The Murmur Of Bees Novels & Stories

I told her. The mirrors dimmed, not by mechanics; by intention. Mercury is a domestic metal when you give it a song. The brass bowls sang back the note I had taught them. I watched the pulse at her neck; it fluttered, then slowed, then took on a rhythm I have not heard from a mortal in a long time. It is the rhythm of old monasteries when the world outside thought it was stamping out hunger and inside the monks were writing cookbooks for fasting.

No time at all. Then I hear it. A tiny hesitant beep. Faint. Intermittent. A single spark in the void. It flickers. Once. Twice. Again. It grows. Faster now. Louder. Stronger. Insistent. A pulse of light and sound, small at first. Then much louder like something demanding attention. Tugging at a place deep inside me. And then the voices.nThree distinct tiny voices. Soft. Trembling. Loving. “Mommy…”

The air was so still and quiet you could hear the inhaling and exhaling of all present. The ominous sound of a whippoorwill sounded through the open window and broke the silence. The heaviness of the repetitive call brought on a somber mood as the bird’s song was believed to warn of impending death. “I’m Aquin….” “Nice to meet….” “Greetings….” Everyone spoke at once which brought smiles and released the tension. With a twinkle in his eye, and mischief on his face Beecher gestured towards the food.

Actual observation, the same quality she brought to the hives, finding the thing that was interesting and returning to it. “Here,” she said, once, guiding his hands. “Yes?” he said. “There,” she said. He paid attention the way he’d taught her to pay attention. She made a sound that was not performed, that was just what happened when you were fully present in your own body and someone was paying genuine attention to it. He said her name. She said his. Outside the bees were doing what they did at this hour, settling into the late afternoon, the hive sounds lowering toward the evening register, warm and continuous.

I saw Adrian, still crouched in a corner, watching us in misery. He followed us all the way to a villa district but couldn't enter. From a distance, he stared at our windows, hoping to catch a glimpse of me forgiving him. Late that night, Caleb turned off the lights. As our shadows slowly collapsed onto the bed together, I heard a deafening roar. Caleb covered my ears and pressed his lips against mine in frustration. "Darling, focus. Don't listen to those barking dogs." I giggled and sank into the tidal wave of his love.

Rena The sound pierces through the darkness first. *Beep.* *Beep.* *Beep.* Somewhere in the fog of my mind, irritation flickers. What is that incessant noise? Why won't it stop? The rhythm is maddening—steady, persistent, refusing to let me sink back into the comfortable nothingness. *Beep.* *Beep.* *Beep.* I try to form words, to command whatever is making that sound to cease, but my lips feel heavy, uncooperative. My tongue lies useless in my mouth. The effort sends a dull throb pulsing through my temples, and I retreat back into the haze that cushions my thoughts.

Terris whispers beneath her teeth. Huh, talk of fear! She is fear herself right now! I can't believe her. I defended her once, and now she can't even try to do the same? What a... "EELLAA!" Goodness!!! This monster will blow my eardrums with his ugly howlings for God's sake!

No trembling floor. And yet I could still feel it. The vibration. The rumble. I blinked several times, waiting for the lingering fog in my mind to clear. Then I turned my head slowly, wincing at the dull ache in my jaw. Brammon sat slumped in a chair beside the bed, his feet propped on the mattress. His head was tipped back at an angle that looked painfully uncomfortable. His arms were crossed over his chest, which rose and fell in deep, steady breaths.

A weak murmur exuded from it, vibrating against my skin. "What on earth are you?" I mumbled, scowling as I turned the locket over in my hand. I opened it again to look at the faces of Hazel's parents staring at me. I closed it again and looked at the carvings on it. I couldn't read the lettering on it. It seemed to be written in a different language I'm not familiar with. The intensity of the humming increased, and briefly, I assumed I heard a murmur. It was weak, indistinct, similar to the stir of leaves in the breeze.