Keeper of Crows (Keeper of Crows #1)(24)

“I’m not the type of girl who deserves Heaven, Keeper. I was mean and did some very bad things.”

“Every human does. Most waste the gifts they were given.”

“Can you see life on Earth from here?”

“No. I can’t leave this place. I haven’t for a long time,” he said, turning his back to me. Snapping his fingers, the crows swirled to the ground, pecking at the leftover manna.

I wanted to ask him what he was and how long he’d been here. Watching his back stiffen, I knew he heard my silent questions. He didn’t want to answer, and maybe I shouldn’t even think those things. Curiosity killed me a few times before. I still hadn’t learned my lesson, apparently. The Lesson, the man with his ears melted by the demon, flashed into my mind. Would I suffer a similar fate?

“You won’t.”

“How can you be so sure? If the veil wasn’t supposed to be torn, how do you know I won’t become just like them?”

He leaned against the deck railing. “I don’t feel it,” he said, rubbing the muscle over his heart.

“What do you feel?” I asked, watching him rub his chest, his face contorted in emotions so deep, I couldn’t wrap my head around them.

“I feel you, but it’s so confusing. I’m not sure that what I’m feeling is accurate. My gifts don’t seem to work on you.”

“Does every Lesson lose their hearing?” I asked, toying with the fleshy bottom of my ear.

“No, some lose their sight. Others lose their ability to speak. Their mouths are sealed.”

My chest tightened. “Hear no evil.”

Keeper smiled. “Speak no evil, see no evil. Smart girl.”

With a mirthless laugh, I told him, “No one’s ever accused me of being smart.”

His jaw ticked. “Don’t put yourself down, Carmen Kennedy.”

“Easy for you to say, Keeper.” I took a deep breath. “What’s on tap for today?” He could tell I was done talking about me and this crazy situation, and he graciously let me change the subject.

“We lay low and wait for help to arrive.”

“Will help have a name?”

Keeper smirked. “Perhaps.”

“Asshole.”

Then he laughed, wholeheartedly. Keeper liked being called an asshole.

“I can think of a few ways to fill our time,” I suggested.

“No,” he said sternly and walked out the balcony door.





9





In what I thought was the afternoon, it began to rain. It rained hard, the drops blown sideways from the gusts of wind that accompanied it. Keeper ran outside into the deluge, getting drenched immediately, but it didn’t deter him.

“Come on!” he yelled, stripping himself of his clothes. With his back to me, I watched his hands scrub over his body. Every inch. And I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. Every inch of him was sculpted, powerful, and intimidating. He’d been chiseled from stone, I was sure of it. The only part that wasn’t perfect were the two vertical scars slashing through his shoulder blades.

His body tensed, hearing my thoughts. I didn’t dislike the scars at all. Scars were important. It meant bad stuff happened. Scars were the remnants of terrible things, but also proof that a person had survived them. I slid the pad of my finger over the large scar on my head, the skin around it still puckered and tender to the touch.

He wasn’t naked for long, unfortunately, because just a few minutes after it began, the rain stopped pouring. Keeper gathered his clothes, tucking them strategically in front of him. I hadn’t gotten a peek at that yet, but damn, if it matched the rest of him…

He was smirking when he walked through the door, fishing his cigarette packet from his dripping, tragically well-positioned pants.

I pointed a (sexually) frustrated finger at the window. “What the hell was that?”

“The cleansing.”

“The cleansing. Oh. Well, why didn’t you just say so? Does it come at this time every day, like the manna?”

“It does.”

“Well, I know when to bathe tomorrow, then.”

He looked at me and earnestly said, “You smell good.”

“Oh, I smell good. Well, I’d like to get clean too, buddy. So, when ‘the cleansing’ comes again, I’ll go get naked with you. Unless you want me to strip down now…”

“I told you to come. And I waved for you.”

Water sluiced down his body, making him look like a delectable, juicy, fresh piece of man-flesh. Damn it.

“I’ll be back,” he said, walking to the steps. The muscles in his ass alone... My God. If this was Purgatory, maybe I should stay.



When he came back down, I was sitting on the couch, yet again. I’d snooped through every cabinet, closet, and room and found nothing interesting at all. Who had lived here?

“It mirrors someone’s home in your world.”

“But why? Why the city? Why the homes and manna and rain?”

“The city was built from one man’s imagination, and this house came from another’s. Some things stay, some go. Eventually, this house will fade away. The owner stayed here for a long time, but has moved on.”

“To Heaven or Hell?”