AlcyLeyva_AndThenThereWereCrows_EbookFormatting_Nook

by And Then There Were Crows (retail) (epub)

  There I was, standing in the kitchen mixing an avocado salad. Okay, I’ll be honest, I couldn’t afford salad, so it was just avocado. Okay, it wasn’t avocado per se. More of an avocado-like dip. All right, it was creamed spinach I found as part of my nonperishables. And since I didn’t have chips, I sprinkled it over a bed of crushed corn flakes.

  Oh yeah, I was in full hostess mode for my guests.

  On the couch, two figures sat hunched over a small table. There sat Donaldson, very still, very patient—his eyes darting from his card to the game board and back. To his left sat the demon, holding onto his lone card with both claws, his rabbit-like ears turned back impatiently. I’ve never seen such an intense game of Guess Who in my life.

  Standing behind them, off toward the window, was Phil surrounded by the Beguilers cult. They stood whispering amongst themselves, watching me like I was the last best person to dance with at the senior prom.

  This was the scene. This is what Barnem saw when he walked into my apartment. He first noticed the door which Lou had come and fixed while I was away, thanks to Petty no doubt. Barnem opened this on his own, without knocking FYI.

  “Finally got a door, eh, Grey? So what did you―”

  He froze. Mouthed a few things. The next thing I knew, the Seraphim grabbed me by the shoulders and rushed me into the hallway. Clasping his hands together and putting them in front of his mouth, Barnem started pacing.

  “Can you quit with the walking back and forth, Barnem? Making me kind of sick.”

  Barnem stopped, and before I knew what the hell was even coming, he threw a single punch directly into the wall out of frustration, one that led to an explosion of wood and shrapnel billowing out around us. When the dust settled, I watched as he yanked his entire arm out of the wall and clasped his hands together again.

  “I’m sorry for raising my voice,” he said.

  I leaned over, peering into the hole, only to see everyone in my apartment peering back at me.

  “I just had my door fixed.”

  “I said I’m sorry.”

  I glared at him. “There is a hole in my kitchen! ‘Sorry’ doesn’t quite cut it.”

  Barnem wiped his face. He took a slow breath to center himself. When he looked up, he had this intensity in his eyes. The Seraph had come to a decision about something that he wasn’t sharing with me yet. “I thought we had an agreement, Grey. I thought you were going to be a little more proactive toward fixing this shit. Fixing, Grey. I can’t imagine any of that circus in there fixing a goddamn thing. Besides, we have bigger problems.” Exasperated, he forcefully pointed at my house party that was now visible through the hole and said, “What. Thee. Fuck. Grey!”

  “Which ‘what the fuck’? The demon ‘what the fuck’? The Beguilers?”

  “All of it, Grey. Every inch of that room. The Beguilers?”

  “The cult from Washington Square Park. Remember them? They want to be my followers.” I tried to sound like it should have been flattering.

  “What are … When did … Why would anyone …” He stopped and started like this for a solid few seconds.

  “In my defense, this is me trying to fix things. I brought them here so that you can help me figure them out. Like, whose side are they on? No? Bad plan?”

  “Who’s the new guy?”

  “Donaldson,” I answered. “He lives upstairs.”

  Barnem looked so imbalanced, so teetering on the edge of completely losing his mind that I thought about walking away. I had called him down to see what advice he could give me with the cultists. But now I honestly worried that I had finally broken the guy.

  After a long second, Barnem looked up at the ceiling. Then he did something I thought I would never see him do.

  He laughed. He laughed so hard that he had to hold the edges of his ribs after a while. It made me uneasy.

  “So I’m guessing this is good?”

  Barnem wiped his face. “No, no. This is terrible. The worst possible news imaginable. We are all probably going to die terrible screaming deaths.”

  “Oh goody.”

  Whipping out his cell phone, he shoved the screen in my face. It was a scene from the Captain Cross show, dated the day before.

  Captain Cross turned to the camera and asked, “What was your favorite part of the day?” After a few seconds, the camera cut away and flipped to a long shot of Cross and the kids sitting around him. This made him angry.

