Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(15)
Chester backed toward me and Gus, looking back at his partner in crime for help. Gus pulled me in front of him, using me like a human shield, the same way Chester had done Pamela.
“Didn’t work for him, Gus. Better listen to the Keeper,” I told him, really not wanting his clammy hands on my upper arms anymore. I pulled away from him, but he tugged me back with a jerk.
“Shut your dog mouth, bitch!”
“That was redundant.”
The Keeper reached behind him and produced a sword. Where the hell had he been keeping that thing? There were no straps on him. I knew this because he would look magnificent in leather of any kind. However, there was nothing but skin and jeans, and it wasn’t a thin, short knife. This was a broadsword, and Keeper looked like he knew the way to Mordor. I’d follow his ass out of here. Raking my eyes up and down him, I thought, I’d follow his ass anywhere.
His eyes snapped to mine and he smirked as if he knew exactly what I was thinking, and that I was enjoying every second of ogling him.
I grinned back. If I was stuck in Hell, at least it was with him. I could have some fun with him…
6
Keeper stared at me and I stared back. For the first time, I realized that he wasn’t bathed in gray shadow. He was beautiful, with suntanned skin and dark chocolate hair. His eyes were as blue as a clear sky in summer. Weren’t they dark brown earlier?
Our eyes were in a stand-off. I vowed I wouldn’t look away first, and then he lost the fight by looking down ever so slightly to the lightning forking around my neck. Keeper snarled his lip and stalked toward Chester, making it look like the simplest thing in the world to dispatch him. The tip of Keeper’s sword sliced into Chester’s chest and the man went down like a sack of potatoes. The slice began to shimmer bright white, and a matching puff of smoke released from it. Keeper took in a deep breath and blew the puff into the sky.
Chester’s body began to crumble and then disintegrated, turning to a fine ash. Keeper took a second breath and blew the delicate particles away from us. My fingers started to shake violently. He just blew him away. Literally.
Pamela watched the entire affair as though she were entranced in a favorite television show. She didn’t blubber or shake; she just smiled slightly and intently watched every move Keeper made. I would have been a happy spectator, too, if the asshole holding me in front of him would give up and let me go.
Gus tried to grab me by the hair, but I didn’t have enough for him to keep hold of. He cursed, trying again, raking his grubby fingernails against my tender scar.
“Ouch, you dirty fuck! Get your hands off my head!”
He pulled me tight, fisting the leash, and his rancid breath hit my face. “You’re going to regret calling me that.”
Gus gasped, his eyes going wide. Looking down, I saw the tip of Keeper’s blade puncturing his side. I laughed as his grip relaxed. Keeper got him, after all.
The dark-haired guy laughed as he jerked the blade from Gus’s body, raking across his rib bones. “Should have learned to keep your eye on the true threat, Gustavus.”
Gus fell, gasping like a fish out of water, until his eyes unfocused and stared at the sky above. I could see the crows still circling in the reflection of his cornea. A puff, like Chester’s, released from the brightly glowing wound and Keeper, leveling his eyes on me, blew it away. It flew into the air where a crow dove down to swallow it up.
Gus also turned into an ashy husk. Keeper puffed his cheeks, blew in his direction, and he was gone. With one breath, Gus just ceased to exist.
“What just happened?” I stammered. “Did the crow eat his soul?”
Keeper, crouched low, stood up and leaned in to me. What was he doing? I pushed at his chest, wincing in pain as I touched him. He was as hot as a branding iron. He whispered something in a language I didn’t understand, had never heard. The lightning noose disintegrated, but unlike Pamela, my nerves were anything but calmed. They were firing like crazy. I looked at my palm to make sure it didn’t consume the lightning like it did the fabric, but nothing was there. No char marks, burns—nothing, but my skin still crackled with awareness. Was it me? Or was it Keeper? Was it what he uttered? There was power in the words. The tattoos along his neck, some sort of script, had danced.
He stared at me accusingly. “Why isn’t it working?” he whispered to himself.
“What? That spell or whatever? Try it again. I want to feel as high as Pam does.” I grinned. “And then maybe you and I can ditch her and go have some real fun.”
Keeper frowned, staring at me accusingly. “I didn’t make a mistake. It simply doesn’t work on you. And I have better things to do with my time than to entertain a simple girl.”
“Number one: I’m not simple. Number two: Do you always give up so easily? It’s worth another shot. Maybe you mispronounced something.” Even witches made mistakes, or was he a warlock? Wizard?
Looking to the sky, he closed his eyes and spoke more of the language that sounded like honey tasted, smooth and sweet. I waited to feel euphoria, but caught nothing but the whiff of his frustration. Keeper cooed at his birds, circling lazily above us. The crows swooped down by the hundreds and landed on the ground around us. He stroked the feathers of those closest to him, whistling short tones to them. When he raised his hands, they took flight again, swirling protectively overhead.