The City of Crows

by Bethany Anne Lovejoy

  “And other things,” he added, obviously haven taken time to study our ad. “Guess you can’t stock human decency though, can you?” He asked.

  A heavy breath left me, my shoulders falling.

  “Sorry, that was sort of a low blow, wasn’t it?” I could feel his eyes moving across my skin, “What’s your name? Just so I know, not to tell anyone. I’m planning to be around here more often,” He was careful then, his voice far softer. “I’m Leo Hoang,” he said, “an artist, among other things.”

  I couldn’t just look away while he was introducing himself, could I? My eyes drifted upwards, wide green meeting probing black. He was handsome, I think that was the worst part. The standards are far different for being handsome up close and handsome far away, but he met both. He had a smooth, clean-shaven face and a rounded jaw; making him appear younger than he really was but not by much. Everything about him, from his thick green sweater to his light blue jeans, from his thumbs tucked into his front pockets to his charming smile; it all made it easy to think that he was a guy who had it together.

  “Lyra,” I said hesitantly, “Lyra Wynne.” I’d lied about my name before, especially when asked for it in the shop. But I somehow couldn’t bring myself to lie to him.

  “Lyra,” he said, his lips stretching wider. I met his smile, but only for a moment. And then, like a clap of thunder he asked, “and what is a witch doing working in a shop outside of Magictown?”

  2

  The Last of Nineteen

  “Don’t panic.” That was the next thing that came out of his mouth, the first thing that comes out of any man’s mouth when they know that you have fair reason to panic. The world seemed to tilt off its axis with this single statement, and yet his face was unaffected. It was almost as if he didn’t realize the gravity of that word or that he’d said it in a place that was actually important, that with that tiny ‘w’ he could ruin my whole entire life. My eyes flew to the side, anxiously looking around as my ears strained to hear whether Emma had bothered to turn on the radio or if she was listening in. The loud sound of pop music blaring out of a speaker responded to me.

  His hand reached forward, fingertips just barely making contact with my skin. I jerked back, returning to reality and the man in front of me. “Don’t touch me,” after panic gave way to anger, I hissed, “and don’t make unfounded accusations like that.”

  He withdrew, holding his hands up in the air in a position of mock surrender. I wondered if he noted how my shoulders rose, or the way that my nostrils flared. “I’m sorry, I just--” He stepped towards the counter, his face earnest, “You’re Lyra Wynne, right? You said that.”

  As if I didn’t know my own name. I had told him it, hadn’t I? There was no need to repeat it, not when he’d made such a bold statement. Definitely not around these parts.

  “What does that have to do with anything!” My voice sounded strained as I threw a wide-eyed stare behind me toward the employee breakroom door. Seeing that he was about to open his mouth and likely use the ‘w’ word once more, I rounded the counter quickly, practically vaulting around the edge before getting in front of him and shooting him a warning look. “My name has nothing to do with you, now if you’ll please leave! The door is right there, your kind isn’t welcome here--”

  But the man did not move, nor did he heed my warning glare. He continued speaking with little to no second thought, his voice far too loud. “Your mother is Lydia, right? The dark magic academic. I know it, I have it written down. You’re her daughter, which means you’re--”

  My hand shot up to cover his mouth, finally coming to the understanding that this man would not leave. His eyes widened in surprise and I quickly removed my hand from his mouth and instead made a shooshing gesture, my other hand wrapping around his wrist as I began to drag him towards the back corner of the store, a place where Emma rarely went. As I did so, I thanked god that the store was for the most part empty.

  “I’m not wrong, am I?” He blinked, following obediently, keeping the same pace so that he was not dragged behind. “The registry said you lived in this neighborhood, I figured you probably worked here too--”

  “The registry!” I squawked, fighting to keep my nails from digging into his skin. That god forsaken thing, I’d signed it how many years ago? Foolish, incoming witches signed their names in that book so that the general populace could keep track of their whereabouts. “Listen here, that registry is an abomination, and if you do have a copy then I will do you the kindness of ripping it up. My name shouldn’t even be in there, I had it removed a year ago. The fact that they’re so unkind as to keep it there should make the record keepers ashamed.”

