The City of Crows

by Bethany Anne Lovejoy

  “I’ve known for three years,” he said. Catching the way that my face fell, he sought to give me some comfort. “I mean, my father died about ten years ago, and I never knew why. I was still going out, still seeing my friends, still living up until three years ago; that’s when things started to become real, that’s when I found the note in my father’s lockbox. Even then, it seemed far off, an impossible thing. But over time, it began to show, a strange weight began to manifest in my bones and I felt a pain I’d never felt before. It was when that started happening, when I had these moments where I couldn’t even move, that’s when I knew what I had to do. That’s when I knew I had to start leaving the people I loved behind, if only for their sakes, it’s been about three years. It seemed unfair to keep going and bring my friends along while I knew. I mean, dead at twenty-five? It’s a tragedy when it’s someone you know, but only a sad story when it’s an acquaintance. Leaving them behind was the least I could do.”

  “You should go to a doctor--” I began.

  “It’s not a disease,” he interrupted, the air heavy with the implication of what it was.

  There was no other reason to go to a witch, no other purpose behind generation after generation of the same family researching bloodlines. It was one of those things much whispered about, the few cursed hints of magic from when it was at its strongest. No wonder he’d been kicked out of the records; even just having someone around like that was considered to be bad luck. Not just that, it was bad press for the witches desperately fighting for acceptance of their own kind. A bloodline curse, an act of malice centuries old.

  “My great grandfather wasn’t a good man,” he spoke as if it was a simple thing, just another fact of life. Seeing the intrigue in my eyes, he sighed, moving back in his chair with a look that was both jaded and hesitant. “You’ll find for a lot of men that legacy matters more than anything else. My great grandfather was not a kind man, nor was he a patient one. He was cruel to his wife, and after three daughters he’d grown angry and demanded an heir. She began to grow desperate, drinking a combination of elixirs and eating dishes that would make your skin crawl in desperation to give him an heir. When all seemed futile, she heard word of a woman north of her village, one who would care for her and save her from the pain of her husband’s vicious disappointment. But a woman like that wouldn’t be impressed with him, nor willing to do anything to benefit him. She promised my great grandmother that from then on, the firstborn would always be a son, and gifted the woman with the heir my grandfather so desired. But there was a catch, each first born son would have a far shorter lifespan than that of his father. My Great Grandfather died that summer at fifty-five, and forty-five years later, his son would die as well. My father died on his 35th birthday, and in two months, I will die at twenty-five.” He grimaced, if grimace was enough of a word to describe the look on his face.

  What could anyone say? Any attempt to respond wouldn’t have been enough. I’m sorry feels hollow when someone has lost so much. Even more so when someone knows that soon their life will be lost.

  “I wasn’t upset,” he explained, finally sliding the cup closer to him, the tip of his finger barely skimming across the surface of the tea. “I mean, at first, I couldn’t come to terms with it; I felt almost crushed by it all. I had all these dreams; I had these fantastic ideas of falling in love and getting married, painting pictures of the love of my life. I wanted kids and a big house, a white picket fence and a dog. That sort of cliche thing. But that went away, it didn’t feel like it was mine anymore.” The corner of his mouth went up as I reached across the table, the small metal strainer in my hands as I tried to remove the tea leaves from his drink, figuring that he probably knew it was time to drink. “Maybe it’s still not mine to have, but I think you more than anyone know that there are things in life that we are never meant to have but are more than willing enough to steal.” He nodded in thanks, his lips barely brushing against the rim of the drink as he held it up to his mouth, closing his eyes as he inhaled, “It’s human to want to take things that were never meant to be yours.”

  A part of me wanted to know what he found in that action. I finished skimming the tea strainer out of my drink, placing it down gently on the white saucer. Raising the mug to my nose, I inhaled, surprised at the notes hidden beneath the surface of the seemingly average tea. My shoulders rose slightly as I inhaled.

