Chapter Three

Sarah's POV

"Okay, don't drink too much. I've got inventory to do at the shop tonight, probably going to run pretty late."

"You're the best, babe. Love you."

"Love you too."

I hang up and pull up the surveillance app on my phone right away. The picture's sharp, the audio's clean. Everything's set.

I walk over to the birdcage and open the door. Corvus hops onto my wrist, its feathers catching the last of the sunset in a dazzling wash of color.

"Let's go, Corvus." I pull out a clear acrylic pet carrier and settle it inside. "Tonight, I'm taking you out."

Seven at night, the streetlights just coming on.

I don't go to the shop to do inventory. Instead, I sling the clear carrier over my shoulder and catch a cab straight to the busiest spot in the city, the downtown riverfront plaza.

The plaza's the landmark of this city. Every night, it pulls in thousands of people out for a walk, street performers, skaters, and every influencer with a selfie stick you can imagine.

The second I step out of the cab, I'm the center of attention.

No mystery why. The bird in my carrier does all the work. European starlings are rare enough on their own, and Corvus, with whatever's living inside it, has feathers ten times as brilliant as any ordinary starling. Under the plaza lights, the purple and green spots on its wings look like a river of stars, and every time it flaps, someone nearby gasps.

"Mom, look, that bird's so pretty!" A little girl tugs her mother's hand, pointing at my carrier.

"Hey, what kind of bird is that? You selling it?" A middle-aged man leans in, eyes lit up.

I slow down on purpose, smiling as I answer everyone. "It's a European starling. I rescued it, it was hurt. Not for sale, sorry."

I make sure to walk through the busiest spots, the brightest lights, wherever the cameras are thickest.

I make my way to the music fountain in the center of the plaza. A crowd's already packed in tight, and in the middle of it, the city's biggest street influencer stands with his phone up, shouting into the camera.

I take a breath, push through the crowd, and walk straight into his shot.

"Whoa, hold up, what's this gorgeous thing you're carrying tonight?" He spots Corvus right away and swings the camera on me.

I wave at the camera, easy and friendly, and unzip the carrier. Corvus hops right up onto my shoulder, cooperative as anything, and lifts its head high.

"Hey everyone, I run the pet rescue over on Main Street. This little guy's a European starling I rescued. He's actually really smart, he can do math." I keep my voice loud and clear for the camera.

"Math? No way, for real?" That gets him going.

I pull a few coins out of my pocket and set them on the edge of the fountain. "Corvus, what's three plus two?"

Corvus tilts its head at the coins, then taps them sharply with its beak, five times.

The whole crowd erupts, gasps and applause all at once.

"No way, that bird's incredible!"

"Check the time, it's eight-oh-five, I just watched a miracle happen!"

"That owner's badass, and that bird's unreal!"

He's practically shouting now, cursing in excitement, and the live chat's scrolling too fast to read, donations flying in nonstop.

From eight to nine-thirty, I stay right there by the fountain.

I have Corvus do math, repeat words, even nod along to the street music playing nearby. The crowd keeps growing, and phones keep coming out, everyone filming, everyone posting.

I make sure to stop wherever there's a camera, facing it head-on every time. I keep glancing at the timestamp on his stream: 8:30, 9:00, 9:30...

At ten, I turn down his offer to swap numbers, sling Corvus back over my shoulder, and catch a cab home, easy and unhurried.

At ten-thirty, I walk up the private driveway. Even from a distance, I can see my red Mini sitting there in the garage. I walk over and rest my hand on the hood.

Still warm.

I let out a cold laugh and head inside.

The house is dark when I get in.

I take a shower, change into my pajamas, and sit down on the living room couch to wait.

The minutes tick by. Then, all at once, the doorbell rings and someone starts pounding on the door, shattering the late-night quiet.

I get up and pull the door open.

Three grim-faced police officers stand outside. The one in front holds up his badge, eyes sharp on me.

"Sarah Mercer? I'm Detective Owen Brooks with the local police department. You're a suspect in a fatal hit-and-run. We need you to come with us."