilty as he grasped for the door handle. “I want to see, I promise.”

“OK,” said Pip.

Caw flung open the back door, and gulped in the cool garden air with relief. All those ferals inside needed somewhere to meet, but Caw felt a flash of annoyance at how they had made themselves at home. It was still his house, after all. He wondered if the arrangement was going to be permanent.

You OK? asked Shimmer.

Caw saw her perched on the kitchen windowsill, talons clinging to the edge of a broken plant pot.

“I think so,” he said.

Glum and Screech are up in the nest, said the crow. They got some egg-fried rice. I told them to save you some, but you know Screech …

Caw made his way down the overgrown garden path. It must have been beautiful once – there were still flowers of every description growing among the weeds and the remains of a delicate wooden archway. Caw tried to remember playing here with his mum and dad, but his memory refused to give anything up. A rose bush had grown away from the trellis in a wild sprawl, and he had to pick his way past the thorny overhang.

At the back of the garden grew a tall chestnut tree, covered in knots and whorls. On sunny days, its huge canopy cast the garden in an emerald glow, but now its leaves were slick and dark with raindrops. Caw wedged his foot on a scar in the bark, pushed upwards and leapt for a low-hanging branch. Water droplets scattered from the drooping leaves as he swung up to sit astride it. As Caw scrambled swiftly up the tree, the tension across his temples vanished. Soon he couldn’t hear anything but the leaves rustling as the dense foliage lent everything a peaceful hush.

The nest at the top of the chestnut tree was almost invisible from the ground, and Caw liked it that way. With the help of a legion of crows, he’d moved his tree house, piece by piece, from Blackstone Park. He knew that he had a cosy bed in the main house, but it brought him comfort to have his former home close at hand. He’d even slept out here once or twice, and he had a feeling he’d want to tonight.

As he climbed in, Screech looked up, rice scattering from his beak.

You want some? he said.

“I’m OK, thanks,” Caw said.

Phew, said Screech, head disappearing into the carton again.

Glum opened one eye, peering out in the direction of the house. Bit noisy in there, isn’t it? he said.

“I’m sure it won’t be forever,” said Caw doubtfully. He lay down across the nest, hands behind his head, and stared up at the gently swaying leaves. The only sound was the steady drip-drip of rainwater. It made him think of a book he’d been reading – with a bit of help from Crumb. There was a story in it about an angry god who made it rain until everyone in the world was drowned. Well, almost everyone. One man and his family survived in a great big ship called an ark. Somehow he invited two of every animal on board.

Sounds a bit unlikely, Glum had said when Caw told him about it.

“Maybe he was a feral,” Caw had suggested.

The nest was the perfect place for Caw to empty his thoughts. Sometimes, it wasn’t hard to fool himself that he was back in the park – just Caw and his crows, before his world changed completely. Back then he hadn’t known that there were other ferals in Blackstone. He hadn’t even known there were ferals at all. Life was hard, of course, but it was simple too. Forage, stay out of sight and sleep. No Spinning Man, no Mother of Flies, no fighting against ferals who wanted to kill him. But no friends either – other than his crows, Screech and Glum. And his oldest companion, Milky, who was gone forever to the Land of the Dead. No Lydia. No Mrs Strickham or Crumb or Pip.

No Selina.

Guilty feelings surged through Caw’s brain. Poor Selina. What was going on in her head? Was she dreaming or just drifting on a sea of emptiness?

Caw sat up, rocking the nest slightly. “We need to check on Selina,” he said.

Again? asked Screech.

“There might be a change,” said Caw firmly.

It’s Glum’s turn, said Screech.

I’ll go, said Shimmer.

“Caw, are you up there?” called a familiar voice from below.

For a moment, Caw thought about not answering. He was fairly sure Mrs Strickham couldn’t see him, and she wouldn’t be able to climb up. Nor would her foxes. One of her creatures must have seen him come up – Velma had spies everywhere.

“Caw?” she said again.

“Ladder’s coming down,” he called out. “Stand back.”

He’d found the old rope ladder already attached to the tree, and with a bit of fixing up it was perfect for guests. He unfastened it from the nearby branch and let it unroll.

