Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(19)

His grip on my head tightened uncomfortably and then painfully. I jerked him hard, but nothing would snap him out of it. He squeezed tighter. I slapped the side of his face, a red streak blooming across his cheek. What the hell was this? I did the only thing I could think of to wake him. Maybe he was Sleeping Beauty. Pressing my lips to his, his thumbs released my head. His eyes were open wide as they churned in color; indigo, emerald, a deep purple that was almost black. An immediate sense of relief washed over me as his grip slackened.

“Don’t ever do that again.” He pointed his finger at me, moving several steps away.

I wheeled around on him, my finger in his face this time. “You were squeezing my head off! And what the hell was that? You were in a trance or something. Wake up. This is not a joke. I need you to send me back home. Is this some sick, twisted way that my body is saying it’s staying in the coma or something?”

Shaking his head, he muttered, “No, this is much worse than that. I don’t even know how it’s possible.”

“Why were you squeezing my freaking head so hard?” I rubbed my temples.

“I was watching your memory.”

“Of the veil?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t believe me? I’m a lot of things, Keeper, but I’m not a liar. And stop reading my thoughts. Stop looking into my memories. If you don’t know how to help, can you please find someone who can?”

He shook his head slightly. “I’ll see if I can get some answers, but just remember that not every answer is the one you want or expect.”

“You remember that, too,” I warned him. Enough of this shit. I walked back into the woods. There had to be another way. If Keeper wouldn’t help me, someone else would. He couldn’t be the only person in this place who knew the way home.





7





I didn’t make it very far away from him before thorns clawed at the sad scrap of fabric barely covering me. Stupid hospital gowns, washed thin and thread-bare. I was tangled to the point that it was going to tear completely away and my skin would be scratched. These things were like tiny rabid dogs, clawing at everything in their path. I hated dogs. And kids. And old people. And men. But especially Keepers and cawing birds. Those bastards were still swirling overhead.

“Want a puff of my soul, you freaks?” I taunted at the sky.

They cawed as one, loud and dramatically annoying.

Keeper emerged from the darkness, plucking the thorns from my gown. “You need better clothes.” He didn’t even get poked.

“What? You don’t like my fashion sense?”

He huffed, remarking, “I’ve seen better,” and then patiently tore away the offending briars and freed me.

I stared at his arms, with not even a bloody trickle pouring from his skin. Of course he would be good at not getting shredded. He was good at everything. He snorted as though he knew it was a fact, glancing at the torn fabric lying in tatters around me. I was pretty sure he’d gotten a good look at my ass in the process.

“I did,” he said matter-of-factly.

Hope you liked it, bud.

“I like to see you so worked up.” Keeper smiled and ticked his head. “This way. We need to be on guard. The fissure will draw attention from those we don’t want to encounter.”

“More assholes like Gus and Chester?”

He shook his head. “Worse. The Lessons are more frightening than any merchant, and Gus and Chester were small time, at that. The true merchants have great ships. They’re like the pirates of your world.”

“Pirates?”

“Of old, yes. They especially like booty,” he said with a grin.

My mouth gaped open. “Holy shit. Did you just make a joke?” His smile was like a burst of sunshine, and his chuckle led the way out of the forest. I was determined to keep up with him and determined to hear the deep timbre of his laughter. It was one of the most beautiful sounds I’d ever heard. Happy looked good on the Keeper of Crows. I wanted to see him smile again.



As the undergrowth thinned, Keeper drew the sword from his back.

“What is it?” I whispered, struggling to keep up with him. The skin on the bottom of my bare feet stung with each step. The soles of my feet were sliced open from all of the twigs and briars. Dried blood mixed with fresh along the soles. Between my arms and feet, I was a bloody mess.

“Don’t you smell him?”

“Smell who?”

“The demon.”

“Demon? Like a real freaking demon?” I whisper-shrieked.

He motioned for me to come closer. A scent, like that of singed hair, assaulted my nose. I covered it with my hand and tried to blink my eyes. They stung like I was too close to a fire. Keeper stopped just inside the tree line and watched the field beyond, where an intense orange glow lit the gray. The grasses were on fire.

Do we need to run? I stared at Keeper, begging him to answer. He grabbed my hand and held it stiffly, as though it were painful for him to comfort me. Heat flamed between our intertwined fingers and electricity sparked between our palms. For a moment, I watched our hands, waiting for them to ignite, for smoke to pour from the space between them.

I hated fire. And smoke. And demons. Dimitri was a demon, straight from Hell. I knew getting blow from him was going to burn me and it did, in the worst way possible.