Page 57 of The Crow Games

He considered me, his head cocked. “Lie down.”

I did as he instructed, resting on my side, my head on the pillow, the fabric still damp from my sweat. His shadows surged, blanketing me in night. He laid one of his hands across my face, his palm smooth and warm and big enough to cover my eyes completely.

The train disappeared, the rumble of the tracks and the sway of the cabin falling away. The shadows went next. In my mind I was back in the apartment I shared with Lisbeth, her bed across from mine, her earring on the nightstand still missing its match. I sat up, no longer heavy from the weight of my own body.

Cuts of fabric scattered the floor, Lisbeth’s discarded projects. The sight of them tightened my throat. Asher stood amongst them, but his shadows were gone. I didn’t know where my mind had put them. His platinum hair was pulled back in a messy knot, hands tucked in his trouser pockets. A few strands broke loose to fall across his brow. Apparently, I liked his hair this way . . .

It was probably for the best that I didn’t dwell on that thought too much.

“Can you feel where the shades are hiding?” he asked. “Is it a particular memory?”

“No,” I said, still too exhausted to be very helpful. “Not exactly. They feel big, like they’re everywhere.”

Creaking voices called through the crack in the door behind him. “Fria,” the shades taunted. Their voices expanded to fill the room, bouncing off the walls. “Fria . . . I see you, Friiiiiiiiaaaaaaa . . .”

I met Asher’s eyes and swallowed. “I can explain . . .”

“Fria, Fria,” the shades chanted, “daughter of the traveler and the crossroads, we see you. You are ours now.”

The only evidence of Asher’s surprise was the slight lift in his brows, and then his expression smoothed. “I’ll take care of them.”

He turned to depart deeper into my mind, and I caught him by the back of his waistcoat. “Asher . . . thank you.”

Chapter 13

“Nott and Mara were born as one god before their mother desired two children. She ripped their soul and divinity in half and made the Lord of Night and the Lady of Nightmares.”– Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist

Iawoke in my compartment, the curtains gilded by early morning light. My mind was no longer heavy with the weight of malevolent shade spirits. I had the energy to stand and wash and go searching for a new camisole I could wear under my corset. My spirit stirred weakly in my chest as I dressed.

Asher’s shadows crawled in across the floor. He appeared in the middle of my cabin.

“You should knock,” I said, buttoning up my shirt so hurriedly that I missed one and had to start again.

He stood in the pile of my dirty clothing, my handwashed socks dripping dry on the washstand beside him. His bottomless eyes took me in with a sweeping glance—freshly braided bronze hair, my shirt half-open—and his cheeks turned russet.

He put his back to me. “I apologize.”

There was something deeply pleasing about being able to make an ageless force of nature blush, but I chose not to think on that very hard.

“Back from Hel’s gates already,” I said, eager to change the subject. “You work fast.”

“We should talk,” he said to the door, tone somber.

My heart lurched. I took a seat on the bed, winded from dressing. “All right. Let’s get it over with . . .”

“You’re the goddess of magic.” He whispered the words like they were a prayer.

“No,” I said emphatically, “Iwasthe goddess of magic. There’s not a drop of divinity in me now, according to you.”

“Because you broke it into pieces and gave it all away.” The hint of awe in his tone made my stomach flutter and then harden. “I don’t know much about the Upper Realm, but even I’ve heard of you. I saw it all in your mind. You turned yourself mortal. You made yourself into a witch, the very first one.”

“My priestesses needed a way to protect themselves from . . . another, and I . . . I couldn’t save all of them.”

“I know. I saw.” His head dropped forward. Even though I was dressed now, he seemed intent on keeping his gaze turned away from me. “Why keep it a secret?”

Images of the faces I’d known and loved flashed through my mind, blurry by the passage of time. My first coven. “You’re unfamiliar with the gods of the Upper Realm. Suffice it to say, none of them were happy with what I’d done. Eventually, it was easier just to disappear, let people believe I’d destroyed myself.”

“You aren’t a goddess any longer, but you have god blood. Your own blood.”

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