The ladder tightened and swayed as it took Mrs Strickham’s weight, and a few seconds later her head broke through the foliage. She climbed a little unsteadily, and it was odd to see her so unsure of herself – the fox feral was normally completely in control. Caw offered a hand to help her in. For a brief instant, he remembered the first time he’d met Lydia and smiled. She’d invited herself in too.

Scrambling over the edge, Lydia’s mother regained her composure as she crouched in the tree house. She’d never been up here before.

“Well, this is … um … cosy,” she said.

It’s not built for two, Glum snapped.

Mrs Strickham looked at the old crow askance. “I might not speak crow, but I’m guessing that was a grumble.”

Glum haughtily turned his beak away.

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m not staying long.”

As she glanced around the nest, Caw wondered what it was she wanted.

“So, you know Johnny?” he said.

Mrs Strickham smiled and nodded. “Very well,” she said. “He saved my life, on more than one occasion. I never thought he would come back.” She shook her head in wonder. “Anyway, Caw, that’s not what I came to speak with you about. I wanted to thank you for letting the other ferals use your home. A place where we can gather offers us security – a lot of those ferals inside are scared of becoming the next target.”

“It’s fine,” said Caw, sort of meaning it. “But is this really the best place? There isn’t even any electricity. Wouldn’t they be better somewhere … else?”

He knew it sounded like an excuse, but Velma didn’t look annoyed. Instead, a wave of sadness passed over her face.

“I wish they could stay at mine,” she said, “but things at home are … they’re a little difficult. Lydia’s father … let’s just say he’s trying to get his head round some changes.”

Caw tried to look sympathetic – things must be worse than he had imagined at the Strickhams’.

“Don’t worry, though,” said Mrs Strickham with forced brightness. “He and his prison guards are working with the police to track down the escaped convicts. We can win this battle if we all pull together.”

“I know,” said Caw.

“And that’s why,” continued Mrs Strickham, “I wanted to speak with you about the Midnight Stone.”

Caw resisted the urge to look up towards the whorl in the tree trunk a few feet above Mrs Strickham’s head. Hidden inside that whorl, wrapped in a cloth pouch, was the Midnight Stone. Caw had threaded it on to a piece of cord so he could wear it round his neck, but the tree seemed the safest place to keep it out of sight.

So that’s what she’s after, said Glum.

“What about it?” asked Caw.

“It’s a great burden on your shoulders, Caw,” said Mrs Strickham. “If ever you want help, someone else to hold on to it, then—”

“No,” said Caw quickly.

The Midnight Stone had been guarded by his ancestors for hundreds of years – since the days of the greatest crow talker that ever lived, Black Corvus. Caw’s famous ancestor had persuaded other ferals of his time to lend a portion of their powers to the Midnight Stone. This was in order to conserve their lines, in case they were killed without a feral heir. The Midnight Stone could absorb the abilities of any feral who touched its surface and bestow those powers on a normal human.

Caw’s mother had kept the Midnight Stone safe from the Spinning Man, and had been murdered protecting it. The Mother of Flies had used it to create a fearsome army, and Caw had almost died getting it back. The Midnight Stone belongs to the crow line.

“All I’m saying—” began Mrs Strickham.

“I can look after it,” said Caw firmly.

You tell her, said Shimmer.

Mrs Strickham smiled. “I know you can, Caw,” she said, touching his knee. Then she took a deep breath. “I should get back to the others.”

She reached out for the rope ladder and placed a foot on a rung. But once she had climbed down a couple of steps, she stopped.

“One more thing, Caw,” she said.

“Yes?” said Caw.

“Can you talk to Lydia for me? She’s having a tough time. With things at home.”

Caw swallowed. He wanted to help his friend, but he wasn’t sure how. He knew nothing about families or family problems. He hadn’t even known his own parents.

“Just hearing from you would help,” said Mrs Strickham.

“Sure,” said Caw.

“Thank you.”

As the lush leaves swallowed Mrs Strickham, Screech flapped on to Caw’s arm.

What does she want with the Stone? Glum said.

“You heard,” Caw replied. “She wants to look after it.”

Or maybe she wants to use it, said the crow. If there’s going to be another war, she could use the Stone to create her own feral army.

Caw hadn’t thought of that. “No one is going to use the Stone,” he said. “It’s too risky.”

You say that now—

“Glum, can you go and check on Selina, please?” Caw interrupted. He’d had enough of the crow’s chattering.

