The City of Crows Bethany Lovejoy (color ebook reader .TXT) 📖

an alarm began to sound in my head. The Society of Magic didn’t ban just anyone. “But thankfully, I managed to charm my way in, and using his original list of nineteen, I found you. You lived with your mother when he started calling, so naturally, he wrote you off. But now…”

My nose wrinkled.

He sighed, a slight smile played on his lips and he moved his hand to cover it, as if I somehow wouldn’t have noticed it. “Everyone else has all but dropped off the map, lives in gated communities, or is living in Magictown where people don’t exactly give you information as to who is where, but you…” He seemed to deem it appropriate to beam, his hand dropping away from his mouth and dropping down to grip the cushion beside him in excitement. “Just when I thought time was running out, here you are.”

“Here I am?” I said, quirking my head at him. What on earth was this man talking about? I regretted waiting for Yvie to leave before calling him. Letting a stranger who had hunted me down into my apartment wasn’t my best idea, and I suddenly became aware of his menacing height. A thousand tales of witches in the same situation ran through my mind, headlines of wingnuts with self-righteous attitudes taking out their religious retribution against them ran across my mind. I paled.

“Please don’t-- I’m not--” he stumbled over his words, likely seeing the change in my demeanor. I had a wand sitting on my bedroom nightstand, and I desperately wished that it was in my hand instead. “Listen, I’m just--”

“You’ve tracked me down,” my jaw clenched.

“No, that’s not-- I mean, yes? Okay, but not like--” Quickly, he scrambled to his feet, hands up in a defensive pose. “Listen, just listen, I promise--” He moved forward, stumbling over the coffee table. Instinctually, I leaned back, my eyes widening.

“What are you?” I began to question, my stomach sinking. Idiot, idiot, idiot; I was an idiot.

“Just a normal guy,” he promised, body language still cautious. It was almost as if he was approaching a wounded animal. “Okay, maybe not normal, that’s not a good way to explain this. But Lyra, you have to trust me. Just let me find the words,” he begged, bending over to pick up the packet he’d left on the table and hold it out towards me again, like a peace offering. “I mean, it’s delicate. I don’t like to say it outright.”

“Say what?” My tone of alarm did not leave.

He exhaled, a long shaky breath leaving his lungs and audibly hitting the air. Just like that, his shoulders fell, face spiraling with them. Whatever confidence he’d picked up along the way left him, the man now looked downtrodden as he began to contemplate his next words. Whatever choices he faced, what he chose to say next was far too blunt for my tastes.

“Lyra, I’m a man who is going to be dead in two months if you don’t help me.”

4

A Guiding Star

A dark, marigold yellow leached from the leaves and mingled with the water, heavy steam rose from the surface and danced in the air. Two cups, one white and tall, the other one transparent and stout, sat on the counter between us, filling the air with the aroma of citrus and ginger. A thick layer of leaves and rinds lingered on top of the liquid, waiting to be skimmed away with the small metal tea strainer that my roommate seldom used. Numb to the shock of heat, Leo kept his hand wrapped around the side of his cup, his dark brown, almost black eyes diving deep into the mixture as it brewed.

There was a silence, one that had permeated the air since his statement, and it seemed impenetrable and endless. His shoulders were squared, a guarded look upon his face that lingered until, not knowing what else to do, I stepped over and grabbed the bag off the coffee table. I didn’t know what to say or what I felt, but his face changed when I reached for the bag of tea. Though I didn’t want to, I knew that he likely saw it as a sign of hope. He wouldn’t say it though, maybe he was afraid that acknowledging such a thing would cause it to go away.

And yet, with the rich gold petals gliding through the water and the light scent of chamomile filling our lungs, he spoke once more, voice low and wistful. “You know it’s funny; I don’t think I’ve sat down and shared anything with anyone since I knew. I didn’t want to tell anyone and make them feel like they had to go through it with me.” His fingers tapped against the side of his cup. A smile, miserable and most certainly not a true one, played upon his lips. “Just because the world is stopping for me shouldn’t mean that it has to stop for everyone else.”

Why was I doing this? Why couldn’t I stop? “How long have you been alone?”My voice spoke of its own volition, prying straight into his life. It wasn’t my business, it wasn’t my problem, yet somehow I couldn’t stop.

“I’ve known for three years,” he said. Catching the way that my face fell, he sought to give me some comfort. “I mean, my father died about ten years ago, and I never knew why. I was still going out, still seeing my friends, still living up until three years ago; that’s when things started to become real, that’s when I found the note in my father’s lockbox. Even then, it seemed far off, an impossible thing. But over time, it began to show, a strange weight began to manifest in my bones and I felt a pain I’d never felt before. It was when that started happening, when I had these moments where I couldn’t even move, that’s when I knew what I had to do. That’s when I knew I had to start leaving the