AlcyLeyva_AndThenThereWereCrows_EbookFormatting_Nook

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

  Donaldson gazed dreamily into the distance. “I’ll admit, the nachos there must be awesome.”

  “Mordor nachos.”

  He tilted his cup and clinked it against mine.

  Donaldson and I were at a weird point in our … shit, I have to call it a relationship. I don’t want to say that we were going out on dates, because I’ll be damned if it was. I would just say we met for drinks and food on the regular, minus the flirting or anything else. We came to depend on each other in some weird way. He needed to blow off steam, finding zero success or even interest in his job. I needed … well, I needed alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

  “You seem out of it,” he said. He had developed an annoying habit of being right lately.

  “To be ‘out of it’, good sir, would suggest that at some point in my life, I would be ‘in it.’ And the last time I checked, the only thing I’ve been in is shit, and shit is the only thing I’m always in. I’m always just standing in it.”

  “Metaphorically?”

  “Metaphorically. Scategorically. Same difference.” I tipped the beer bottle and got nothing but air for my troubles. I tapped for another round.

  “More pressing question, Grey.”

  “Yup.”

  “How is it that a self-proclaimed social recluse is on her third beer and I haven’t finished my first?”

  “It’s all Dad,” I replied, cradling my next round. “He taught me how to enjoy a beer. Starting at seventeen, he would hand me one whenever Mom served steak. Said he didn’t want me to be a lightweight when I went to parties. Guess he was preparing me for being the social butterfly that I am today.”

  Donaldson nodded. “So you’re done, right? No more demons or crows? Is it safe to say the whole end of the world thing is TBD now, or can I stop paying back my school loans?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing weird has happened. No ‘Oddities.’ I mean, D’s still around and of course, Petty is still kinda not alive, but I won’t be sure until Barnem wakes up.” I sighed, remembering what I had to do later. I had been visiting the hospital every day since he got his ass kicked into a coma. He was a mess. Broken bones, internal injuries. The guy was pretty damn fragile for a Seraph.

  Donaldson nodded. “And D? How’s he doing? I was supposed to come over and play dominoes this weekend.”

  When I didn’t answer, Donaldson went into his coat and pulled out his cellphone. A few swipes later, and he produced a small blog website for me to scroll through.

  “’Roommate from Hell.com?’” I glanced over to Donaldson who took a long sip of his beer. Scrolling through, there were stories after stories of people sharing their worst, most damndest clashes with their live-ins. Vanishing toothbrushes and sexual horror stories ran for page after page.

  “Two thousand posts in one night,” Donaldson told me. “Nearly killed the damn Internet. But it all started with this post.” He flicked it again and there it was: a poster by the name of LivedinEvil66 who had started the thread with five posts.

  “‘A.G. has to be the single worst cook I have ever met, and I once spent a week living under a California underpass making quiche in a boot.’?” I read aloud. “A.G? A.G? How long as he been writing this blog?”

  “A month.”

  “A month? And wait one flaming minute! I’m the roommate from hell? Me?” Donaldson made a face like he regretted ever telling me, but I wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easy. “What sense does that make? He is literally a roommate and he’s literally from hell. I fail to see how this is even remotely fair!” Flustered and suddenly hot, I started flapping the neck of my T-shirt. “I don’t get him. I-I don’t. And it’s not because I don’t try, you know? He’s kind of a dick now. To me of all people. Like, what did I ever do to him?”

  “I get that.”

  “I put a roof over his horns. I put quasi-edible food on the table. And I’m the ‘roommate from hell’?” I huffed and looked up at the bar television screen. A big news crawl for the Pope’s visit going down in a few days scrolled along the bottom. “I’m nice! I’ve been nice.”

  “Right.” I could tell he wanted to say more so I glared at. “Look, okay, all right. All I’m going to say, and you should already know this … not coming out of left field, Grey, but you don’t do well when people try to get close. Especially men.” He slid me a side glance while drinking some more. “By the way … you clean up nice, Grey.”