Me? said the crow. Why me?

It’s your turn, old-timer, said Screech.

I don’t mind going, said Shimmer.

“No. Glum goes,” said Caw. “Please.”

All right, said Glum. But I’m telling you, there won’t be any change.

He spread his wings and dropped out of the nest, gliding gracefully between the leaves.

The other crows were silent, but Caw couldn’t shake the niggling doubts from his mind. Could Glum be right about Mrs Strickham? And if she wanted to use the Midnight Stone, why wouldn’t she come straight out and say it?

Caw’s neck prickled with an uncomfortable sensation of being watched. He scrambled up a branch until he could push the leaves aside and peer at the house. His house, even if it had been commandeered.

There was a flock of parakeets on the guttering under the roof’s edge. The upstairs windows were empty.

Then a flash of orange caught his eye, disappearing behind the chimney stack. He wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been a fox.

Caw waited a few seconds, then he let the leaves move back to their natural resting place and climbed down to the nest below.

aw tugged his companion through the streets, feet splashing in puddles. The hand in his was sweaty. Selina’s black hair was plastered to her head and her skin was pale. Her wide eyes reflected silver specks of moonlight.

“Come on!” he said, gripping her hand tighter. “We have to run!”

His breath was like fire in his lungs as they skidded round a corner. He didn’t dare look back. He could feel them following – a menacing presence that grew all the time.

They ran beside a looming apartment block then plunged through a side door into a deserted stairwell. Caw’s legs burned as they dived up the steps, tripping and sliding. How far was it to the top? Caw glanced down as they flung themselves from one flight to the next and saw a black tide swamping the floors below. It rose fast – faster than they could climb. Selina was pulling on his hand like a dead weight, panting.

“Leave me,” she said. “I can’t go on.”

“No!” said Caw. “Don’t give up now!”

He tugged her after him.

They reached the door to the roof quicker than seemed possible, and ran out into the open space. It was the roof of Cynthia Davenport’s apartment. There was nowhere else to run.

“They’re here!” said Selina, terror lacing her voice.

Caw glanced back and saw an army of spiders pouring through. The eight-legged creatures clambered over each other in a greedy rush, scurrying across the rooftop. Caw felt Selina’s hand slip from his as he backed away. She stood perfectly still as the monstrous tide of spiders approached.

“Hurry!” said Caw.

She turned slowly to face him, her mouth open in shock as she clutched her stomach. Her hands parted and he saw a red mark spreading across Selina’s shirt. He hadn’t heard the gunshot, but it was all happening again, just like before. The Mother of Flies had shot her own daughter. And there was nothing he could do but watch.

The spiders smashed into Selina, rising up her legs and turning them black. She didn’t scream, but her knees gave way and she fell into the arachnids’ fatal embrace. Yet more spiders swamped her body. Caw’s feet were rooted to the spot as Selina was carried like a coffin on a thousand brittle spider legs across the roof.

All too late, he ran after her, arms stretched out desperately. The spiders had reached the roof’s edge. Caw sprinted, but each step became harder, as if the air was thickening into a swamp.

Caw? said a voice from somewhere.

Caw screamed as Selina’s body slid over the precipice …

Caw, wake up.

Caw sat bolt upright, making the nest creak. The leaves looked ash-coloured in the dark, and he could only just make out the silhouette of a crow perched on the edge of the nest. Glum.

“Selina …” mumbled Caw.

Yes, said Glum. Something’s happened at the hospital.

Caw tried to calm his breathing. “I dreamt of her.”

You need to come and look, said Glum.

Is she better? said Screech, hopping up to a higher branch.

I don’t know, said Glum. Something’s happened in her room – the window’s boarded.

Caw leapt up. Was Selina in danger?

He quickly fastened the Crow’s Beak under his coat, then swung out of the nest and dropped from branch to branch, leaping down to the grass. It was a clear, cold night.

Caw glanced back to the house, shrouded in darkness. Should he wake them? No. No need.

He ran towards the back fence, ignoring the slashing rose thorns, summoning all the crows he could find. Black shapes flickered against the moonlit sky. Caw held out his arms, waiting for the moment when their talons would fall on him and their wings would make him weightless.