  A small snort responded to me, the sound of a poorly held back laugh hitting the air at the same time as the clang of porcelain against wood. Pink rose on my cheeks as I looked up at him, quickly lowering the cup. “I’m sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to copy me like that,” he promptly replied. “I suppose you’re different than I expected,” he admitted. “I’ve seen videos of your mother’s lectures. She’s very serious, very stern, and demanding. There’s a reason she hasn’t taken any of our calls or letters. You’re different than that, you’re…” he trailed off. “I’m glad you’re the one I found.”

  “You’re assuming that I’m able to help you,” I pointed out, placing the mug down on the counter. “I can’t, you know that. No one can; there’s no magic around strong enough to, I’m sorry. I know someone who makes potions that can numb the pain if you’re still feeling that, but other than that, I--” He was wrong to come here, wrong to assume; wrong to be happy that it was me and not my mother. If it were her, if it were Lydia Wynne, then there was a chance in hell. She was a professor, an academic at a university halfway across the country. She would know what to do, not some bookstore worker from the worst district in New Haven. “Listen, I’m sorry, I genuinely am. It doesn’t feel like enough to say it, but I am. I wish I could help you, I wish I had the ability; but I’m just another witch trying to keep her head down. I can’t help you, I’m not capable of curing you. That hope died out hundreds of years ago.”

  “But you can!” He retorted, his face insistent. “I don’t need you to cure me, I just need you to--”

  “I can’t,” I closed my eyes, taking a long sip before continuing, my eyes watering from the heat of the water. “Leo, I’m sorry, I really am--”

  His face was far less kind when I looked again, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed. I didn’t know what he was thinking or what insane hopes he had. Everyone knew that magic had far less power than it did before. I understood the desperation, but gripping onto false hopes wouldn’t help him-- “You’re very concerned with appearing human, aren’t you?” He said, his voice taking on an irritated tone. “Fine then.”

  “Thank god you understand,” I said, finally allowing myself to indulge in a sip of tea.

  “I wasn’t going to tell others before, but now I most certainly will,” the drink left my lips no sooner than it had entered, dribbling back into the cup. He grimaced, his hands tightening on his cup, the tips of his fingers growing white. “If you won’t help me, then I suppose I have no other choice. I don’t want to do this, but I also do not want to die. If you won’t help me, then…”

  “You said before that you couldn’t!” I countered, attempting to steady myself. He couldn’t, he said it before, I knew that he wouldn’t.. “I’m inclined to believe that you’re far too good of a person to back down from that statement.”

  “Yes, well,” he faltered before nodding to himself, leaning down to take the smallest sip of tea and then seeming resteeled in his declaration. “You understand my situation, Lyra. I have a mother still out there, she’s already lost enough and has no idea what’s coming. I… I really don’t want to do it, but I have to make a choice. I don’t want to die, but if you refuse to help me, then… I’m sorry, Lyra.”

  “You can’t just keep threatening me,” I retorted, my hands slapping against the counter as I stood up, challenging him to continue with his warnings. “There are laws these days!

  He showed no alarm at my threats, rising from his spot across from me with an air of exasperation. He looked to me once more, his eyes more seeing through me than looking at me as he straightened, towering above
me. His hands cradled the drink, holding it close to himself as the steam brushed past his skin.

  “I don’t know what fantasy land you live in, but do you know how people treat witches in New Haven?” I spat, glaring at him. “I’m not my roommate, I don’t grin and bear it, and I am not going back to The Stakes! I’ve built a life for myself here, and I’ve worked hard for it! Only an idiot would choose to live life as a witch. Don’t you dare threaten me.”

  “Only an idiot? That’s why hundreds of witches choose to live so transparently, your mother included,” he rolled his eyes, finally lowering his cup back down to the counter. “I’m not asking for much; not a spell, potion, or charm! If anything, you don’t have much to lose at all. You’re a part-time cashier at a store with a boss that would rather see you dead if he knew what you were. The girl at the counter so much as said it with how she acted.”

  I cringed at his statement, grasping at straws for my own rebuttal. “Y-you’re asking for me to help you break a curse,” I stammered.

