The rush of wings was a tornado of sound and speed. Fox shoved her back against the building, and down. Pushing her face against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and used his body to shield hers.

Glass shattered beside him, behind him. Brakes squealed through the crash and thuds of metal. He heard screams, rushing feet, felt the jarring force as birds thumped into his back, the quick sting as beaks stabbed and tore. He knew the rough, wet sounds were those flying bodies smashing into walls and windows, falling lifeless to street and sidewalk.

It was over quickly, in no more than a minute. A child shrieked, over and over-one long, sharp note after another. “Stay here.” A little out of breath, he leaned back so that Layla could see his face. “Stay right here.”

“You’re bleeding. Fox-”

“Just stay here.”

He shoved to his feet. In the intersection three cars were slammed together. Spiderwebs cracked the safety glass of windshields where the birds had flown into them. Crunched bumpers, he noted as he rushed toward the accident, shaken nerves, dented fenders.

It could have been much worse.

“Everybody all right?”

He didn’t listen to the words: Did you see that? They flew right into my car! Instead he listened with his senses. Bumps and bruises, frayed nerves, minor cuts, but no serious injuries. He left others to sort things out, turned back to Layla.

She stood with a group of people who’d poured out of Ma’s Pantry and the businesses on either side. “The damnedest thing,” Meg, the counter cook at Ma’s, said as she stared at the shattered glass of the little restaurant. “The damnedest thing.”

Because he’d seen it all before, and much, much worse, Fox grabbed Layla’s hand. “Let’s go.”

“Shouldn’t we do something?”

“There’s nothing to do. I’m getting you home, then we’ll call Cal and Gage.”

“Your hand.” Her voice was awe and nerves. “The back of your hand’s already healing.”