They flew at high altitude, the glow of street lamps and headlights illuminating the city far below. Caw and his birds crossed the river and then passed the ram-shackle ruin of the church where Caw had once lived with Crumb and Pip. In the distance, Caw could make out the solid outline of their destination.

Blackstone Hospital was a towering structure of purpose-built concrete blocks, sprawling around a maze of access roads. The visitor car park was practically empty, and a lone ambulance with spinning lights was parked next to an open set of double doors. Caw and his crows circled over the main entrance. A mad part of him thought about transforming into a crow and flying along the corridors …

Follow me to the back, said Glum, turning his wings and descending in a shallow dive.

The crows swooped low over trees and then banked up round the far side of the building. Glum landed on a windowsill four storeys up. Caw saw that one of the windowpanes had gone, and a wooden board had been nailed up in its place.

“Are you sure this is her room?” he asked.

It’s hers, said Shimmer. I’ve been here enough times …

The slatted blinds on the other side of the glass were closed.

“We have to get inside,” Caw said.

As they flew away from the window, something caught his eye – a sparkle below. At Caw’s command, the crows deposited him softly on the grass. Hundreds of tiny glass shards were scattered on the ground. Directly beneath the boarded-up window. Caw ran towards the main entrance.

What are you doing? asked Screech, gliding above. They won’t let you in at this time of night.

“Wait by the doors for my signal,” Caw told her. “I might need a distraction.”

The three birds landed on a bench beside the front doors as Caw marched into the well-lit foyer. A man with a bandage over his hand was falling asleep on a chair, and beside him an elderly woman sat knitting.

The man at the front desk looked up. “Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a patient,” said Caw. “I think she may have been moved.”

“What’s her name?” asked the receptionist.

“Selina Davenport,” Caw replied. “She’s my sister,” he added quickly.

The receptionist held Caw’s gaze then picked up a phone. “Hi, Marie – I’ve got a kid in reception. Says he’s related to the girl …” He paused. “Yes, the Davenport girl.” He smiled unconvincingly at Caw as the person on the other end of the line spoke. “Sure. Of course.” He put down the phone. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment, someone will be with you.” The smile looked faker by the second, and the back of Caw’s neck itched.

“Is she all right?” he asked.

The receptionist gave him a sympathetic look. “Please, just wait here.”

Something was wrong. Caw leant as casually as he could on the counter, and turned his head towards the closed doors.

“Now!” he mouthed, and summoned his crows with his mind.

They took off as one and the doors swished open.

The man with the bandaged hand jerked upright with a startled cry as the birds flew through the foyer.

The receptionist leapt up from his seat as the birds descended on his desk, squawking wildly. “What the—! Get out of here!”

Shimmer landed on the edge of a mug and tipped coffee across a keyboard. The receptionist picked up a folder and began flailing it at the birds.

Caw walked quickly down the corridor to the stairwell. He knew the way from his previous visit. The crows would find their own way out. A few orderlies passed him on the steps, but no one seemed bothered by his presence.

Caw exited on the fourth level, found Selina’s room and tried the handle. Unlocked. He stepped into the dark interior, his fingers fumbling for the switch.

As the light flickered on, his heart fell. The room was the same – a bed and several pieces of monitoring equipment – but it was empty, the sheets neatly folded.

What if she hasn’t made it? What if …

But that didn’t explain the broken window. Caw crossed the room quickly.

A few jagged shards of glass remained in the frame. He glanced around the room. Something was missing from beside the door – there was an empty stand where the fire extinguisher had been. Maybe it was used to smash the window.

He went over to the wardrobe and hanging inside were Selina’s clothes – black jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket – all cleaned, presumably after she had been admitted. Even her ankle-length boots were tucked neatly inside.

How could she have run without her clothes?

Caw’s heart was beating fast. Maybe she didn’t run at all.

He looked again at the window. Four storeys up.

It wouldn’t be long before the receptionist came looking for him. He went back to the window, trying to piece together what had happened. Someone had come into the room and used the fire extinguisher to smash the glass. They had taken Selina. But who could make a jump like that? Even with a ladder, carrying a grown girl was treacherous – almost impossible.

Impossible for a regular person, but for a feral …

Caw’s throat felt tight as he spotted something under the blind.

Three small insects, curled up in death.

Flies.

Caw scooped their bodies into his hand. So small, so delicate. But Caw had seen what havoc these insects could wreak.

