'Iris reached over and shook hands with me. Her long, black fingernails scraped my palm. Then, moving her lips silently, she rubbed the crow's back, once, twice . . . three times. Her eyes shot open. "There. It is done. A lovely little revenge. Your brother will have a terrible accident - and he'll never recover."
"Nooo!" I wailed. "No - please! That's not what I want! Take it back! Take it back!"
"Sorry," Iris said coldly. "It's too late."'