Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(22)

From the stranger’s bed upstairs, I tossed a thought into the air. I’m cold. Feel like warming me up?

A growl from the room beside mine was my only response. I pictured him stretched out on the mattress, hands behind his head, dark hair falling into his eyes, broody look on his face…maybe with a hard-on, because now he was picturing me naked and he really did want to come into my room and warm me up.

“Go to sleep, Carmen.”

I wiggled into the mattress to get more comfortable before drifting off.





8





How long did I sleep? My back was stiff. I placed my feet on the floor, sitting up and yawning with a long stretch of my arms. When I eased onto my feet, there was no pain. I sat back down and peeked beneath one bandage. Nothing. No blood, no cuts, no holes or torn flesh. Just a shimmer, a dark shadow, beneath the skin. I wondered if his words healed me, but they didn’t work to persuade me in any other way. The shadow was dark, which I assumed meant the veil inside had healed my feet. Did he tell it what to do? Staring at the bottoms of my feet where clean, new skin had grown over the gashes and holes… It was as if I’d never been hurt.

“How is this possible?”

One by one, I eased the blood-stained bandages from my feet, revealing fresh skin, new and pink and tender to the touch, but new all the same. I left the shredded pieces of fabric on the floor and padded to the door, going downstairs in search of my handsome new friend. Keeper was on the porch, gathering chunks of bread that littered the surface of the wood. He looked up at me and ticked his head for me to come outside.

“What is that?”

“Are you still hungry?” he asked, smirking.

“Yeah, but I’m not eating sky bread.”

“Sky bread,” he muttered. “It’s manna.”

Manna. Of course, it was manna. “You’re kidding, right?”

He smirked. “I am not.”

Keeper held a piece up to my lips, teasing me with the white ball of fluff. Maybe it would actually taste good.

“Eat. It will fill you for the day.”

“Don’t we need to bake it or something?” I asked.

He grinned. “It is perfect the way it is. Baking it would destroy it.”

I reached up to take the piece from his fingers, but he tutted. “Open wide,” he teased.

“That phrase can mean a great many things, Keeper. Be careful who you say it to.”

His eyes narrowed and flicked down my body, making me all too aware that he liked what he saw, even though he fought it. Then he lowered the piece of manna into his hand where the other pieces lay in a pile. He extended the hand to me. “Take all of this. I’ll get more for me.”

He emptied his hand into both of my cupped ones. I raised the manna to my nose and smelled. It smelled sweet, but not like sugar; sort of like honey or honeysuckle. I couldn’t place it. “What exactly does it taste like?”

“Like everything and nothing,” he replied simply, his dark hair mussed from sleep last night.

“Did you sleep well?” I should have peeked into his bedroom, now that I thought about it.

“I don’t sleep, but you slept deeply, which is good. In Purgatory, you have to rest in order to heal. You have to eat the manna provided to keep from starving. And right now, you need to tell me everything—again—so I can see if there’s anything that can be done to allow you to pass through the divide. No detail is too small.”

“I’m not wasting my time or yours rehashing it, and you’ve already seen my memory of it. Or so you say…”

“I did, but I can’t wrap my head around it.” He paused for a long moment, hands on his hips. “No wonder the merchants were frightened. No soul has ever physically torn the fabric before. Not even my kind.”

“Keepers? As in plural? There are more of you?”

He frowned. “In a manner of speaking, yes, but I am the only one assigned to Purgatory indefinitely.”

“Tough gig. Who did you piss off to get sent here?”

“Someone important,” he answered honestly, taking a piece of the manna and chewing it.

I bit off a little chunk of manna to taste it and found that it was nothing short of amazing. With the consistency of a marshmallow, somehow it was rich and sweet, but not too sweet. There were hints of cinnamon and bread; like monkey bread, only completely white. Mmmmm. And it was filling. The handful of manna he gave me was too much. Three bites were all it took to fill me. I doubted that feeling of fullness would last the day, though.

Keeper smiled. “It will. I promise.” Promises… Promises were important to people. Were they important to Keepers? And who was he, really?

“Is that your name? Keeper?”

“I do not give my name to those I don’t know well.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not wise,” he said, chewing another piece.

Pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he searched for something.

“Looking for a lighter?”

“Or matches. I usually have both.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you take them from me?”

Well, bristle my feathers. “Hell, no!” I answered indignantly. “I’m not a thief. And why would I want your lighter?”