Maybe Crumb was wrong about the Mother of Flies. What if her feral powers had somehow survived? What if Caw wasn’t the only one visiting Selina?

“What are you doing in here?” said a sharp voice.

Caw dropped the flies and spun round. A stern-faced woman in a grey suit was standing in the doorway.

“I … I came to find my sister,” said Caw. “What’s happened to her?”

“Your sister?” said the woman, folding her arms. “We have no record of any siblings. Do you want to try another lie?”

Caw wondered if he should call his crows. “Sorry,” he said. “She was a close friend. I only meant she was like a sister to me.”

“Was?” said the woman. “What do you mean, was?”

“Er … that’s not what I meant,” said Caw, beginning to panic.

The woman grasped the door frame like she was intentionally blocking his exit. “The police will want to speak with you about her disappearance,” she said.

Caw could outrun her, if he could only get past. “When did she go missing?” he asked.

“Yesterday morning,” said the woman. Unexpectedly, her face softened. “Look, whoever you are, I’m Dr Heidenweiss, senior paediatric consultant on this ward. Your friend, she didn’t just get up and walk. She was in a deep coma. The authorities are treating it as a kidnap.”

Caw’s heart plunged. He was right.

“If you know anything …” the doctor continued. Something buzzed and she looked down at a small device strapped to her belt.

Caw took his chance and lurched towards the door.

“Hey, wait!” she said, grabbing at him, but he tore free and ran along the corridor.

An orderly was slowly wheeling a stretcher towards him.

“Stop that boy!” cried the doctor.

The orderly spun the stretcher round to block the corridor, but Caw vaulted over the top and carried on sprinting.

He took the left passage, then a right, then a left again. He ran under signs he couldn’t read, past wards and nurses’ stations. He found a set of stairs leading down and took them two at a time, all the way to the ground floor. As he raced into the corridor he spotted a security guard straighten up, a hand going to the taser at his side.

Caw skidded round a corner. He could hear a baby crying somewhere. There were no windows, and he didn’t know if he was heading deeper into the hospital or towards a way out until he recognised a sign. A white running man on a green background with an arrow. Exit.

Caw heard the squeak and slap of footsteps close behind him. He thumped through a set of double doors, and saw another door straight ahead with a bar across it.

Please, don’t be locked.

With his breath tearing through him, he slammed into the bar and the door swung open into the cold night air.

Come! his mind screamed.

And he felt his crows flock towards him as he ran. Moments later, they lifted him off the ground, filling the night with their raucous cries.

Despite the lateness of the hour, there were lights on in the Strickham house as Caw touched down on the lawn.

I’ll say it again, said Glum. I don’t know what you’re hoping to achieve.

Caw ignored him. He’d seen what keeping secrets from his friends did. This time he was going to be open from the start. The hard part would be getting Mrs Strickham to care. She didn’t know Selina like Caw did. To some of their allies, Selina would always be nothing more than the fly-talker’s daughter – the enemy of peaceful ferals. But if the Mother of Flies was back then everyone needed to know.

Caw was about to knock on the door when he heard hushed, angry voices.

“… in the middle of the night, with no explanation,” said Mr Strickham. “Not even a phone call to let me know.”

“Time ran away, Don,” replied Lydia’s mother. “I thought we’d discussed this before. You know I have to be on call.”

“We’re supposed to be in this together!”

Caw drew back – he shouldn’t be listening to this. He sat down on the step.

As the crows settled next to him, Caw began to worry about what had happened at the hospital. What if they had CCTV? He’d be caught on camera, his picture shared with the police …

“You going to sit out there all night?”

Caw looked up and saw Lydia’s pale freckled face framed with long red hair, leaning out of her bedroom window.

Caw smiled. It was a relief to see her looking so normal after all the weirdness.

“Can I come up?” he said.

“Use the drainpipe,” she replied.

Caw shimmied up the metal drainpipe until he was level with Lydia’s windowsill. She moved aside so he could climb into her room, and the crows hopped in afterwards.

“How did you know I was here?” he said, dusting off his knees.

“I was awake,” said Lydia, glancing down at the carpet.

Caw immediately guessed what had been keeping her from sleep. Her parents’ voices were indistinct through the floor, but they were obviously still arguing. Now Caw looked closer, he saw Lydia’s eyes were red-rimmed, like she’d been crying.