  The man’s eyes widened, a sense of tiredness seeming to overcome his whole body. “Do you know what Lyra is?” He asked, his face set in determination. “It’s a constellation,” he informed me, lowering himself back into his chair. His voice was calm and even, “sailors used constellations to navigate, you know. Your mother knew; she has a whole lecture on it.” I didn’t need to inform him that I’d already heard it, he’d already gathered as much by my reaction. “All I’m asking is for you to do the same for me, lead me.”

  Lead. Easier said than done. And yet, what other choice did I have. He pushed his mug across the table, the ceramic edge clinking against mine in mock cheers. Despite the action, his face was deadly serious. I reached for the cup once more, sinking back into my chair. I sipped my tea, relishing in its sweet tang, comforted by the warmth of it going down my throat.

  “You know Magictown, you know the people, and you know these streets. I’m confident that if anyone can help me, it’d be you. And, if we fail…” He paused, once again fingering the handle of his mug. “Well, in two months’ time, I won’t be your problem anymore.”

  I knew Magictown far too well to want to return, I didn’t want to be lurking in the streets and digging around in the backrooms of antique stores. But what other choice did I have? I sighed, body tensing despite myself. Despite his attempts to seem confident and persuasive, I could see the regret behind his eyes. Would he have done it? I don’t know, but it seemed like he grew more determined by the minute. If I were my mother, I would have laughed; I would have laughed and directed him straight out of my office door. The problem was, I wasn’t her. I was nowhere near the witch my mother was.

  “When this is over, you disappear,” I informed him. “I don’t want to hear from you and I don’t want to see you. You give up, you go. You find your cure or finally realize it’s futile, and you never show up at my door again.”

  “It’s a promise then,” he said. “You give me back my life, and I will take it and run.” His eyes had a glint that assured me that statement was far from true.

  5

  Cat’s Out of the Bag

  The creak of the window woke me at noon the next day. The curtains moved aside allowing long ribbons of sunlight to invade the room and violate my eyes just as they did every time I chose to take Yvie’s sleeping spot on the couch. The floorboards moaned with careless feet stomping across them a peal of light laughter sounding quietly as my roommate once more tried and failed not to wake me. I shifted on the couch, huffing as I threw my blanket over my head, a movement that only confirmed to Yvie that I was awake. A hand grabbed the blue, snowflake printed fleece blanket from my shoulders, exposing me once more to the sunlight.

  “Skipping work again, Lyra?” Her voice purred into my ear as the thin body of her human form slid into the narrow gap between my body and the back of the couch. “Or are you finally going to tell me that you’ve quit?” Her voice was hopeful, but her body lounged against me in a way that suggested she was only kidding. “Gotta say, it’s surprising to see you home two days in a row. I support it, though, screw the old man.”

  “I didn’t quit,” I grunted, blindly swatting at Yvie. “I’m just taking some time off, using some of my meager savings to take a break.”

  Ugh, meager did them too much justice; it was practically an embarrassment to call what I had savings; more like the remnants of paychecks past. Still, I needed a head start if I was going to get rid of this guy. Considering the fact he’d all but revealed that he had no idea what he was doing last night, it seemed in my best interest to take a day off and at least attempt to get an idea of where precisely I needed to go. Luckily, I had a fairly decent resource to refer to about the goings-on of Magictown living and breathing in my own home. Five seconds with Yvie and I would at least be able to take my uncaring companion somewhere that would satisfy him for the time being.

  “Oh, and be short on rent again?” Yvie asked, resting her head against my hip as she pushed into my gaze, her messy violet hair flopping in front of her eyes as she grinned. “God, you are practically begging to be sent to Magictown on another ingredient run. Miss it much?” She purred. “And here I was, thinking that you were so grumpy last night because you were doubling down on the whole never wanting to go back thing,” she rolled her eyes in mock irritation, unable to fight back the Cheshire grin that spread across her face. “Lucky for you, I gained a few more potions clients last night, so you’ll have lots of favors to make up for being short on rent this month.”

