Page 39 of Collected By the Crow

With his upper palms facing either side, he gritted his teeth and began to steal the magic from the soil. Little droplets in every shade of the rainbow seeped toward him. He dared not watch the petals wilt beneath his hands.

When he reached the purple poppies, his black heart panged with regret. He’d left her there. If he could go back in time, he would allow one of her kisses to land their mark.

“Greenhouses can be rebuilt.”

There was only one Dr. Cassandra Billing. His dewdrop.

He bypassed the small patch of purple. He couldn’t bear to kill it. He would find a way to preserve some of that precious memory.

Memories were not enough anymore. He continued until all that was left was brown.

The sun was inches away from kissing the horizon. It was probably too early to start, but he couldn’t wait. Couldn’t stop the momentum. He hastily threw everything he’d gathered since her departure into a bag, tossed the strap of his guitar over his shoulder, and took to the sky.

Cloaked with magic, he sped through the air. The flight was short, but he saw now how incredible it was that Zero had made it that first night. Had it been a week later, the poor thing would never have gotten so far. Qadaire was grateful that his friends had been convincing enough to bring Zero and Cassandra to his door.

Her driveway was empty, the house dark. Qadaire artfully arranged his tokens on her stoop with the help of the insomniac crow, who was mated and knew more than he did about these things. When he was satisfied, he took to the skies around her house to pass the time, the strings of his guitar comforting under his fingers.

The stars this far from his castle twinkled knowingly. He’d never been able to discern their mysteries. One could stare through a telescope until they withered away without learning a single secret that burned inside those gaseous rocks, but tonight, Qadaire questioned them further. Did they know his fate? Were they laughing at him or with him? Was the porcelain moon holding his fragile destiny in its bright white glow?

He corkscrewed through the sky, then glided with his wings close to his body, two arms behind his head, the other two clasped over his abdomen, guitar hanging off his back. There was a peacefulness in the sky that occasionally made him glad to have these cursed wings. Tonight was a night like that. He leaned into the feeling and let it carry him, the frigid caress of winter’s breath a cold reminder that he was alive. He had a purpose.

Even if that purpose was to be rejected by a radiant human pathologist.

After some time, Qadaire questioned himself. Maybe he’d been too brash. He started to lose hope, debating whether to return home. He lingered somewhere between their homes, his palms too sweaty to grip the guitar. He wasn’t ready to give up.

A familiar citrus and cream scent reached out to him from below. It was dampened, like there was something between them blotting it out, but it was enough for him to track. When he realized it was leading him straight to his castle, his wings couldn’t carry him fast enough.

A snub-nosed red car was speeding down the gravel road. Zero’s healthy pink tongue lolled from his mouth where his head hung from the window.

Qadaire panicked. He dove into a cedar tree and clung to the branch with his talons.

You can do this, master.

“I can’t,” he heaved.

You can. Serenade her.

Do it now.

With three more steeling breaths and a stomach full of lead, he leapt from the tree.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Cassandra

Cassandra leaned against the crumbling railing on the porch, huddled in her poofy coat. She’d rapped the knocker once already.

“Maybe he’s not home.” She glanced beside her, but Zero was too interested in the squirrels in the trees to care. “He must be in the greenhouse—”

Soft chords floated on silk through the air, freezing her in place. She immediately recognized the song. “Bold as Love” by Jimi Hendrix.

A lump formed in her throat as she turned, slowly, to face the winged man who’d captured her heart. He hovered a few feet off the ground, his wings susurrating as they pulsed to stay afloat. An ornate double-necked guitar was situated over his torso. A shocked giggle choked its way through her airpipe.

The raw vulnerability Qaidare wore was the most honest thing she’d ever witnessed. With twilight’s last glow to to the west and a full moon rising in the east, dazzling light struck his gray skin, highlighting his cheekbones with a luminous glow. Strands of black hair framed his face, his four hands making light work of the double-necked guitar. His defenses crumbled. Powerful energy emanated off of him, from the strum of his fingers to the bob of his throat with each soulful lyric.

When he reached the end of the second verse, her smile seized, burrowing its way down her throat. His voice cracked, like the lyrics were being dragged from the deepest part of him. The words absolutely shattered her.

Cass hunched around herself, trying to keep it together. She’d cried more today than she had in months. Since before Zero got sick and she hardened her grief into numb resolve. She approached him on wobbly knees, the legendary riff a passionate gust of wind she felt in her bones.

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