“It’s like this most nights,” she said, slumping on to her bed. “They’re both stressed out all the time. Dad’s trying to track down the prisoners with the police, and Mum is always having secret meetings. He won’t let her foxes come into the garden any more – says it freaks him out. Dad says he can protect the family without them.”

She paused, and Caw saw her face was beginning to screw up.

Maybe you should give her a hug, said Screech.

I don’t think that’s necessary, muttered Glum.

“I just want them to stop,” said Lydia. “Sometimes I wish we could go back to before Dad and I knew anything about it. They say it’s better with the truth out in the open, but I’m not so sure …”

She had been speaking into her lap, in a rush, but now she looked up at Caw. He hesitated, and she turned away, wringing her hands.

Caw? said Shimmer. She’s upset. Comfort her.

Caw shuffled forwards. He began to reach out, but Lydia suddenly stood up, putting on a brighter expression. “Anyway, what’s going on with you?”

Caw dropped his hands awkwardly. “Er … quite a lot, actually.”

“I’ve been watching TV,” said Lydia. “The news is full of stuff about the crimewave. They’re even saying it’s the start of a new Dark Summer. I’m guessing the escaped bison downtown belonged to a feral?”

“Yes,” said Caw. “I was there.”

Lydia’s eyes widened. “No way!”

“But that’s not all,” said Caw. “Lydia, I think the Mother of Flies is up to something.”

Any trace of excitement drained from Lydia’s face. “She can’t be. We stopped her.”

Caw shook his head. “I thought so too, but I’ve just been to the hospital. Selina has been kidnapped.”

Lydia gasped as Caw explained about the broken window and the flies. “Who else could carry her out of the window from four storeys up?” he said.

Lydia went wordlessly to her wardrobe, and began tugging on jeans over her pyjamas.

“Where are you going?” Caw asked.

“We are going to find out what’s going on,” said Lydia. She tied back her hair then pulled on a baseball cap.

“We are?” said Caw.

His friend started lacing up her trainers. “There’s one way to find out if the Mother of Flies has regained her powers,” said Lydia. “We visit her.”

Caw shook his head. “We can’t – she’s locked in Blackstone Loony Bin.”

“Er, it’s called a psychiatric hospital,” said Lydia.

“Sorry,” said Caw, blushing. “That’s what Crumb called it.”

“If she’s still there, I think we’ll find out what she’s capable of pretty quickly,” said Lydia.

Caw felt anxiety squeezing his heart. It had taken more than he knew he had to defeat the Mother of Flies the last time. And even then, the battle could easily have gone the other way. If she was back to her full power …

Lydia pulled on a jacket.

“I don’t think your parents are going to like this plan,” said Caw.

“Those two …” Lydia pointed to the floor, “probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”

Angry muffled voices filtered up through the carpet.

“We should at least tell Crumb,” said Caw. “And there’s a new guy – a coyote feral …”

Lydia nodded at her alarm clock – it was just after midnight. “You’re going to wake them up? We can hardly go into the asylum with an army,” she said. “Look, Caw – you only need me.”

She spoke firmly, but Caw could hear the faintest hint of a plea in her words. She needs to get away from here, he realised.

“You’re right,” he said.

“Great!” said Lydia breezily. A smile lit up her freckled face. “Let’s go catch some flies!”

s Caw and Lydia climbed down the drainpipe, Caw caught a glimpse through the living-room window of Mr Strickham slumped on the sofa, staring vacantly ahead.

“Maybe we should talk to your mum?” Caw said as his feet hit the ground, but he already knew what the answer would be.

“Please don’t, Caw. It’ll only set them off again. Besides, this is just a fact-finding mission. It won’t be dangerous.”

Caw instinctively scoured the garden for any foxes, glad not to find any watching them. Maybe Velma Strickham really had banished her foxes from her home. Caw felt a bit guilty about keeping things from her. But he’d done plenty for Mrs Strickham already, letting her invite everyone into his house. She didn’t need to know his every move.

“Let me get us a ride,” said Caw. He looked towards the sky and clenched his fists, ready to call the crows.

“Don’t,” said Lydia, touching his arm. “If there are flies about, they might see us.”