  “Ah,” I said, finally sitting up on the couch. “Thank god for portions and the tiny vial shaped business cards that you keep in your back pocket.”

  “I hardly need the business cards,” Yvie informed me, satisfied that I was finally awake. She stood away from the couch, looking down at me with a cocky grin, “my potions are so good they practically advertise themselves. You know what someone said to me the other night?” She didn’t wait, bending over so she was in my face once more, “Yvie Pas? Why, word of mouth says you’re the greatest potioneer in New Haven. Ha, my father is rolling in his grave!”

  “And yet they still wash away with water,” I replied.

  “Three uses per vial,” Yvie countered. “I’m telling you, charms and potions aren’t old woman’s work anymore; they’re the magic of the future. A way around recasting all the time, you just gotta time your showers and surprise rainstorms correctly.” She paused, seeming to remember something momentarily before speaking once again. “Of course, there are all sorts of surprises around these parts these days. You know, you were right to stay home in the end. Rowan showed up.” Her wide amber eyes watched me, waiting for any inkling of an expression to drip over my features.

  She wasn’t disappointed.

  “He seemed okay, I mean, didn’t look great. I didn’t get too close to him, from what I can tell he avoids me these days. But you know, he looked a little handsome and little charming. Just a little. I heard he asked a lot about you, big surprise there.” She was unimpressed, shrugging off his questions with an air of ‘I can believe it, but I’d rather I wasn’t able to.’ Shaking her head to herself, she began to walk away from me and towards the cabinets, evidently finding the news to be worthy of a cup of coffee. “Of course, Siobhan tried to answer questions for him, like she knows anything. Little liar was saying she was walking through Marlow Heights just that afternoon. I stopped her before she could speak any further; what business would she have in Marlow?”

  “What business,” I repeated hoarsely. Perhaps that should have bothered me, it didn’t. Not as much as the implications.

  As if to confirm my fears, she carried on speaking. “So…” She peered over her shoulder, eyebrows raised, “why is there a guy downstairs insisting that he needs to get into our apartment?”

  My breath hitched, my body practically launching across the couch as I scrambled to pick up my phone. My finger slammed to the power button, a loud groan escaping me as I saw a notification of two
missed calls. Great way to make sure he didn’t think I was giving up on him and cause him to jump into making irrational decisions.

  “I’d put on my running shoes if I were you,” Yvie grinned, nodding at the door. “Mrs. Monley might have held him in place so far, but I doubt anyone would want to stay long after having a conversation with her. I wouldn’t want you to miss your boyfriend.”

  “He is not my boyfriend,” I informed her, hastily adjusting my shirt. Shoes would have to wait, I decided as I charged towards the door. “If anything, he’s the furthest thing from it.”

  Yvie took the news well, if anything too well. In fact, one could tell that she relished in it. Her eyebrows raised higher, her hips swung more dramatically, and she could not wipe the shit-eating grin from her face. Anything to get me into Magictown, anything to start trouble. And more than either of those reasons, anything to relieve herself from boredom. She listened to Leo with way too much interest and sought to make him far too comfortable.

  She laid on the couch, her long form stretched over the expanse of cushions as she dominated the space. With every stretch of her limbs, her feet traveled further down the couch, heels now dug into Leo’s leg as he squished against the other arm. I’d not thought to warn him; Yvie owned every room she entered. That’s why, unless you were ready to cuddle up, everyone else sat on the floor.

  I rested my face against the side of the coffee table as I looked at him; the man was uncomfortable and yet engaged with Yvie. She’d not given us a useful bit of information, but she had regaled us with stories of her time in Magictown. To him, every single trip this alleycat took was a grand adventure. It was amusing, to say the least; he looked like a small child listening to a fairytale. When Yvie mentioned only the smallest acts of magic his head would nod, disappointment coating his features the second she mentioned droplets of water melting away the spells. I hadn’t told him stories, I wanted to stay on the business side of things… but, there was something about the way that he couldn’t hide his reactions. I suppose he was the sort of person that a girl would want to tell everything to.