The City of Crows

by Bethany Anne Lovejoy

  “There, just as promised,” a voice declared from behind me, beady eyes taking in the way I dropped to my knees, hands at Leo’s shoulders, hopelessly willing him to wake, “Leo.” It was almost mockery, the way that he said his name. It was cruel to vocalize the name of someone so valuable as if they were a joke.

  “What did you do to him?” I demanded, hands reaching for his face, delicately grasping his cheeks in between them, careful to mind the bruises. Wake up, I begged, forehead pressing against his, a hollowness beginning to fill my airways. He had to wake up, then we’d figure it out, we’d find a way out. There had to be a solution, a different one. Some sort of answer had to lay near, something beyond this. He couldn’t leave me, not now, not here. Two weeks, he said that he had two weeks. Couldn’t we go back to that? Couldn’t we relish in those weeks while we had them?

  “It wasn’t me,” the man said with mock innocence. He watched me move, constantly peering in at every moment, not just these, but the intimate touches and gestures long before. He’d stolen everything, every moment that was meant to belong to Leo and I. “Why, you two have upset a few amongst our members. There was no way I could have stopped them.”

  Bullshit. I couldn’t even begin to call him out on that lie. We may have upset a few, but he had the ability to stop them. This was out of malice, a warning to me. Sign, or he dies.

  “Leo,” I tried again, hands patting the sides of his face. “Leo, please. You have to get up, you need to wake up.” A shudder, anything, that was all I needed to keep going. A dry sob escaped me when it didn’t come, when not a single sound left him. A short, small kiss; anything to wake him up. My lips searched for his, gentle so as not to split his lip further, the taste of iron leaching into my mouth and turning my stomach. Still, nothing. Not so much as a murmur or a twitch, Leo would stay asleep.

  “This isn’t a fairytale, Lyra,” the man behind me laughed. “This is something plain and simple, the solution has already been told to you. You sign and I fix all of this. He wakes up, you take him home. Happily, ever after.” Happily, ever after felt like such a bastardization in this case.

  “You’re the one who did this to him!” I screamed, my throat running ragged under my breath. It was an unconscious moment, and yet, I didn’t regret it. “Fix it, make him wake up.”

  “Again,” the man spoke patiently like he was scolding a child. “I didn’t do it, Lyra,” god, I hated the way he said my name. “Your friends did.”

  “Make them fix it then!” I demanded, once again turning my full attention to Leo. And there, there it was, stirred by the volume of my voice, by my betraying mouth, just the slightest motion; a flinch. My hands tightened, pulling his face closer as my heart beat faster. Come on, come on; just a little more. “Leo?” My voice peaked, a hint of hope underneath it. He could awaken, he was still capable of that.

  “The contract, Lyra,” the man commanded. He was growing increasingly impatient and insistent, focused only on that. “Or do you not want the boy anymore,” he sneered, “now that he’s broken. I understand I like my shiny new toys as well; I’m sure Rowan wouldn’t object to taking his place.” Oh, to shut him up, to bury my fist deep into his face and tell him that there were no replacements; Leo wasn’t broken, and I would always want him. Still, underneath his taunts was an air of desperation, a need for me to sign. He wouldn’t leave without my name on that sheet of paper, not if he could help it. Whatever he gained from my signature was far more than revenge.

  I blinked at the realization, pulling away from Leo just slightly. The concept rounded itself out in my head, growing into something easier to understand. “Why would you need me to sign it?” I asked, my voice slow and barely audible, skepticism growing in my bones. “Wouldn’t it be easier, if you want to really upset my mother, to just kill me?”

  “Oh please,” the man snarled, yet his feet moving backward. He was frightened by the notion, desperate to keep me there. He looked again to Leo, and I knew that this was a purposeful motion, extra leverage to convince me it was necessary. There was no other need to do what he’d done, not unless he thought it would sway my hand.