  “Was it time to go to the long shot? Did I give you the cue? Almost thirty years of doing this and I’ve never met a cameraman as rude as you.” Cross stood up. “You know. That’s it. I’m done. Children, would you please do me a favor and knock that camera man’s teeth in?”

  The children each stood up and began tearing things off of the set to brandish as weapons. An oar off the wall. Rulers which were broken for their jagged edges. Even Caitlyn (with a Y) overturned her chair and broke off one of its legs. The small army charged at the camera, knocking it off to the side. Caught on the audio were violent sound effects—wet sopping sounds and a man’s muffled crying. Then Mason, who watched the whole event off camera said, “Thank you. Now what do we do when we make a mess?”

  “Clean it up!” the kids shouted in unison.

  “Very good. Jonah, get a mop. Cassidy, an oversized garbage bag should do the trick.”

  All the kids celebrated with a hip, hearty: “Yaaaaaaaaay!!!

  The Seraph pulled the phone away and scratched his chin with it. “Mason has gotten out of control and it’s up to us to take him out. If this is the power he has, to manipulate others, to control people, then he needs to be stopped before it can get out of hand.”

  “I know. And I also know I agreed to help fix this mess. Okay? I remember. Fire and brimstone. But don’t you think that I’m not exactly qualified to banish demons?”

  “Oh, you? No, you’re pretty terrible. I think you’re the last person in this world that should be banishing anything. But that’s the beauty of it,” he said, smirking. “We are going to let your roommate eat Mason.”

  “Really? We’re going to sic my roommate on him? Isn’t that kind of like murder? And won’t that … won’t that …” I made my best impression of a mushroom cloud.

  Barnem only grimaced. “Is that a toilet overflowing?”

  “It’s an explosion. Won’t that end the world? The demons getting together would form this beast of yours.” I stood up. “What happened to you telling me to run? Get out of dodge?”

  Barnem walked away instead of answering me. He strode right into my apartment and started poking around my kitchen, just like the old days. Holding up the bowl I was whipping up, he asked, “What am I looking at here?”

  I smiled. “Party dip.”

  “Sure it is.” Tipping it into his mouth, he walked right out of my apartment again as everyone stared. I felt stupid for following him, but we boarded the elevator and walked out into the lobby.

  “When was the last time you’ve been out at night, Grey?”

  I wanted to say not since the attack, but mentioning it would have made me feel worse. We walked out into the New York City air. For June, it was awfully cool. I wrapped my hands around my elbows and stood there, waiting for the Seraph to make his point.

  “So you haven’t looked at the moon lately?”

  “The moon? It’s right …” I pointed at where I thought it should be, but found nothing. “Right around …” There were stars out, more than you typically see with the city lights swallowing them up every night. But no moon. I crossed the street, scanning the sky, seeing if a building was running interference.

  “You were right the first time,” Barnem said, pointing at the patch of sky for my first guess. I couldn’t see it until I really stared into the black space, but the moon was there, only entirely eclipsed.

  “The Oddities have begun, Grey. And the last t
hing you need right now is another strike on your list. You’re going to hell. The whole world doesn’t have to.”

  “Wait. Why haven’t I heard about this? The moon is gone, Barnem. Why aren’t people freaking out?”

  “We have a job to do. The both of us, Grey,” Barnem said, rubbing his hands together. “And you’re going to have to do it. Know why? Because the Shade inside Mason’s going to want to swallow the other demons. And the more he consumes, the stronger he becomes. This isn’t some idiot with a knife in an alley, Grey. He’s a Shade, a demon with a chip on his shoulder the size of fucking Babylon. And if he is your carver, if he’s the one sending you fan mail corpses, then the message should be loud and clear. He’s going to destroy this city looking for the other Shades, looking for you.”

  I glanced at Barnem and then to the black blot in the sky. “Well, then. There’s only one thing I can do now.”

  Barnem nodded. “Right.”