“Then how will we get there?” asked Caw. “The asylum is right on the edge of Blackstone.”

“The number sixty-two bus!” said Lydia. “It might be public but it’s under the radar.”

I’m not travelling on a bus, said Shimmer. It’s undignified.

“You three can meet us there,” said Caw. “Just keep low and out of sight.”

Ooh, a secret mission! said Screech, hopping along the top of the Strickhams’ fence. Exciting!

You’d better be careful, said Glum. They’ll probably want to keep you there indefinitely.

Very funny, said Screech.

“Will you quit it?” said Caw.

Lydia grinned. “Hey, it’s good to see you guys again,” she said.

It’s hard to fly in a straitjacket. Just saying, added Glum.

Keep up, old-timer, said Screech.

Unsurprisingly, Caw and Lydia were the only people on the bus. The driver didn’t even seem to notice them as they got on board. Caw found it strange to feel the soft rumble of an engine beneath him, and it reassured him to watch the crows keep pace outside. He’d only travelled by car or bus a handful of times in his life and it was a relief to step off when they reached their stop. The doors snapped closed and the bus pulled away into the night. Caw watched its red rear lights vanish over a hill.

They were right on the outskirts of Blackstone, where the city’s residential suburbs gave way to scattered industrial buildings, factories and farms. Caw had been here only once before, when he was much younger, exploring with his crows. The bus depot was half a mile up the road, according to Lydia, and there was no other traffic and no pavement.

The Blackstone Psychiatric Hospital sign was painted on a rotting wooden panel set just back from the road. The building itself looked more like a spooky old mansion than a hospital, perched on raised ground, its turrets and towers piercing the sky.

Looks homely, said Shimmer. I like what they’ve done with the bars on the windows.

“It’s one of the oldest buildings in the city,” said Lydia with a glimmer in her eye. “It was built in the early 1700s.”

Caw nodded mutely. The psychiatric hospital wasn’t all ancient though. There were a couple of ugly extensions on either side – plain, windowless, single-storey bunkers – sprawling across the grounds. Spotlights cast eerie pale arcs of light through the deep shadows. There was a mesh fence, about three metres high, and beyond that a wall. Caw shivered. If you were a patient here, you were obviously a prisoner too.

There was a large front gate with a guardhouse next to it. Inside, Caw could see a man in uniform reading a magazine with his feet up.

“What now?” said Lydia. “I have a feeling visiting hours are over.”

Caw looked sideways at his friend. “I have a better plan.”

“Disable the fence?” asked Lydia, rubbing her hands together.

Caw shook his head. He’d already begun to summon the crows as soon as he stepped off the bus. Now they started to arrive, a wave of dark shapes flitting overhead, joining Screech, Glum and Shimmer. Caw guessed they could sense the electric current humming through the second fence, because they landed only on the first.

The guard looked up briefly then went back to reading.

“Flies or not,” Caw said, “it’s the best way.”

Lydia held out her arms. “Come on then, give me a lift.”

The crows landed across their shoulders and lifted Caw and Lydia off the ground.

His friend was grinning madly. “I love this bit!” she said.

Caw directed his birds to swoop over the gates and the hospital itself. From above, they could see that the asylum was built round two central courtyards. Too out in the open. The crows carried them across the steeply pitched roof, and then he spotted something more promising. Caw steered them towards a flat section scattered with bulky chimney flues. The crows set them down lightly then gathered on the rooftop. There were no security lights or cameras up here.

A light breeze gusted through his clothes as Caw picked his way between the chimney stacks. The turrets were huge up close.

“I don’t fancy squeezing down a chimney,” whispered Lydia.

Caw stopped by a metal hatch in the rooftop, with a simple looped handle. It looked newer than the rest of the building, and a couple of modern air vents had been fixed beside it.

“Hopefully we won’t have to,” he said.

He reached down and tugged on the loop. It opened half a centimetre, but then snagged. Caw pulled harder but it didn’t budge.

“It’s locked from the inside,” he said.

“Oh well, good try,” said Lydia. “I guess we go through the courtyard.”

Caw peered down over the edge. There were more security spotlights mounted on the walls, but it looked like they were switched off.

“Shimmer, do a sweep for any guards,” he said.

