Page 7 of Covenant

My hands were trembling last night, but now they’re vibrating so hard that I can barely grip the brick. It takes several clumsy attempts to finally get it free.

I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at the blank space where my letter had been.

It might be minutes. Might be an eternity.

It doesn’t matter how long I look.

It’s not going to make the letter reappear. My fate is sealed. I think it was the moment I left the graveyard the night before.

Fuck.

A loudcawstartles me into almost dropping the brick. The raven from the night before is back, his head tilted to the side like he’s judging me.

“Judge away,” I mutter darkly, flicking him the middle finger. “See if I fucking care, bird.”

I wish I didn’t care. I’ve been so numb for so long that I should be welcoming this development with open arms.

But I’ll take the numbness over the fear clawing up my throat.

Fear makes me weaker than I already am.

No, putting that damn letter behind the brick made you weak. They’re laughing at you now.

I kick a pebble and the bird flaps its wings, warning me.

“Fuck off, asshole,” I murmur and then tilt my head up and stare at the roof. It’s crumbling, just like my life.

I feel bile rise in my throat and I choke on it, nausea flowing through me.

I can’t believe I did this and now I’m stuck. They won’t let me change my mind, they won’t let me go. Not until I fulfill my end of the contract.

I lean my forehead against the church wall and inhale deeply, swallowing the urge to vomit. The cold hits me then and I shiver, swiping at my wet cheeks.

I can’t believe I was so weak. I can’t believe I did this.

I stand there for what feels like forever until I’m finally able to come to terms with it. Straightening my back, I stuff my hands in my pockets and turn on my heel. I try to ignore the unease bubbling in my chest.

My legs wobble as I exit the churchyard, that damn raven cawing loudly. I murmur that there’s no use in fretting about it.It’s too late now.They’ve gotten the request.

I’m fucking done for.

* * *

The first notification comes in as soon as I step through the apartment door.

Americana Bank: a deposit of $75,000 has been made

I fall back against the wood and then slide to sit on the floor, the broken lock rattling as I do.

Another notification. A different account.

Fifty Second Bank: a deposit of $100,000 has been made

I blink at my screen, unable to believe it. No, that can’t be right. I asked for a fraction of that amount. There has to be a mistake.

Yet another notification. Another deposit to Americana Bank.

Two hundred thousand this time.

---