  “Run.”

  The Seraph passed his hand over his face. “Are you serious, Grey? I said that this is cataclysmic. That you can’t run. You can’t. Cannot. Weren’t you listening to me?”

  I threw my hands over my ears. “No. You were rambling.”

  “I wasn’t rambling!”

  “Fine!” I yelled. “I’ll help you save the world so that you can eventually end it and stuff. I’m going back to my party.”

  “I appreciate you,” Barnem called after me, scooping up more of the party dip goop.

  CHAPTER 17

  Barnem snapped his fingers in front of its face six, seven, eight times. The demon didn’t respond. He still stayed drooped in my father’s loveseat, snoring.

  Meanwhile, I was busy in the kitchen trying to repair the hole in my wall. I managed to sufficiently go through seven rolls of clear packing tape to seal it up, but you could still see people’s odd look as they passed in the hallway.

  I turned back to Barnem who stood there with his arms crossed. “So tell me again how this guy’s our secret weapon? I think he’s more of a danger to himself.”

  “Why do you do that?”

  “Do what now?”

  “You’re always referring to it as a ‘he’.”

  Watching the snoozing loafer, I shrugged. There was nothing male or manly about it. With its overly round head and wide mouth, its turned back, flappy years. I don’t know why I called it a ‘he’. It was barely human.

  Suddenly, as if someone had called its name, the creature woke up, startled, fumbled with the remote, flipped through the channels, and finally landed on what it felt it needed to see.

  “Why does he do that?” I asked. “One minute, he’s asleep. And the next, he pops up with this weird radar.”

  Barnem tried to take the remote away but the demon growled at him. “He probably senses something. The Shades are prone to spectacle and your roommate is an antennae to the weird.”

  He tried one last time to snatch the remote away, but the demon threw it into its mouth and swallowed. I nearly died.

  “Aw great. That was my only one, genius!”

  The show we were now stuck watching was called Bullet Points, and it featured four suits talking to each other for an hour. One of the suits was our beloved mayor. Behind my own private apocalypse, the city was in the throes of an election in a few days. Mayor Collard must have been stumping hard for a second term because he was drenched in sweat. He was a man shaped like a kid’s volcano science project: round at the base and narrow around the head with white hair along the edges like snow peaks. The interviewer asked him another question, and Collard jumped all over her for it.

  “You keep mentioning it, so let me say this clearly. I don’t care what my approval rating is. Ninety, nineteen, or nine. This city has been my city for my term. I’ve set out to do good by the people of New York and look at us. Out of a recession. Unemployment down. Tourism up. We are popular again. We even have the Pope visiting in a few weeks. First time in thirty years. The Pope, here.”

  The interviewer had stopped listening halfway through. She put her hand to hear her earpiece better and then she smiled nervously into the camera.

  “For the folks at home, and our guest, the honorable Mayor Collard, we seem to have a special guest who has called into the show. Hello, caller?”

  “This question is for our beloved Mayor Collard.”

  I hadn’t heard the voice of Captain Cross in years, but I recognized it instantly. His cadence. His word choice. Mason had called in to the show we just so happened to be tuned to. I glanced over at the demon who leaned forward as if listening intently.

  I wasn’t the only one who knew that voice. Collard squinted up at the air. “Mason?”

  “Hey, brother.”

  “G-good to hear from you. My brother is Mason Scarborough. The Mason Scarborough.” He laughed. “What’s up, Mace. Why … why the call?”

  “Don’t patronize me, Donnie.”

  Collard looked around nervously. Now he was drenched in sweat.

  As if smelling the ratings boost, the interviewer pushed forward. “That’s right. Mason, the legend of kid’s programming, is your brother. ‘Captain Cross, batten down the hatches’.” She laughed.

  Mason breathed on the phone for a few seconds. Then he said, “Yes.”

