Page 43 of The Crow Games

Pride warmed my chest. Then curiosity made worse by the slow passing of time got the better of me. “What are you writing?”

It was none of my business.

I was dying to know.

“Just my thoughts. A few verses here and there,” he admitted. I chewed on my cheek, resisting the urge to attempt to read over his shoulder.

When I leaned closer, he shuffled away, a white brow raised in a question I didn’t have a good answer for. The dying light cast his fair skin in a warm glow.

“Just curious,” I told him.

“You’ll have to remain curious,” he said dismissively.

The crowd thinned further. Guardians departed for their homes to take shelter from the beasts that ruled the night, and the skies darkened. It was time.

“Stay near,” I told him.

He melted into his wraith-like form and bathed me in his shadows. “Right behind you, Trouble.”

Chapter 10

“Every god in the Otherworld has fashioned their own set of rules for the Crow Games. As a result, the contestants know not how to win.”– Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist

Mosaics plastered the halls, depicting the rivalry of the divine brothers Alwin and Alrick. Alwin had always been the wisest of the gods, but Alrick’s gift of command brought deities to their knees. No god could easily resist an alluring suggestion from Alrick. His power of influence was legendary.

Every realm had its ruler, but Alrick remained the gods’ sole monarch, damning Alwin to live forever in his brother’s shadow. The images captured this plight, pushing the god of knowledge with his robes and scrolls and stoles to the background.

The tick of a clock overhead sent my pulse surging. We had to move quickly in order to carry out the plot and return to the Schatten before the thirteenth hour. The tea trolley was placed in an alcove exactly where Asher had predicted it would be. Asher made the gaslights flicker, and right on cue, Nola and Ruchel caused a ruckus, arguing loudly over prices and hassling the recruiter, pulling attention to the atrium at the front of the library.

I walked off with the tea trolley, and distracted coven members didn’t fuss with me. Asher moved between the shadows. I was growing accustomed to the way shade flickered and stretched when he joined with it.

According to Asher, Bram was in a back study replenishing his mind magic with reading. The locked door was manned by a warlock with a green witch’s fingerbone pinned high on his collar. To prevent interruption, earth magic cast upon the door kept it sealed shut.

“Oh?” the guard said as I pushed the cart near. “But the high warlock has already had his tea.”

“Perhaps he wants more tea?” I suggested.

“I don’t think so.” Then he opened the pot lid and showed me it was empty, the inside dusted with damp leaves.

Apparently, our timing wasn’t so perfect.

I had no skill for clever improvisation. Instead, I did what came naturally to me, pinning the warlock to the wall with my weight and shoving a dagger at his throat. Asher joined me in his shadow form, draping around me like a cloak made of night. His halo of intimidating darkness more than made up for the size difference between me and the guard.

The warlock’s eyes went wide, taking in the death aura all around, and a panicked yelp caught in his throat, my dagger a harsh reminder that he’d live longer silent.

“Open the door,” I said. The serrated teeth of the curved blade bit into his fawn flesh.

A grunt. He shook his head.

“Open the door,” I ground out. “I won’t kill you. I’ll do worse. I’ll cut out your tongue and carve my name into your cheeks. I’ll sever your limbs and rip out your nails and wear your broken bones on my clothing even though they’re worthless and . . .”

His eyes grew wider and wider. It was as I described the method I would use to extract his entrails that he stretched out his hand, palming the door. The grain of the wood shimmered green and groaned before falling open.

“It’s charming how frightening you are,” Asher cooed in my ear, and my stomach fluttered for reasons I didn’t have time to dwell on.

A tendril of reaper magic brushed over the guard’s cheek. His eyes rolled back in his head, a full body tremor wracked him, and the warlock spilled to the floor.

“Is he dead?” I asked.

---