Page 198 of Lana Pecherczyk
She leaned closer, whispering loudly, “Oh no. We don’t go over there. That’s my dad’s stuff.” Her voice dropped lower. “I’m not even supposed to play in here, so please don’t tell anyone.”
“Why are you in here then?”
A spark of defiance lit up her eyes, making his stomach feel weird like he’d jumped off a cliff with no wings.
“Because he told me not to,” she declared.
For some reason, that made Cielo laugh so hard that he nearly slipped again through the open glass segment.
“Please come down,” she said, “so I don’t hurt my neck looking up at you.”
He surveyed the forest inside the room. “No one else is here?”
“All the grown-ups are in meetings. I won’t hurt you. I promise.”
Funny that she thought she could hurt him. He was the one with a dagger.
Unable to shift his wings away without access to the Well, he tucked them tight and slid head first through the gap between the glass segments. As gravity took hold, he somersaulted and landed on his feet—wings splaying for balance like an acrobat. He straightened, pleased with himself. That almost looked intentional.
The girl bounced on her feet and clapped hard, unruly hair bobbing.
“Your wings are so pretty,” she gushed.
“Pretty is for girls,” he growled, puffing out his chest. “I’m not a girl.”
“I know that, silly. You’re a boy.”
He cleared his throat. “I’m a crow.”
“A crow boy.” She grinned. “Wow. My first crow boy friend.”
He didn’t want to break it to her, but they wouldn’t be friends. He was here to steal from her.
Hand onMurder’shilt, Cielo’s gaze swept the room. Now that he was down here, a sense of urgency thumped through his veins. There were things on the walls he didn’t notice before—things pinned to boards that looked disturbingly familiar and grotesque. “I should go…”
“First, let me help you.” She pointed to various objects, a devious glint in her eye. “What sort of treasure will make your father and brother eat their words?”
She had a funny way of talking.
“I don’t know.” He grinned. “There’s so much.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “It has to be something my dad won’t know is missing. Otherwise, I’ll get in trouble.”
“Anything old worldy.”
She nodded and darted off.
Perfect. The human was doing his job for him.
While she searched, Cielo wandered the green-smelling room. When he passed the desk, his primaries clipped a brass cylinder, nudging it into a hairbrush. It ricocheted and rolled loudly toward the desk’s edge. Gasping, he rushed to catch it before it fell. He braced for impact, for the pain of being disconnected from the Well as the forbidden substance connected with his skin. But as his fingers closed around the brass, nothing happened.
He’d forgotten he was already in pain. So much that he was numb.
But oh, what a prize. Multiple moving discs on the cylinder had letters inscribed on them. The craftsmanship was astounding. His father and Carmine would surely—how did the human say it?—eat their words.
“You shouldn’t touch that,” she said, frowning as she returned with a book.
“What is it?” he asked, turning the cylinder over.