  “Tell me, and tell the viewers at home. Do you support your brother’s second term in office? “

  “Second term? Pah!” Mason sounded like he had actually spit into the phone. “No, you idiotic television suit. I don’t even back my brother’s first term. If anyone needs any reason to see why this city has become the tactless, slut infested, armpit of this great country, look no further than our beautiful mayor.” The camera wasn’t sure what scared shitless face to fall on as Mason continued. “Why don’t you ask him? Ask him how he can account for the rampant crime in this city? Or the growing homeless population? Or the subway dancers who spin on poles during what they have dubbed ‘Show Time’?”

  The mayor looked at the camera, confused. “Okay, Mace. Let’s talk some other time.” Collard made the “cut” sign with his throat to have the station drop the call. No one did.

  “No, I’m sorry. Sorry that the severe lack of decency, ethics, and yes, proper manners has driven this city into becoming a den for uncouth children, who in turn become barbaric adults. Where is the decency anymore? Where is the civility? That is why I am announcing my candidacy for mayor.”

  Collard scoffed. “This is some kind of joke, Mason. Are you drunk?”

  “The election is in a week,” the interviewer chimed in.

  “The people will choose what’s right,” Mason insisted. “They are tired of dirty politicians and phony promises. I promise to make New York City good again. Just like it used to be.”

  Everyone on the panel stared at each other.

  “What the hell does that even mean?”

  Instead of answering, Mason started playing the “Star Spangled Banner” over the phone from something he must have recorded.

  The demon stood up, stretched, got a plastic sandwich bag from my cupboard, and went to use the bathroom.

  Barnem had a seat. “He’s making his move.”

  I scratched my head. “What’s his move again? I mean, what’s his deal? He’s possessed by a demon. So he goes into politics?”

  “The Shade perverts the human host,” Barnem says slowly. “Sometimes it’s quicker or it gets drawn out. But eventually, anyone and everything around gets warped. It’s like an aura of madness.”

  “Aura. That was the word that Gary and Phil used. Phil even said that mine was as large as damn lighthouse. But I’ve been near this guy longer than anyone. Why am I not bat shit insane like the others?”

  Barnem shrugged again, this time with expertly less effort, but I didn’t let him off. “C’mon! You’re the angel here, right? You can’t think of one reason wh
y I’m not plotting world domination?”

  As soon as I said this, as soon as it left my lips, I regretted it because Barnem thought the same thing and snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

  “Oh hell no. No. No.”

  “You said it yourself, Grey. You fight demons every day. Been fighting them all your life.”

  “Personal demons, buddy. No way in league with …” I fluttered my hands around. “All of this.”

  “But you deal with stress. Maybe you’ve managed to find a way around it somehow.”

  My hand was shaking as I pointed my finger in his face. “I … what I have is not a super power, you got that? It’s not a picnic. It’s not a friggin’ bonus I get to scratch into my resume under ‘Supernatural Prowess’.”

  “You have a ‘Supernatural Prowess’ section on your resume?”

  “The point, Barnem, is that sometimes I feel fine and sometimes I feel broken, less than, possibly dead. Sometimes I hear so many damn voices in my head that I forget what mine sounds like. Sometimes I get so angry that I want to tear my flesh up to let out the pressure. Sometimes I fall so deep into my own head that I don’t eat or shower for days. Does that sound like some super demon ass kicking juju you want to place your bets on?”

  The angel pulled himself up, slowly, and stretched out his back. I heard a few bones creak underneath his clothes. “As a matter of fact there, Grey, that sounds like exactly the thing I want to bet on.”

  Having no idea what he meant by this, the Seraph told me to pull up the most recent show of Captain Cross. It was the same one the demon had seen: the little psycho kids, the captain giving his commands. I was amazed they even aired this on television.

  “Mason has some kind of unnatural influence and I’m guessing it’s from the Shade,” Barnem said casually. “I’m sure it aired because he wanted them to air it.” The Seraph rubbed his chin. “So let’s see what we know. The people around him did everything they were told. But when he called in now, they laughed at him. So that means he needs to be around you to have influence. Has to be in person. It could be through touch or proximity to his voice? Hard to tell.”