  “Well it might have been removed--” He admitted, his eyes drifting down to the ground sheepishly. “I don’t exactly have an up to date copy.”

  “What. Do. You. Mean?” Finally, I reached the far corner of the bookstore, turning him around to face me and gripping both of his shoulders, my body leaning invasively into his space. “Obviously not, if you wrote down my name with magic ink.” Scanning him, I demanded, “the paper, please. I want your copy, everyone thinks that their blend of ink is so special, but it’s not. I’m not going to have my name on your looseleaf and risk a human finding it.” When he didn’t immediately provide it, I held out my hand, flexing my fingers towards him. “My address, please. You have no right to keep it.”

  He blinked at me, nervously looking around. For some reason he avoided my eyes, as if I too would out him. Foolish, he was the one who had risked my identity in a human shop.

  After a moment, he relented, his hand dipping into his pocket. Slowly, he withdrew a plain white piece of printer paper, presenting a sheet that was folded several times into a small triangle. I blinked at it, confused. Normal wizards mixed their own blends of paper, it was one of the few ways to ensure that their magic was carried out. Of course, just like every other form of magic, they dissolved when wettened. The curse of weakening ties to the universe, we were now subject to the elements.

  I snatched the triangle out of his hand, quickly unfolding it. His mouth opened as if he was going to speak, but then he quickly changed his mind. Finally, I reached the last of the creases, expecting to see clean, efficient handwriting in an ever-changing account of my address.

  Instead, there was a photocopy. An aged, wrinkled photocopy with god knows how many coffee stains and an assortment of handwritten notes on it, locations on my street crossed off.

  “You’re…”

  His eyes were pleading, I didn’t need to hear him say it. Still, he obliged me, beginning to explain himself, like whatever he wanted somehow mattered more than my quality of living. “Listen, I didn’t know that--I mean, this is--” He paused, taking in my angered demeanor. “I tried to call your mother, as did my father and my grandfather before him, they even tried to go to her address. She didn’t respond, she didn’t--”

  “I can’t help you--” I began curtly.

  “You’re the only person who can,” he insisted, somehow stepping even more impossibly close to me. “Listen, I am desperate, and you’re the only name that’s left, I’m just a human and I need you to--” He was just another one of those magic chasers, the ones who had a dream but didn’t have the common sense to realize that it would all melt away with their first shower. They showed up from time to time, more so in Magictown than anywhere else, people who had read stories about witches and their long-gone powers.

  The bell to the shop rang, a clear chime hitting the air and causing me to wince. I heard the door nearest the cash register open too, Emma stirred by the sound of new customers and the reassurance that the old ones had left had rentered the shop floor. I looked to the man with an expression that begged him not to speak anymore, my hand tightly wrapped around his wrist.

  He got more from that than he should have. He swallowed, his eyes settling on my face as a decision was made. “There’s a list, and you’re on it; my father and grandfather worked on it. Nineteen witches and wizards,
not a single one has picked up. I’m going to write down my number,” he began, his voice low and careful, “and you’re going to call it once you’re done here.” He looked unsure of himself with that statement, but he added the nails in the coffin, even thought it was obvious that he didn’t want to. “You’re the only person who can help me and… If you don’t, I’ll have to do something stupid,” he said, flinching at his own statement.

  Stupid. I could only guess what that meant, the murmur of conversation in the front reminding me of one thing I had to lose. “Listen--”

  “No, you listen--” He said, tearing his forearm out of my grasp to reach for his sketchbook. He withdrew a thin black pen, writing numbers upon the paper with a flourish. “You are the only person who can help me and I’m sorry, but I’m desperate. If you don’t help me, I…” He paled, shaking the thought out of his head as he ripped the corner off of his drawing, presenting it to me with a flourish. “I won’t but, if I got really desperate, maybe I’ll--” He floundered, his face reddening as he took in my frightened expression. “Well I might just tell some people what you are,” he said with a nervous glance towards the front of the store.

