Reaper: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 2)

by Steffanie Holmes

  “Cole?” Byron asked, his voice breaking through my thoughts.

  “What?”

  “Um … goodnight.” He sounded as if he wanted to say more. I waited, but he didn’t.

  “Goodnight, Byron.” I settled my head back down, my thoughts constructing a picture of Belinda in my mind. I’ll come back for you, I promise. Just as soon as I am free.

  12

  Belinda

  I paced around the house, staring out of the windows, hoping at any moment to see a black raven soaring across the grounds. The sun rose, blazing its path across the sky, but Cole didn’t come back, and the sick feeling in my stomach twisted deeper. A vice squeezed my chest, making it difficult to breathe.

  The girls gave their hugs freely, and cooed encouraging things to me, but I just shrugged them away. I didn’t want to dwell on it, or I would lose it completely. I needed distractions, a way to push all thoughts of Cole from my mind completely. I needed work, but with my bakery gone, there wasn’t much I could do, either.

  The thought of Morchard’s infected birds loose in the world unsettled me. I decided I needed to start looking into a way to stop him. I borrowed a laptop from Ryan and looked up the local council numbers to report environmental contamination and public health issues. However, the call-centre workers on the other end of the line didn’t seem too concerned when I told them my story. They took down all the information and said they’d check on it, but I had a feeling they were sniggering behind their hands the whole time.

  Next, I called Detective Sanders and asked to meet him at the shop later that day. Then I researched some information on raven diseases and viruses, hoping to find something we could use against Morchard. But nothing sprang out, and every time I saw a picture of one of the majestic black birds it made me think of Cole, and I had to stop to wipe the tears from my eyes.

  Chairman Meow wandered into my room and slumped on the bed. He was in his human form, and had dressed himself smartly from Ryan’s wardrobe in a green shirt and dark jeans. He stretched out on his back across the bed and stared up at me longingly.

  “If you want me to scratch your stomach, you can forget about it.” I was still getting used to the idea of my beloved cat being a shifter.

  “Honey, you don’t look so good. Should you really be in here working? The girls are all downstairs, and I’m sure they’d love—”

  “I have to do something. Those diseased birds are loose, and it’s my fault. I let myself be fooled by Victor Morchard’s son. I destroyed the vial of antiviral. I can’t just sit still here while there’s a danger like that out there, not even when I—” I choked on the words as the fresh hurt of Cole’s betrayal rushed through my body again.

  “Angelcakes, you’re in no state to be doing this right now. You should be wallowing in self-pity, eating whole blocks of Cadbury chocolate, and writing really shitty things about men on your Facebook wall.”

  “No, I have to do this.”

  “You may not have the bird anymore,” Chairman lifted one expressive eyebrow. “But you do have me. If you need anything, just sing out.”

  “Thanks.” I turned back to the computer.

  “But don’t actually sing, because you never could carry a tune.”

  The Chairman must have sensed that I wasn’t really in the mood to talk, because he changed back into his cat form, and rubbed up against my side, purring happily. There was nothing in the world happier than the contented purr of a cat. It almost made you forget what you were sad about.

  Almost.

  Eventually, hunger gnawed at my stomach, and I had to go downstairs. Bianca and Elinor had left, probably to go back to Resurrection Ink. Ryan was painting in his studio. I heard Eric playing the piano in the yellow drawing room. Alex and Libby were stretched out across the long leather couches, talking in low voices. They stopped as soon as they saw me. My cheeks flushed. They were talking about me.

  “Hi,” I waved.

  “Belinda, hey! We’re just choosing table settings for Libby’s wedding. Do you want to come help?”

  The idea of looking at anything to do with weddings and happy couples made my stomach turn. “No thanks.”

  “How are you feeling?” Alex looked concerned.

  “Like I need something to eat.” I fled to the kitchen so I didn’t have to endure their pitying stares.

  After another delicious breakfast omelette courtesy of Simon, I got a ride to the shop – also courtesy of Simon – to meet Detective Sanders. He shook his head apologetically as he stripped the tape from the door. “I’m sorry, we still haven’t got any leads on who did this. Forensics came back clean. Whoever trashed your shop was deliberate and meticulous. They didn’t want to get caught.”

  “Do you have any word on Ethan?”

  “It seems he gave our people the slip once again. We managed to get the location of an apartment in Lichtenstein, but when the officers we sent around to question got inside, they found the place cleaned out. It looks like he hasn’t been living there in at least three weeks, which means your sighting of him might not be your imagination, after all.”

  “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about,” I hesitated, not sure how much of this story I should be telling. “I think I saw Ethan again, at Morchard Castle.”

  “When was this?”

