Page 69 of The Crow Games

Even better than Lisbeth had.

My wicked thoughts had been on display beside the decent ones, pleasant memories and devastating tragedies all in a row for him to peruse . . . and all that knowledge had inspired him to flirt with me. The notion raised my spirits to bursting.

I tried to usher him out of my compartment after that, returning my attention to his journal. But he interrupted my reading, moving his body so close, his shadow fell over me.

I looked up at him and my heart squeezed. His gaze was soft and fixed on my face. “I’m usually a very patient man. There’s no reason to hurry because everything will come in its time. I pride myself on that,” he said, his voice in a low timbre that curled through me pleasantly. His magic did the same, coiling gently around my finger where it held my place on the page.

“I’ve noticed that about you,” I whispered, throat suddenly dry.

“But lately . . .” he murmured, and I felt the tension in his pause as a tightening in my belly. “I’m not as patient. You make meimpatient, Trouble.”

I swallowed. “Impatient about your poems, you mean?” I asked, and I don’t know why I bothered. I didn’t believe for a second he was talking about his poems. Clearly, he was talking about . . . me? Oh no. Now he even had methinkingstatements as foolish questions.

“Yes,” he drawled. His grin was as sarcastic as his tone. “Yes, I mean . . . my poems. But don’t worry about it, Trouble. I’ll keep waiting.”

Chapter 16

“When Alrick ordered Death to tear himself in two, it wasn’t a punishment. The god king wished for the oldest amongst them to have a companion who suited him.”– Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist

Isurvived another week.

It was a blessing that Asher’s poems made me feel like I could win a footrace, because the sixth trial was all about speed. The Schatten delivered us to the platform. Salty air filled my nose. Sea water battered the thin strip of isthmus, and hundreds of hungry yellow eyes lined the shores, waiting for the clock tower to chime and the gates to part.

All I carried on my person was my weapons and my water sack. The rest of my coven was outfitted similarly. I checked my revolver, sliding open the cylinder. Only three rounds left . . .

The number of prisoners on the platform had dropped by half in the last week. The efforts of the red hoods and the Guardians to recruit from them had been very effective. New prisoners were dropped into the Schatten every day, and still numbers were down.

The clock chimed. The gates parted. The race commenced.

We sprinted for our lives, Nola at the front with her Crone blade and me at the rear, ready to put a gray bullet in the face of any water devil who threatened my coven.

The devils were hungry today, and the pickings were slim. We got caught in a crowd of them right at the start. I had to put down two devils with the revolver before we’d even cleared the gates. Nola was a force of nature, though, swinging that bone dagger in a deadly arc that felled two more. And we were off again.

One bullet left.

My boots filled with sand, adding weight to every step. Halfway down the isthmus, Nola pulled too far ahead of the group. Three water devils circled her. Ruchel shouted out a warning.

I fired my last bullet, dropping the garm at her back. Talia’s coven sprinted ahead of us, and the garm eyed them from the cusp of the shore but didn’t leave the water. They waited until we were near before springing.

Blue flourished her forked wand and cast up a swell of sea water, sweeping away the next attack.

“Are they after us?” Ruchel hissed, too breathless to shout.

It certainly felt that way. We made it off the sand and into the forested park. We were deep in the trees before the devils halted their pursuit. They’d never come so far before. We stopped to catch our breath at the brackish pool we loved to fish in, our little patch of paradise. We took turns bathing under the waterfall, watching for more garm, but none came.

They’d finally had enough of us.

“Maybe it just felt like we were being targeted,” Nola offered, running her fingers through her short damp hair, shaking the water out of it.

“There’s so few of us now,” Blue said, drying her face on the terrycloth we’d left hanging in the citrus trees for our return. “It doesn’t make sense that they’d pass up the chance at a meal just to pick on us.”

“If it even is possible,” Nola asked, “who could make garm behave that way? Unger?”

“Unger fashioned the devils,” Blue offered, “but he shows about as much interest in them now as he does the giants. The sea god has no stakes in the games that I’m aware of. I haven’t seen him once in the throne room of Wulfram since I was sentenced here years ago.”

“He’s neglectful, you mean,” Nola prodded, “like all the gods are.”

Blue rolled her eyes but made no comment.

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