  Did he see the way that my eyes widened? That they reddened and threatened to boil over with tears? Or did he understand that revealing me would be far too cruel? I humored him, only slightly. He didn’t seem well versed in this world, I tried to inform him why seeking out a witch was of no use to him. “Whatever you need, it better be a momentary desire because--” My pulse raised, refusing to take the sheet of paper from his hand.

  Well, at first at least. Another ring sounded, another customer entered the shop. I flinched, my eyes drawn to his once more. There was something about him, about the way that he genuinely asked for my help. It was more than that though, restless puppy eyes had never moved me before, but the danger of being exposed, of losing my cozy job and my shitty apartment? That moved me.

  I hesitantly offered my hand, his closing around it as he handed the paper to me. His touch was different, or maybe it was the lack of distance between us, his eyes softening at the contact. I wanted to throw away his number, I really did. But something about his expression changed my mind for me.

  “I’ll hear from you soon, Lyra,” he said, his voice steady as I struggled to pinpoint the exact words for his expression as he gazed into my eyes.

  Footsteps approached and he pulled away, gathering his stuff in his arms with a knowing smile. Emma’s face peered from the end of the aisle, the woman impatiently tapping her toes as she waited for me. I followed him as he walked down the aisle, his shoulders barely brushing against Emma’s as he moved to leave.

  I could barely breathe after he left.

  “What’s up with him--” Emma began.

  “I’m sick,” I informed her, interrupting her train of thought. I saw how she hesitated, a heavy pile of books in her arms that was no doubt meant for me. My hands pushed lightly against them, pressing them back into her chest as she gaped.

  “B-but you only just arrived, Lyra!” Her hands began to move forward again, presenting the books to me again. “And I don’t want to spend time shelving all the books that Mrs. Evans just pulled.”

  “Sudden flu,” I explained, hands flying behind my back to untie my apron, fingers deftly slipping the note into my pocket.

  “You said you needed more hours.”

  “I do,” I said, pulling the apron off. My mind was racing, yet my brain was nowhere near a conclusion. “I’ll be back tomorrow, promise.”

  “What did that guy say to you?” Emma demanded, her foot stomping against the ground, she wasn’t used to not getting her way. She was too late however, my shoulders shrugged my plastic raincoat on, and I quickly worked the buttons as I charged out of the shop.

  The rain did not stop, if anything it grew harder. Pouring down in buckets, I didn’t bother to try to fight it as it drenched my hair, a hood would have done nothing. The man, Leo, walked down the street, his back to me as heavy breaths created clouds in the cold air, his shoulders drooped. I saw him round the corner, his profile coming into view as I finally came up with a word to match his expression before.

  Discouragement, unmatched defeat. A man looking for a solution, finding none, and then having to make up one himself.

  My hand reached back into the denim pocket of my jeans, fingers brushing against the paper that was saved from the elements by the overhang of my coat. If I took it out then, I could have washed the ink away, I would have had an excuse not to call him. If he came lurking around the next day, then maybe I could even get a police officer to remove him.

  And yet, his expression lingered in my mind. I did not withdraw the paper, I did not imagine scenarios in which I got rid of the threat that was Leo Hoang. I instead moved my hand back into my pocket, feeling the plastic ziplock beneath it. I’d be short on rent again. I’d have to do another favor for Yvie, meaning that I’d end up in Magic town once more for her entertainment. And yet I turned on my toes all the same, sparing only a second glance at the corner that Leo had just disappeared behind.

  I told myself that I would go home, that I’d take a hot bath and sort things out, tomorrow I would pick up more hours and go back to normal. However, telling yourself that you’re going to do something is a much different prospect than actually doing it. I knew that I would dial those numbers, that I would listen to his voice on the telephone and ask him about his tale.