  I spat a big fat raspberry at him. “No. Nope. Not going there.”

  Even as we spoke, two women sitting farther down the bar were staring in Donaldson’s direction. They must have taken one good look at his dark skin, bald head, and tight shirt and were both whispering and glancing. I could smell them ovulating.

  “I’m just saying,” he began, “some people out here care for you. Like, honestly. I don’t want to see anything happen to you. Your parents adore you. Your sister idolizes you but doesn’t know how to show it so you two are just awkward. I think that thing Barnem does from time to time means he doesn’t want you to die. And D’s saved your ass more times than you can count. And since you’ve made it abundantly clear that all of this gives you the heebie-jeebies, some folks don’t know how to show it.”

  “First of all, D doesn’t care about me. He’s a demon looking out for his own self interests. Second of all, this conversation has a regretful undertone that has very little to do with my little demon problem. Sounds like a personal problem.”

  Donaldson took a glance over at the bathroom line, giving me the opportunity to catch the eye of his two stalkers and mouth the words “herpes” while pointing to my lips. The women looked away and so did I just as Donaldson turned back into the conversation. “Look, I get it. That ship has sailed—”

  “Has sailed, has a flaming arrow fired into it, and is now standing as affordable housing for deep sea crabs.”

  “—but it doesn’t mean people will stop caring about you.” He took the last sip of his beer. “And I’m not talking about myself. D cares about you, in his own way. You both have stuff in common. Like … you both bring the social equivalents of warmth and light of a three day wildfire.”

  “Compliment!”

  “You can’t declare what is and isn’t a compliment, Grey.”

  I stuffed my mouth full of bar peanuts, right in front of Donaldson’s face just to hear myself chew over his blabbery. And yet still, his stupid logic had me thinking about everything, every single exchange I’ve had with my roommate. And I got sucked up into my thoughts because Donaldson and I didn’t speak for almost five long minutes.

  Suddenly he mumbled, “The problem with a menu listing an item called ‘Mordor Nachos’ is that it’s confusing. First, I would expect it to come shaped like a volcano. Secondly, what do I do with it? Do I eat it? Do I drop my jewelry into it? There’s too many questions. There’s just too many.”

  In the middle of my rebuttal, my phone’s alarm sounded again.

  “You off to see him?”

  “Mhm.” I got up thinking that the stool was moving and that I was drunk as hell. But then I saw the glasses rattling, the other patrons looking up at the lights as they flickered on and off. It was a mild earthquake. In NY! Most of it didn’t last long, and the entire bar laughed and got on with their lives. I had to, too. Donaldson offered to come with, but I waved him off.

  Natural disaster or not: I had somewhere to be.

  CHAPTER 32

  Hospitals make me break out in hives. Everything seems sick, disease ridden. I don’t touch doorknobs, handrails, elevator buttons … nothing, nothing, nothing. I’ll pee on myself and set fire to my body to dry it up before using a bathroom in a hospital. I’m not catching ass plague.

  Barnem’s room was on the fourth floor. He hadn’t been carrying ID when he got his ass kicked, so I gave the hospital a name for their records. I tapped the chart that read the vitals of Dörk Sowe
rpüs and took a seat by the bed of the sleeping angel.

  And I just sat there, flicking through television. In an odd way, this brought me some weird comfort. Barnem and I had a huge falling out just before this all went down, but that seemed inevitable with our personalities. If he was my guide to getting my life back, he was epically shitty at it.

  Again, like clockwork, was another promo for the Pope’s visit, this one from a press conference his holy one held right on the tarmac in LaGuardia.

  He was a little man, dressed in the pristine white holy garb that looked like majestic curtains. He was completely bald and his eyes were bunched together at the nose which itself was as slim as a doorstop.

  “I come to America, mainly I have come to New York, on a mission,” he said through an interpreter. “What this mission entails will be explained soon. But for the time being know that my prayers are with all of you and with everyone in this great city.”

