Just as she was wondering if anyone would say a few words about her, Corvus cleared his throat. Morrigan, Ivy, and Grandmother looked at him, their hands pausing halfway to their mouths with forks full of lamb and peas.
“I, er, just wanted to say,” he began, and then seemed to lose momentum. “I wanted to say…”
Ivy’s eyes misted over and she squeezed his hand encouragingly. “Go on, dear.”
“I just…” He tried again and cleared his throat loudly. “I wanted to say that… that the lamb is very good. Cooked to perfection. Nice and pink.”
There were murmurs of agreement around the table, and then a clinking of cutlery as everyone carried on eating. That was probably as good as it was going to get, Morrigan realized. And she couldn’t say she disagreed about the lamb.
“Well, if nobody minds,” said Ivy, dabbing her mouth prettily with her linen napkin. “I’ve not been a member of this family for very long, but I thought it might be appropriate for me to say something tonight.”
Morrigan sat up straight. This should be good. Maybe Ivy was going to apologize for making her wear that frilly, itchy chiffon dress to the wedding. Or maybe she was going to confess that although she’d scarcely spoken a dozen words to Morrigan since moving in, truly she loved her like a daughter, and she only wished they could have more time together, and she would miss Morrigan terribly and would probably cry buckets at the funeral and ruin her makeup, which would streak ugly black rivers all down her pretty face but she wouldn’t even care how ugly she looked because she would just be thinking about lovely, lovely Morrigan. Morrigan arranged her face in an expression of humble serenity.
“Corvus wasn’t sure if I should say anything, but I know Morrigan won’t mind.…”
“Go on,” Morrigan said. “It’s fine. Really, go ahead.”
Ivy beamed at her (for the first time ever) and, emboldened, stood up from her seat. “Corvus and I are having a baby.”
The room fell silent; then a great smash came from the doorway as the maid dropped a platter. Corvus tried to smile at his young wife but it came out as a grimace.
“Well?” Ivy prompted them. “Aren’t you going to congratulate us?”
“Ivy, dear,” Grandmother said, smiling icily at her daughter- in-law. “Perhaps your announcement might have been better received at a less sensitive time. For instance, the day after my only grandchild is due to leave us tragically at the age of eleven.”
Strangely, her words made Morrigan perk up a little. It was perhaps the most sentimental thing she’d ever heard Grandmother say. She felt an unexpected warmth toward the savage old bird of prey.
“But this is a good thing! Don’t you see?” Ivy said, looking to Corvus for support. He squeezed the bridge of his nose as if warding off a migraine. “It’s like… the circle of life. One life may be snuffed out, but another is being brought into the world. Why, it’s practically a miracle!”
Grandmother groaned faintly.
Ivy was relentless. “You’ll have a new grandchild, Ornella. Corvus will have a new daughter. Or a son! Wouldn’t that be lovely? A little boy, Corvie, you said you’d always wanted a boy. We can dress him in little black suits to match his daddy.”
Morrigan tried not to laugh at the grim expression on her father’s face.
“Yes. Delightful,” he said unconvincingly. “But perhaps we’ll celebrate later.”
“But… Morrigan doesn’t mind. Do you, Morrigan?”
“Mind what?” Morrigan asked. “That I’m going to be blotted out of existence in a few hours and you’re planning a wardrobe for my replacement? Not in the slightest.” She shoved a forkful of parsnip into her mouth.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” Grandmother hissed, glaring down the table at her son. “We weren’t going to bring up the D-word.”
“It wasn’t me,” Corvus protested.
“I didn’t say ‘dead,’ Grandmother,” said Morrigan. “I said ‘blotted out of existence.’”
“Well, just stop it. You’re giving your father a headache.”
“Ivy said ‘snuffed.’ That’s much worse.”
“Enough.”
“Doesn’t anybody care that I am with child?” shouted Ivy, stamping her foot.
“Doesn’t anybody care that I’m about to die?” Morrigan shouted in return. “Can we please talk about me for a minute?”
“I told you not to say the D-word!” boomed Grandmother.
There were three loud knocks on the front door. Silence fell.
“Who on earth would visit at a time like this?” Ivy whispered. “Reporters? Already?” She smoothed down her hair and dress, picking up a spoon to check her reflection.
“Vultures. Trying to get the scoop, are they?” said Grandmother. She pointed at the maid. “Send them away with your most contemptuous sneer.”
Moments later they heard a brief, murmured conversation, followed by the fall of heavy boots coming up the hallway, the maid’s timid protests echoing close behind.
Morrigan’s heart pounded with each footstep. Is this it? she thought. Is this Death, come to take me? Does Death wear boots?
A man appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by light.
He was tall and slender with wide shoulders. His face was half obscured by a thick woolen scarf, and the remaining half was made of freckles, watchful blue eyes, and a long, broad nose.
All six-plus feet of him were decked out in a long blue coat over a slim suit with mother-of-pearl buttons—stylish but slightly askew, as if he’d just come from a formal event and was in the process of undressing on his way home. Pinned to the lapel of his coat was a small golden W.
He stood with his feet wide apart and hands stuffed into trouser pockets, leaning casually against the doorframe as if he had spent half his life standing in that spot and couldn’t think of a place he felt more at home. As if he himself owned Crow Manor and the Crows were merely his dinner guests.
His eyes locked onto Morrigan’s. He grinned. “Hello, you.”
Morrigan said nothing. There was silence but for the ticking of the clock on the wall.
“Sorry I’m late,” he continued, his voice slightly muffled by the scarf. “Was at a party on a remote island in Jet-Jax-Jaida. Got chatting to the dearest old man, a trapeze swinger—fascinating chap, once swung over an active volcano for charity—and I forgot all about the time difference. Silly old me. Never mind, I’m here now. Got your things ready? I’m parked out front. Are those parsnips? Lovely.”
Grandmother must have been in shock, for she didn’t utter a word as the man swiped a large piece of roast parsnip straight from the platter and ate it, licking his fingers with relish. In fact, all the Crows seemed to have lost the capacity for speech, not least of all Morrigan.
Several moments passed as their uninvited guest rocked on his heels and waited, politely expectant, until something occurred to him.
“I’m still wearing my hat, aren’t I? Goodness me. How rude.” He arched an eyebrow at his dumbfounded audience. “Don’t be alarmed; I’m ginger.”
Ginger was an understatement, Morrigan thought, trying to hide her astonishment as the hat came off. Ginger of the Year or King Ginger or Big Gingery President of the Ginger Foundation for the Incurably Ginger would have been more accurate. His mane of bright copper waves could probably have won awards. He unraveled the scarf from his head to reveal a beard that was only slightly less shocking in hue.