Excerpt from Little Hollows Beckon:
I stopped when I heard the echo. I held my breath and listened to what sounded like my own weeping. Confused, I opened my eyes and looked around. The raven was perched behind me on the piano, imitating my cries.
Once he had my attention, the pattern of the vocalizations changed, and the tone became deeper and more resonant. It sounded raw and aching. I shivered when I recognized the raven’s new mimicry. It was the same sound I was making last night.
“Jamieson,” I whispered. It wasn’t a question. I was telling him I knew.