  “Got here kinda late, padre,” I said to the television. “Grey’s got this. Just one more demon to put back.” I set my swimming head down on Barnem’s bed. “Yup. Easy peasy. Like breaking a lamp. Just gotta … crazy glue the pieces back. Good as new. Good, good, good.”

  I fell asleep mumbling this, right at the foot of the bed.

  ****

  In the morning, I brushed my teeth with my finger, did some shit with my hair, and walked out. I was still wearing that stupid dress Petty let me borrow, and coming out of that hospital felt like I was taking the weirdest walk of shame ever. Things only got weirder when I spotted who was waiting for me outside.

  I can’t tell you how I recognized him, but I did. I hadn’t seen him since we caught the last Shade, and his transformation that night was totally off-putting. I remember him as a short, goblin demon, and now he was this seven-foot … man. I thought the teenage Shade was worse because of his attitude. But this final form of my roommate was the scariest yet because he seemed human. I hadn’t been prepared to face this in any way. Yes, I secretly preferred the monster demon form to a man my age living in my apartment.

  D was standing by the doorway with the absolute gravest expression on his face as soon as I walked passed the sliding doors. When we got to the train, he said, “We need to talk, Grey.”

  Not wanting to show how this made my skin crawl, I replied, “Sure. Talk. Why were you at the hospital?”

  He narrowed his eyes spitefully. “I’ve been going every night.”

  “You go? Every night?”

  “Every night since he’s been there.”

  “So,” I mumbled, feeling like a jackass for pressing him so hard, “what did you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t need your permission to do things.” With that, D gave me his back. Was he telling the truth? And why did he looked pissed off that I was there? Was it because of Barnem or me?

  “I’m just kind of on edge now,” I told him, trying to lighten the mood. “I feel like there’s a big friggin’ target on my back every time I walk outside.” I glanced around the train car. I wasn’t sure if it really was just my nerves, but the guy in the far seat was listening to my convo and the homeless man shuffling in from the next car with the bandaged face and trench coat was just standing there, either being the laziest panhandler in the history of this city or he was waiting for something. Why the hell was he so tall?

  “You’re paranoid,” D stated as we got off on our stop.

  We walked passed the silent bandaged guy and he didn’t reach out and grab me, which I was grateful for. However, he did have a familiar smell. Damp feathers.

  “We have to talk, you know? We haven’t since Mason and … you know. Squawk-squawk.”

  “Please don’t ever do that in public.” He glanced around, his gaze spinning around worriedly. “All right. You want to talk? So talk.”

  This was beyond difficult. I still wasn’t used to dealing with someone so damned hard headed and anti-social. Now I know what Barnem feels like, I thought.

  Walking into our little block in Queens, we found the kids were playing out in the street as an open fire hydrant flushed everyone’s valuable water pressure everywhere. It was the kind of thing I saw as a kid in July. Weird to see it in April.

  “We are close to putting the kibosh on this whole demon mess. Barnem didn’t know anything about your … about demons. A one track mind, that one.”

  “So?”

  “I’m just asking for information. On demons? On how possession works? At least for Petty’s sake, it’s worth trying to understand.”

  This broke down his defenses. Petty and Donaldson; the three of them were like peas in a friggin’ pod. It angered me to no end.

  “What I did for Petty was a forced possession. Her soul is bound up in the Shade, kind of encased. It can’t leave her body unless I release it. Or I die. Or something like that. Look, I suck at explaining things. And as to why I did it? I just think Petty is cool. That’s it.”

  Cool. If I wasn’t lost and confused about D’s personality before, I sure as hell was after he called my sister cool. I wouldn’t call her cool and we’re related.

  We crossed the street and he took the time to resettle himself. “Shades and demons are different. Vastly. Demons can be pushed out, exorcised. Shades are bound by contracts with the host. There is usually a point of entry into the body, and then a binding contract with a human. That’s why the crows are usually inside, though I’m guessing Mason was too much of a prude. The relationship between a Shade and its contract … it’s more than picking up milk in a store. It’s not an exchange of goods. More like … it’s more like a partnership.”

