Page 41 of The Crow Games

He shook his head. “It’s mine now. You can’t have it back.”

I wanted not to find his brand of peculiarity charming, but there I sat, vaguely and reluctantly pleased with this enemy of my enemies. My lips twisted trying not to smile.

I reassembled my pocket pistol. Then we all shuffled off to bed and Asher followed. Nola and Ruchel said their goodbyes, disappearing into their compartment. He lingered at the doorway of my bunk long after the others were gone.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Sleeping near my coven to assist their recovery,” he said. He peeked over my head, frowning at the single bed.

I pushed him backwards, away from my compartment, discouraging any notions about sharing. There were plenty of empty cabins elsewhere. “Reapers sleep?”

“When we want to. I don’t need to, but I enjoy dreaming.” He moved one door down and knocked on it.

“That one’s taken,” I told him.

Asher shoved the door open. “Get out,” he rumbled.

A beast-born with ram horns fled the cabin, half-dressed. I shook my head at Asher, bemused.

He helped himself to the bottom bunk. I watched him sink onto the mattress and ready his pillow, the act making him seem oddly human. His shadows draped like a rippling waterfall over the edge of the bed, rebounding in puffs of cloud as they touched the floor, and the effect immediately wore off. He was Otherworldly again.

I returned to my room. Our beds were separated by a thin bone wall. My previous neighbor had snored terribly in his sleep. When he woke me in the night, I had unkind thoughts about him not surviving the next trial. I turned down the gas lamp and crawled under the covers, glad that at least I would no longer have to wish an innocent man dead.

Asher knocked against our shared wall in three quick successions. My fist hung there, tempted to knock back, unsure if I should encourage . . . whatever this was. I tapped once against the wall in compromise.

“I hope you don’t snore,” I said.

“Goodnight, troublemaker,” he replied.

* * *

In the morning, my sleeper cabin was not empty. Ruchel sat at the foot of my bed and Nola paced the small quarters in front of the pitcher and basin for washing.

They waited until I sat up and stretched before pouncing—a small blessing.

“What’s this about opening an exit to the Upper Realm?” Nola demanded.

“Could I at least have breakfast first?” I asked.

“No,” they shouted at me in unison.

While I dressed, I told them in more explicit detail how I’d ended up on the Schatten, explaining the hole I’d torn into the Otherworld. Ruchel helped me fasten my corset over my chemise while I shared my plans for revenge and for Bram.

A shimmer of hope lit Ruchel’s ochre eyes. She sat down heavily at the foot of my bed. “If you kill him, could that help you get in a better ‘condition’ for opening this exit? Would it raise your spirits enough?”

Nola had different worries. “If this isn’t handled right, we’ll put a target on all of our backs.”

I hated disappointing them, but I wouldn’t lie. “I don’t know if it will fix me, and I have no intention of starting the games early and aiming all the trouble at our coven either. If Bram can’t convince me he didn’t kill my sister, then he dies today. Either way, I vote we keep working toward our exit plan as best we can.”

“In and out, one man dead, no witnesses,” Nola said, already plotting. “This is much smarter than a public assault in a market square, ducky. We’ll help you make sure things stay that way.”

I shouted at the wall I shared with Asher and invited him over. His shadows poured in through the corner vent. Our plotting had just started when it was interrupted by a rapid knock at the door.

“Nola, is that you I hear in there?” a male voice called from the hall. Another round of knocks followed in rapid succession, a thunderous sound that rattled the wood.

“Brick?” Nola jumped up to answer it, sliding it open wide.

A young man leaned against the frame. He wore a woolen cap over short autumn hair, and his waistcoat was a thick tweed favored in Sebrak. The crimson amulet around his neck marked him as a red witch.

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