The crow took off, diving down over the edge of the roof. As she approached ground level, several of the lights blinked on, casting the courtyard in silvery light. Caw heard an electronic hum and saw cameras rotating to focus on the empty space. Shimmer banked and flapped skywards again, rejoining them just as a guard wandered into the courtyard. Caw and Lydia ducked out of sight with their backs against the chimney flues. The crows were dark silhouettes, unmoving.

“I don’t think that’s an option then,” said Lydia.

Caw chewed his lip. There was no way they could break open the roof hatch without some serious metal-cutting equipment. And Lydia was right about the chimneys – they were too small.

Too small for a human anyway …

Caw scrambled to his feet. He edged back to the vents beside the hatch. They were about a foot across.

“A crow could fit down there,” he said.

“Good thinking!” said Lydia.

Caw turned to Screech, who looked away as if he was suddenly very interested in something in the distance.

“Screech,” Caw said, “can I borrow you for a moment?”

The crow plodded over. Why me?

“You’re the smallest,” said Caw. “Glum wouldn’t fit.”

Yes, I would! said the old crow indignantly.

Shimmer sniggered. Too many French fries. Hey – I’ll do it! She hopped excitedly from side to side.

But Screech shook his wings. Go on then. Bring me back in one piece, OK?

“Of course,” said Caw. He closed his eyes, and concentrated on his mental image of Screech. He felt his spirit detach from his body as it searched for the young crow. For a moment he floated on nothingness, then the crow body drew him in with a sort of feral gravity.

As Caw felt his talons touch the ground, he opened his eyes and found himself perched among the other crows. Several regarded him with curiosity, as if they sensed a different aura about him. He saw his human body lying motionless beside Lydia, eyes rolled back in his head. He took a few steps, getting used to the new configuration of limbs. He opened his beak – Screech’s beak – and squawked.

In truth, he’d chosen Screech because he was the easiest crow to control. Caw wasn’t sure why – perhaps because he was the youngest, or perhaps it was just because their connection was stronger – but Shimmer was definitely harder, and Glum almost impossible.

“Are you in there?” said Lydia, crouching to look into his eyes.

Caw bobbed his head up and down in answer.

“That’s so cool,” said Lydia.

Caw flexed his wings and hopped up to peer over the edge of the vent. Below lay a black abyss – even with his enhanced crow vision – curving downwards.

Good luck, said Glum.

I’m coming with you, said Shimmer. Her talons rattled on the steel alongside him.

Caw stepped forwards and felt his claws skid for purchase. He tumbled into darkness.

He flapped his wings in panic, but there wasn’t any room to extend them as he fell. He heard Shimmer cry out and felt her body buffeting against his. They crashed down on to more metal. Shimmer landed beside him in a tangle as dust filled his beak.

You OK? Shimmer asked.

I think so, replied Caw.

He turned in the gloom, and saw a dim light to his left. He skittered down the shaft towards it. Three slats crossed the opening, but by flattening his wings he popped through to the other side. Caw was in a narrow stairwell with bare walls of patchy plaster. He guessed it was there to give access to the roof, for repairs. Shimmer flapped through too, scattering a loose feather. She was covered in dust and cobwebs.

Up there, said Caw.

At the top of the steps, a vertical ladder led to the underside of the metal hatch they’d seen on the rooftop. On this side, a simple rusty bolt was drawn across. He and Shimmer flew up. Caw twisted his head and took the bolt in his beak. He strained his neck and managed to shift it a fraction.

Help out, will you? he said.

Shimmer joined him, fastening her beak on the bolt as well. Together they succeeded in moving it across.

Lydia, it’s open! Caw shouted, forgetting for a moment that he was talking in crow.

But his friend must have heard the sound of the bolt shifting. The hatch swung open from above, and she grinned down. “Nice work, guys!”

Caw flew out on to the roof, and landed next to his motionless human form. He concentrated hard on letting his aura split from Screech’s and wobbled slightly as he reassumed his normal body.

Screech blinked then pecked him on the ear lightly. You got me all dirty.

“Sorry,” said Caw. “And thank you.”

Lydia started to climb down the ladder into the service stairwell. Caw followed her, instructing all the crows to stay on the roof apart from Glum, Screech and Shimmer.

At the bottom they came to a plain metal door. Caw turned the handle slowly and opened it up a crack. The corridor on the other side took him by surprise.

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