  “Worst partnership I’ve ever heard of.”

  This infuriated him. “I’m not talking anymore.”

  But that only set me off, too. “Fine. And fyi, I don’t need you around to tell me when I’m being paranoid. Life hasn’t exactly taught me that it’s all palm trees and sunny days.”

  “The world isn’t conspiring against you,” D snapped angrily, and then muttered, “Not everyone wants to kill you, you know? You’re not that popular.”

  “Hey, you! You Amanda Grey?”

  We were right in front of my building now, and we both turned to see a woman leaning up against a parked car as she chewed slowly on a drinking straw. Skinny jeans and boots. A midriff blue and red plaid shirt exposing her slender stomach. She sported dead blonde hair that was cut short in the back and shoulder-length in the front, tucked nicely under a cowboy hat. At her feet sat a beat up instrument case, base by the size of it. The leather was tattered and busted open in some spots. Stamps from different countries were scattered all over it.

  Seeing how slender and flawless her face was made me think of my mom (oh god), but more so because this woman was pretty. And pretty damn flawless. Like an airbrush come to life. I immediately prepared for a fight, but D sighed, “She’s not a demon, Grey. Just go see what she wants,” and slipped his hands in his pockets and walked off. The mystery woman turned her chin sideways to watch him walk away.

  “Good to see you, cutie,” she shouted over at me.

  I stopped and squinted in her direction. “We’ve never met.”

  “Can’t say we have.”

  “That wasn’t a question. It’s just that usually the people who’ve called me ‘cutie’ still sport the bruises around the trachea.”

  However, this didn’t deter her from laughing and pushing off of the car to stand next to me. You hear about supermodels being tall and leggy. This woman’s proportions were crazy. Leaning over the car had hidden that svelte nearly seven-foot frame.

  Part of me realized that my mom had good taste.

  The other part told that first part to shut the hell up.

  Slipping the straw from her lips, she crossed her arms. “Gotta admit … was expecting something else.” She sighed, bit down on her straw again, and walked back to he
r instrument case. After popping both of its locks, she flung open the lid, kicking up a large dust cloud in the process.

  “Are you looking to sign up with the Beguilers?” I asked. “We moved the book club to Fridays, but the meetings are still the same. You can sign up online for our newsletter and— Holyfuck!”

  Holyfuck was the only way I could even come close to describing the size of the weapon this woman had pulled out of that case. It was a scythe twice my height and with a blade half the length of the car.

  “Wowww. Look at that,” she said mockingly. “You know, Barnem said that it would take something big to make you shut up.” She lifted the large weapon slightly, with no effort at all, and let the handle drop back down to the sidewalk. Even though it looked made out of wood, the force split one of the concrete plates and left a small crater around the handle base. “Luckily, I’m a size queen.”

  “Wh-who are you?”

  “Ah, well. I used to be employed as the Angel of Death. But while I’m waiting for unemployment to kick in, I guess I’m your new roommate.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Petty’s white skin and blackened eyes said it all: she was furious.

  “I’m sorry. That doesn’t explain why you brought her here.”

  So I agree, she had a right to be upset. When she wasn’t cursing me out for bringing the Grim Reaper to her doorstep, she was looking out of the corner of her eyes at the leggy blonde sitting a few feet away.

  “Look, Petty. Mom and Dad were cool about the part-time roommate. They understood that. They are not going to understand me having someone else bunk up out of the blue,” I explained, wringing my hands.

  “Right.” After another quick look, Petty asked, “And why does she have to live with me again?”

  “Because your sister put me in this mess in the first place,” the woman on the couch interjected.

  I could see the fear in Petty’s white eyes. “I-I’m sorry. Are you thirsty? Hungry? I have a box of wheat crackers. They’re kind of dry but I’ve been dipping them in maple syrup. It’s not terrible.”