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

to keep me still, just as he wanted. “And I thought you’d keep track of your pet.”

“Where is he?” I began. A thousand scenarios ran through my mind, not a single one of them good. I could feel the bile rise in the back of my throat at the notion of Leo being hurt.

“Right now? Oh, don’t worry, Lyra,” Rowan mocked. “He’s on his way here.” Amusement flashed on his face at the way I stood up straighter at the statement, head swiveling around to look over my shoulder. “Endearing,” he said dryly.

“How far--”

“Maybe you should pay attention to the matter at hand, my dear,” Rowan chided, his body skirting around mine to slink into view once more. “Again, I did not come here to exchange pleasantries. I came here because, quite simply, you were poking your nose around where it doesn’t belong.”

“Landon offered it--”

“And your boy asked for more, tried for more,” Rowan warned, his upper lip curling. “Now Landon’s taken care of, and I’m telling you not to make the same mistake. Your passing fascination shouldn’t be a nail in the lid of your coffin, don’t let it become that. Whatever you’ve got going on with this guy, you clean it up so we can get back to what we were meant to be doing.” A flicker in his eyes suggested that he meant more than my normal life, he regarded what I was meant to be doing as what I was meant to be doing with him.

“What do you mean Landon’s taken care of?” I interrupted, my voice rising. But no answer came from Rowan, not then. A bell chimed in the distance, drawing both Rowan and I’s eyes as we became aware of the world around us.

Leo entered, his black, wavy hair hanging in front of his face, his brilliant, dark green eyes scanning the shop. His pale skin held a waxy sheen that made him look borderline ill, his hand braced on the desk as he peered down the aisles, searching. My breath hitched just as his did, his eyes finding me, no doubt seeing the illusion cast by Rowan.

To my side, Rowan stiffened, his shoulders tensing at the sight. “Lyra,” he warned, his voice low.

“I’m not going to stop.” when had I decided that I would help Leo? I didn’t know. But just seeing him enter the shop, it suddenly felt like one of the most important goals in my life.

“I’m trying to help you.”

I tore my eyes away from Leo as he began to walk toward us, a frantic need to get rid of Rowan filling my veins. “You can start by leaving,” I informed him, gesturing down the aisle, praying that Rowan would follow my orders. Surprisingly, he actually began to move like he was going to leave.

I expected him to go the other way, but he didn’t. With a heavy sigh, he told me, “fine then, Lyra, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. And when it comes down to it, don’t expect more from me than you should.” My eyes shot back to him, my mouth opening to speak. But before I could, he began to walk. Long, quick strides approaching Leo, I almost thought that he would stop and say something to Leo. He didn’t. Instead, Rowan brushed past him, his squared shoulders colliding against Leo’s with more force than necessary and sending the man backward a bit, his back bumping against the shelves.

“Sorry,” Rowan said flatly, his voice sounding anything but.

Confused, Leo blinked, sparing a glance back at Rowan, then at me. He tilted his head, as if momentarily confused, the illusion he was presented with likely not including Rowan’s presence. But just as suddenly as confusion came, he brushed it off, carrying on toward me. He dug in his pocket, withdrawing his phone to wave it at me as he smiled, “Lyra.” It was as if, just by seeing me, whatever illness he’d had then passed. There was color on his face once more.

10

Convenient

Long charcoal lines trailed from the tip of a pencil, their curves and edges painting a scene across the page as the young man creating them placed his cheek against the wooden desk. Black smudges coated the side of his face, yet he did not pay them any heed, the edge of his tongue sticking out between his lips as he seemed entranced by the action. To be honest, though, he wasn’t the one entranced, not by far.

I was left to close that afternoon, and for the most part, I’d done my job. The front door was locked, the till counted, and today’s book deliveries were cataloged and put on the carts for tomorrow. And yet, still shaken by my earlier encounter, I could not bring myself to disturb Leo. He sat in the back of the shop, not realizing that the light above him was one of the only ones that remained. His hands moved with the steadiness and certainty that only a well-practiced artist could achieve and though his skin was still pallid and sickly, he looked alive as he drew. I couldn’t help myself, relief being my guiding force as I peeked past the shelves I hid behind, watching him work. Leo was captivating.

And concerning. A white paper coffee cup sat by his side, the mysterious contents unknown but puffs of steam still escaping the cup every time he opened it. Once more, the smell of licorice filled the air. With every sip of the dark liquid he seemed to experience a sense of relief, his shoulders lowering and a hefty sigh exiting his body. Just as quickly as he drank from it, he would close the lid, attempting to keep any of the heat from escaping. So familiar to him was the motion that he seemed to do it unconsciously. Leo didn’t even have to tear his eyes away from the page to pop open the cup, his hand not stopping as he drank from it.

My mind