  “I mean…” The idea grew bigger, larger and larger until it threatened to burst. “You have all these people around me, and yet… A signature on a contract, one that you promise you don’t need anything other than. You say it’s revenge on my mother, yet it won’t even hurt her…” My lips pulled taunt, thumb making a final stroke against Leo’s cheek before pulling away. He’d wake up, I knew he would. For the moment, I had to leave him, but it was only momentarily. Soon his eyes would be open again, his delicate smile would grace his lips once more. “It should be simple, and in the end, it shouldn’t really matter to you if I signed.”

  “The contract,” the man reiterated, this time sounding far more desperate than before. He urged me forward, out of the closet before conclusions were made. I was certain that somewhere in the room sat a piece of paper, prepped and readied for me to sign. And yet, he didn’t call any of his followers forward, not to pull me out of the closet; likely afraid that in some way their intervention would lead to my resistance.

  But he couldn’t stop the gears turning in my head. “Unless…” my lips began to form and the man’s eyes narrowed, his hands reaching out for me, desperate to grab me, Perhaps, in his mind, if he were to do so then he’d be able to convince me otherwise, or at the very least, keep me from leaving.

  The room was silent, deathly silent. I wondered how long it’d been like that, the echoes of breaths and small voices from the chamber having left us. The man’s eyes widened at the same time as mine, the realization hitting both of us. There was no one else, not anymore, not for a while now. So engrossed was I in Leo, that nothing else had mattered, and now?

  Color left the man’s face, his blood already so thin that the only change was a greying of his skin. Something was there, someone had come. Whether it was for him or me remained to be seen, but… air entering and exiting lungs were the only sounds that filled the closet, my arm tucking behind Leo’s shoulder futilely. If something was coming, I wanted to move him.

  And then, there it was.

  “Unless he’s a lesser demon, and he never had the power to begin with,” a voice carried across the hall. “He gives empty promises and keeps taking, pooling together power to fulfill small wishes at extraordinary costs,” a voice supplemented. “Sucking up power wherever he goes and collecting souls, because those who give power don’t exactly need to be wandering the world; do they?” Dry, crackly, a voice that had smoked a thousand packs and then some. Familiar, far more to the demon than me at this point. His face grew grey, a furious glare shot over his shoulder as he turned to face Lydia Wynne, my mother. “Typically, if you have power, people find you. Trust me, I have a stack of letters on my desk to prove it.”

  The demon shrank its neck sinking back into its body, limbs shortening; but it did not back down. Blindly, it reached forward, hands desperate to grab me, to grab onto anything. I stumbled back to avoid his fingers, grimacing as I fell back, crashing against Leo’s lap, his black eyes flying open in response, small splatters of blood escaping his lips. The Bright side, Leo was awake; the dark side?

  The man stumbled blindly into the closet, hands reaching, searching for my skin. A shower of sparks shot to the left of him, expert wandwork turning the edge of a shelf into silver shards. Limbs ebbed and flowed with his ministrations as the man reached forward, desperately seeking purchase on my skin.

  A particularly well-placed lunge fell near me, but just when it seemed that he would grab me, I was yanked out of the way, a male body blocking the path as breaths sputtered from Leo’s lips. His arms to either side of me, back angled protectively around me, Leo spoke through panting lips, “and what’s a witch like you doing here?” The joke was not well received considering the circumstances, but still my lips couldn’t help but move up into just the smallest of smiles.

  Another shower of sparks, I didn’t have the time to rel
ish in his eyes finally being open, his breathing steady beneath my hands. No, I jerked him downward and out of the way, flinching as I landed on my back and a blast of purple just narrowly missed his ear. “Lyra,” a harsh voice yelled from the doorway, “either get out a wand or get out of the way!”

  My mother, with her ink-stained greys, dark purple lipstick, and ruby glasses stood in the doorway, a vision in the night if I ever saw one. The scarf long since ripped out of her hair, her stance as wide as her skirt would let her stand, and her nostrils flared. She was fury embodied; the woman scorned. Tired, fed up, and determined to give comeuppance; my mother was all that and more. In her hand, just like many years prior, a soft, dented sandalwood wand, constantly moving through the air with expert motion.

