Aj Blackbird's Arc

Chapter 1 of 7

Aj Blackbird carried three cat crates up a stranger's steps and rang the bell. She wanted one thing in this town: a small home for herself, her three cats, and the man she loved. The landlord opened the door, looked at her long black dress and pale face, and stopped smiling. "You're the Blackbird girl," he said. He shut the door before she could answer. It was the fourth door that week. Aj set the crates down on the sidewalk and knelt beside them. Inside, the small striped cat pressed a pink nose to the wire. The fat gray one slept. The black one glared at the closed door like it had wronged him. Aj was thirty years old and still felt like the sad child she had been, chased out of every room by whispers she couldn't stop. She knew what they said. Her family name meant trouble here. Nobody would rent to it. Will Ray found her there, sitting on the curb with her cats. He worked at the fancy grocer in town and never let his face show much. He knelt beside her without a word. His eyes shifted from blue to a soft green as he watched her. "Fourth one," Aj said. "They hear my name and they're done." Will didn't tell her it would be fine. He reached into the crate and scratched the striped cat's ear. Then he stood. "Come on," he said. "I know a place. The owner owes me." He carried two crates. Aj carried the third. He led her to a plain building with a green door and pipes running up the pale wall. A meter box hung by the frame. It was small. It was worn. It looked like somewhere a person could sit and breathe. The owner met them at the door. He started to frown at Aj the same way the others had. Will spoke first. "She's with me," he said. "I'll cover the first three months if there's trouble. There won't be." His voice stayed flat, but he didn't move from Aj's side. The owner looked at Will. He looked at the cats. He rubbed his neck and named a price. Will nodded. The owner handed Aj a single brass key. Aj stepped into the sparse one-bedroom flat. One room. A small bath. A window that caught the afternoon light. She set the black cat down, and he waddled straight to the warmest corner. The striped one leapt onto the sill. The fat gray one flopped in the doorway and refused to move. Aj held the key in both hands. For the first time in weeks, no one was pushing her back out a door. "Thank you," she whispered. Will only nodded. But his eyes had gone fully green. Then the owner leaned back in. "One more thing," he said. "The rent's due Friday. In full. Cash." He looked at her worn coat. "I don't take chances on names like yours."