  But it was because of the witch at the counter, not his puppy dog eyes. Definitely her look of happiness as I handed her the book, not the electricity that danced between our hands as Leo handed me the note.

  3

  Drowning

  Leo Hoang’s face lingered in my mind far longer than I would like to admit. His profile as he turned down the street corner haunting me almost as much as the strange look of desperation that crossed his features. I didn’t throw away the piece of paper, though I reminded myself over and over again that I could. He wouldn’t make good on his threat; he’d made that fairly clear. And yet… I couldn’t do it. I was a different woman than my mother, far less stubborn. That was my major fault, I gave in too easily. The only thing I ever seemed to resist was my roommate’s frequent requests to return to Magictown.

  To be honest, I wasn’t even sure that Yvie even needed a roommate. We’d been friends for as long as I could remember, roaming down the same streets, trapped in the same lifestyle. She was one of those people who just appeared in my life, taking it over to the point where I couldn’t remember a time before it. But she had money, far too much money for a city like New Haven. It seemed like whenever there was a problem, she had an abundance of it to throw at whatever it was. A trust fund child and a street corner potion peddler, I was surprised that she even wanted to move to a neighborhood like Marlow Heights with me. I mean, Magictown made sense for her; being around witches made sense for her. But Marlow? Marlow was all humans and no glamor. The second-poorest place in town after Magictown, in the second-worst apartment in the area, with a landlord who first and foremost hated witches.

  No many would choose to move into such an area, but Yvie did. I think she did it solely because she didn’t want me to be alone. There was a lot to worry about with witches being alone in neighborhoods outside of Magictown; the public sentiment towards witches was anything but positive. But she didn’t say anything. Much like how she didn’t say anything whenever I was short on rent, always reassuring me that I could pay her back later but never specifying when exactly that later would be. When she saw me at home earlier than usual, she wouldn’t so much as a blink an eye. I knew that; when she saw my expression, however, we would go down the same road we’d been many times, only it would be a little bit worse of a journey than before. The only reason Yvie didn’t tell me to leave my bookstore job was that she knew how important my misguided idea of surviving outside of Magictown was to me, and that I gripped onto that slice of normalcy like a liferaft. If I so much as flinched, though? I glimpsed at m
y miserable expression in the reflection of a puddle outside our apartment building, my soaked hair and running mascara. Yvie would pounce tonight.

  As if to reaffirm that fact, there it was when I opened my front door; a lithe tabby cat perched precariously on the countertop, her yellow eyes blinking curiously at me. She didn’t wait for me to enter the apartment, already jumping off the counter and weaving through my legs as I closed the door, her sides rubbing against me. Affectionate, always affectionate; I felt guilty as usual.

  I looked out at our apartment, taking in the mess strewn across the wooden floorboards. Melted down candles and incense sticks sat perilously close to the rugs, their ash falling onto the floor in careless abandon. Our couch, an unfortunate purple monstrosity inherited from Yvie’s mother, had the same blankets thrown across it as it did this morning, just with the absence of a body underneath them. Beside the couch, a mug full of thick pink liquid sat, only growing thicker as time passed. Our boxy tv, the product of a successful secondhand shopping trip, sat awkwardly on its stand, as crooked as it always had been. Withered plants sat on our windowsills far away from a state of being that could be called alive, but thankfully, the fresh flowers that I’d bought still sat on our living room table, within reach on my way to the bathroom. At least, they were, before the cat once again got into my path as she sat on the table with an expectant gaze.

  I sighed, kneeling to scratch her chin in greeting, my fingers brushing through her fur as I prayed that my wettened skin didn’t bother her.

  “Meow,” the cat said, stretching against my leg.

  “Yvie,” I rolled my eyes, withdrawing the plastic bag from my pocket. Hopefully, that would be enough to appease her. Her tail shot up at the sight of my offering and I bent to hand it to her, an unexpected paw batted at the bag. In a moment, she knocked it out of my hand and to the floor. I snorted, wondering if puncturing the bag and endangering the ingredients’ freshness was part of her plan.