  “I swear,” she spat at my gaping, “children these days, utterly useless.” Another harsh motion, the weight of her actions dragging down the tip of her wand, she heaved a blow forward, a ball of red hitting the ceiling. “Stay. Still.” She growled at the beast, her arm raising above her head as the being began to shift once more, arms rearranging and skin bubbling in front of us.

  Her arm rose once more, movements slower, heavier; The beast shifted, mouth distending, stretching further and further under the skin on its face grew taunt. It moved, head leering forward, body just barely balancing atop now inverted knees, skittering back and forth, a shifting eye that had drifted out of place frantically blinking before it made its mark.

  Another fling, the sparks just barely hit, the beast shrieking in pain as its labored gasps echoed against the wall. Pulsing flesh turned to char, then shrank smaller again, a small hint of black, papery skin being the only memory remaining.

  But it was not done. After a moment, it began to grow again. The head reared back, teeth bared and seemingly endless as the little light that came in through the doorway reflected upon pointed rows after pointed rows. Leo’s arms tightened, his body shifting more, covering me as his eyes clenched shut. An unbalanced skitter backwards, the head flopping freely, and then it moved forward once more. Eyes shut, corners of his mouth pointing to the heavens; an unconscious scream left my body as its head swung forward, my hands clutching tightly to Leo, dragging him downward with me, sinking into the corner of the closet, tears finally beginning to fall.

  27

  The End

  My wand ripped out of my jeans before I could even begin to think, my shaking hand wrapped around the handle so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The tip of the wand just barely brushed against his teeth as the monster missed, the weight of his head bearing so heavily down on my wand that the wood began to splinter in my hand. Above me, Leo froze, his arms clutching me tightly to his chest, his eyes shut tightly and head buried in my shoulder, waiting for the end.

  Somewhere off in the distance my mother was screaming, her voice bouncing across the room, but the words never forming in my mind. It could have been my name, a warning, anything; it didn’t matter. She was so far from me, too far to do anything.

  Time seemed to stop, Leo’s breath slowing against my chest, the demon not lurching any closer, and my mother still standing still. I stared into the abyss, the endless darkness of his mouth. No words came, not then. The world could have carried on around me, could have reverted to normal then; but still no words would come.

  The end. That’s what this could be, but for me or him, I couldn’t know.

  A whisper, a voice that wasn’t mine knowing just what to do, exactly the words to say to make the world come back to life.

  And when it came, it came roaring.

  “Lyra!” Desperation called out to me, a scream that shook the world around me as I still stared forward. My mother, everything she’d ever fought for, ever fought against. “Lyra, please! Lyra!” Her lungs raw, her breath ragged. My mother gave everything she had and then some, another row of sparks hitting the ceiling, stars cascading uselessly against my skin. And here I was, waiting for death.

  It didn’t come.

  The beast’s head slammed forward, smashing down to take Leo and I into its jaws, but then, unplannable and inconceivable; everything changed. It crumbled as it came into contact, centuries of wear and tear showing across its cracks, the man with Many Faces turning to dust. Grey, the grey of ashes left after a civilization is burned, hit the air, coating our lungs, Physicality gave way to a cloud, which broke apart and traveled the room, covering everything in a fine layer of salt and ash.

  My hand loosened around my wand, the wood clattering against the ground. Just like the man, I crumbled, sinking lifelessly into Leo’s arms. All of my energy left, all my will to fight had fled me, with a final breath, my head rested against the ground as Leo’s voice began to call, first joyous, then frightened. A scattering resounded across the floor as I was gently laid down, hands shaking at my shoulders. Red glasses, wild hair, and pursing lips pressing Leo aside, shaking me hopelessly.

  “Lyra! Lyra! Lyra Alix Wynne,” Mothers always call you like you’re in trouble when you’re desperately in danger.

