Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(16)

With a flick of his wrist, the gate we’d been able to pass through opened. Who opened it the first time?

“I did,” he answered.

My eyes bulged from my head. Could he hear me?

“I can.”

What was this?

He snorted, motioning for Pam. “Time to go.” She followed him, blushing like a school girl, watching him under fluttering lashes. Eww. Where had thoughts of her husband and two kids disappeared to?

Keeper smirked, ticking his head toward the gate. Why couldn’t I be in the same pathetic shape as Pamela? She looked like she’d taken a few Valium and a couple of shots of Love Potion No. 9.

We stepped out of the gates, retracing our path though the dilapidation. “Where are we going?” I asked.

Keeper never slowed. His broadsword stuck to his back somehow. It must have been magic. This dream was awesome. I needed to remember every detail and write it down as soon as I woke. It would make a great book. I could be an author, sell a million books, and become independently wealthy.

Keeper was also fast; he didn’t waste time, words, or steps. I followed behind him, scuttling to keep up because my feet were bare and tender. I looked at his back and noticed that each shoulder blade sported a thick, raised scab that crawled down his back several inches. A few droplets of dried blood rained down from each one. The healed mixing with the freshly torn. What happened to him?

The muscles of his back tensed and he stopped for a moment before shooting an irritated look my way and steering Pamela toward the right. There was no way to determine direction here.

No sun.

No moon.

No stars.

Nothing but gray.

And then there was him. The Keeper of Crows was in magnificent, masculine color.



*

We walked through yards where the tufts of grass were as tall as my thigh, up hillsides, through more yards, and across a creek with stones that barely protruded from the water’s surface. It was the first time I’d seen a creek without flowing water. It was still as a lake, not a ripple on the surface, and the water was sleek and deadly as mercury. My legs felt like they were made of lead, or tree trunks. Something too heavy to lift much longer. “Can we stop?”

I hated to be the weak link, but I was dying. My body somehow wasn’t ready for all of this. Discreetly, I sniffed my arm pit. It didn’t stink yet, but it would. Sweat was popping up all over my skin.

“Physically, you might feel weak. It depends on the state of your earthly body. But it takes a lot of strength to ask for help,” he said, looking me over from head to toe. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d have flirted more, but I was too busy dying again. “We can stop for a few minutes.”

The crows from The Killing Field were still following us. When we stopped, they perched on the branches of a nearby tree, leafless and skeletal-looking. Soon there were as many birds as there should have been leaves. They groomed their feathers and rested. I wondered how often they got the chance to take a breather.

“Not often.”

This whole telepathy thing was creepy. Can you read Pamela’s mind? You haven’t answered anything from her.

He sat at the base of the tree of crows, leaning his back against it. I sat on a rock across from him and Pamela settled beside me, happily picking at the dry, dead grass along the base. She hummed an awful rendition of Wind Beneath My Wings. I wasn’t going to survive this woman’s crazy.

Maybe he couldn’t hear me anymore. He didn’t answer me.

Keeper watched his flock, perched above him dutifully. “Why do they do that?” I asked.

His eyes snapped to mine. “They are obedient.”

Maybe he was into that sort of thing. In that case, I wasn’t sure the Keeper and I would work. I refused to give men power. I’d seen the train wreck that could cause.

“You tell them to sit there?” My left eyebrow popped up on its own. How could he possibly control wild animals?

“They aren’t wild.” He snapped his finger once and the entire murder took flight. The beating of their wings was deafening. They swirled in circular patterns overhead, like scavengers scenting a dead animal, but faster. Their movements were sharp and precise.

Keeper stood, his frame powerful and taut, and looked to the woods beyond us. “We need to go.”

“Do we have to?” asked Pamela in a childlike voice. “I really want to stay with you.”

He smiled at her, glorious as the sunrise. “We have to get you back home.”

She gets to wake up? I pushed myself to stand. “Me too, right?” I smiled. He was going to help me leave this place, too. Right?

Keeper’s smile faded to one of irritation. His jaw muscle worked back and forth. “Of course,” he answered curtly.

Why was he so pissy with me and so sweet to Pam? It was rubbing me the wrong way.

Striding into the forest, we followed him blindly. Tweedle Dumb kept bumping into me as she danced through the trees. Where was whimpering Pamela? I preferred her to the Disney version I was faced with now.

A constant overcast sky closer to the city was one thing, but in the forest, it made everything dark. Shaded versions of reality twisted and climbed from the land. Large, unearthed roots made traveling difficult. Pamela had no trouble twisting through the tangled vines, and Keeper blazed a trail as if they weren’t there at all, as if he were made of stone.