  “You have to stop staring sweetie,” I murmured, “and start moving.”

  The lights turned out, the end was there.

  28

  Intoxicated

  “Enough drugs in her to kill a horse,” the tiny speaker of a cellular device called, a half broken, breathy iteration of my mother’s voice playing though it.

  “Again, I went to college with your daughter and she’ll be fine. Can we focus on the fact that Lyra just killed a demon here--” Yvie, not here, but somewhere else, her voice pouring from the same speaker, arguing again and again. How long had she been talking? More importantly, how long had my mother been talking?

  The low hum of a man’s voice responded, far quieter than either of them as he sat far away, attempting to be polite to his sleeping guest. Long pauses in his mumbles indicated waiting for a sound, any sound, to appear from afar. His soft, leather shoes tapped against the wooden floorboards, patiently waiting however long it took. The tapping of his finger against the phone indicated that he’d been talking for far too long, wading his way through the chaos as he lingered in that place.

  My eyes blinked blearily, the rising sun blinding me as I found myself turned towards an unfortunately large window. It was familiar, as was the bedding beneath me and the decorative wallpaper surrounding me. On the nightstand beside me, the crumbled paper of a drawing laid, collected by its artist off the ground.

  The artist.

  I squinted, attempting to make sense of my location first, realizing that I’d rolled onto Leo’s side of the bed nearest the window. The world was a blur at first, my tired eyes not well equipped for the morning sun, yet I quickly pulled myself together. What I wanted to see first was Leo, but life wasn’t that kind.

  The face of a bird, completely black, cocking his head to the side, was the first real face that I saw. It took me in, eyes growing wide and mouth agape, but no sound escaping it. As I began to move once more, struggling up into a sitting position with the help of my forearms, it found itself satisfied. Without so much as a peck or a caw, the bird spread its wings, taking off into the newly minted daylight.

  I had a feeling that I would not see it again.

  But I was awake, I was alive. The memory foam beneath me made no sound as I shifted, regarding the bruises and scratches along my forearms, the lack of a green sweater and the new sensation of a deep, burgundy one against my skin. I sat up straighter, feeling for the source of the pain that boiled at the back of my head, finding the source to be an egg-sized lump that sat beneath a clump of matted hair that would no doubt hurt to brush out later. Amazingly though, the world became crisper, as if reaffirming the fact that I was still there. I held my hands out in front of me, wiggling each finger individually as if it was a litmus test for being alive. I didn’t know what death felt like, and I hoped not to know for quite some time, but it mustn’t have felt like that. I liked to believe that when it came, it would be painless.

  The bed creak
ed as I threw my feet over the side of it and I emitted a low moan that stopped the conversation on the other side of the room divider. With it came a ringing headache, the worst I’d ever felt. I flinched, hands balling up in the edge of the sweater I was wearing, chin tucking down.

  A tall, clear glass of water was thrust in my direction, liquid splashing against the sides but not escaping its container as a shaking hand held it out in front of me. I regarded it skeptically, mouth about to open in protest before Leo’s voice reassured me, “just water, nothing else.”

  That was enough for me. I took it from him, drinking it in one heavy gulp, as if it could quell the dry burn of sleeping pills that haunted my throat. My eyes watered as I took the final drop, desperate for more. I’d never been so thirsty before in my life. His hand once again took the glass, other arm reaching to brace me before I fell forward, my mind not consciously registering the fact that I was near falling.

  I jerked backward, head lulling on my neck, struggling to stay up. Groggily, I bleated, “coffee,” my hands still outstretched, desperate for more liquid.

  “No, no,” his hand pressing down on my shoulder, returning me to the bed. I focused on his chest, far too weary to look at his face. “We’re not going to do that Lyra, you’re going to have to wait a little longer for that.” His hands met no resistance, and he flinched as he caught me, the back of my head resting in his hands, not wanting me to fall fast and hard against the mattress. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, and I felt like I’d heard it a few times before.