  “Two days ago, in the middle of the night. He was walking through the gardens alongside two other men. I can give you a description of them if you like, but it was pretty dark so I didn’t get a good look at them.”

  “Why were you at Morchard Castle, and why didn’t you call this in? You should have told me immediately.”

  “I was visiting with Victor Morchard. His son Harry died recently. I …” I searched for an appropriate excuse. I wasn’t very good at lying, especially to police officers who had been very good to me. “I went to school with Harry, and we were still sort of friends, so I wanted to give my condolences.”

  “I heard about that. He was found on the road not far from the train station, quite badly beaten and cut up. Apparently he bled to death but there’s no investigation. It was all rather odd.”

  “Yes. Anyway, it got a bit late, so Victor and Susan said I could stay over. A noise woke me up in the middle of the night, and I went to the window, and I saw him in the courtyard below.” Briefly, I described the room I’d stayed in, and the courtyard. Detective Sanders scribbled some notes on his legal pad.

  “Is there anything else you remember?”

  “Yes, actually there is.” I quickly constructed a much more elaborate lie. “Harry had contacted me a couple of weeks ago. He was coming back to visit his family, and he wanted to meet for coffee. He confessed that his visit wasn’t entirely motivated by familial obligations – he was concerned about an experiment his father was conducting. Harry said that Victor had created a super virus, which he was injecting into birds – ravens, to be precise. Harry said the virus was deadly, and Morchard was the only person who could manufacture a cure.”

  “That sounds pretty far-fetched to me.” Detective Sanders gave me an odd look. He stopped writing.

  “I know, and that’s what I thought, too. But after seeing Ethan in the courtyard I went downstairs to try and find him in the garden. And I was stumbling through the ballroom in the back of the castle – you know, the one with the creepy wax figures doing the waltz they take you through on the tours?” Detective Sanders nodded, his pencil flying across the paper once more. “Well, I was walking around the walls, feeling my way in the dark, and I grabbed the head of a galloping horse carved into the wall, and a secret door opened up.”

  “You’re making this up.”

  “I swear that I’m not.” At least, not the part that’s important. “Inside is the laboratory Victor uses for his experiments. There were all sorts of birds in there, in cages. They looked really sick. Several were lying on their backs. On the far wall was a large refrigerator. I opened it, and there were rows and rows of vials labelled “Morchard Virus.”r />
  I told Sanders how I’d been so afraid I’d gone back to my room, and in the morning, I’d seen Victor out in the courtyard, letting some ravens out of glass cages, and watching them fly away. By the end of my tale Sanders’ forehead was creased with concern. I wasn’t sure if it was over the potential for having a flock of deadly birds flying around, or if he thought I was too mentally unstable to be alone with.

  “Thanks, Belinda. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for what you’ve seen, but I think we’d better go and have a chat to Victor Morchard today, especially in light of your Ethan sighting.”

  “Would you? I’d really appreciate it. And be careful. Harry told me this virus is deadly. If an infected bird so much as scratches you—”

  “We’ll be careful.” Sanders snapped his notebook shut and tipped his hat to me. “Thank you, Belinda. If you happen to remember anything else, or if you see Ethan again—”

  “I know where to find you. And if you need to contact me, I’m staying with friends up at Raynard Hall. Thank you for all your hard work, Detective.”

  Detective Sanders nodded, patted me on the shoulder, and saw himself out.

  As soon as he pulled the door shut behind him, I deflated like a balloon. Surrounded by the broken shards of my life, I felt impossibly small. Fighting the urge to cry again, I walked into the kitchen and took another look at the broken crockery, the bent oven doors, the hundreds of pounds of ingredients and thousands of pounds of expensive cooking equipment strewn across the floor. Hopelessness overwhelmed me.

  I sank to my knees, slumping against the metal shelves. It was hopeless. I’d never recover from this. I didn’t have the money to replace all the gear. I had no choice but to give up, sell up, go back to washing dishes at a restaurant until I’d paid off my debt. The thought made my stomach ache, but it was my only choice.

  If Cole was here, he might have been able to talk me around. He was probably the only person who could convince me I could still do this. But Cole wasn’t here. I was all alone again, and—

  Pull yourself together, a voice rose up from within me. This wasn’t the meek voice that usually did all my thinking for me. This voice was strong, defiant. It believed in me.

  It was Cole’s voice.

  You are not going to let these bastards beat you. You may not have the shop, but in the meantime, you have access to a professional kitchen at Raynard Hall, and you have a solid reputation for excellent baking. You’ve been wanting to expand the catering side of the business for some time. Well, now is the time.

  I sighed. It was so much easier to give up.

  Of course it is. Which is why you’re not going to give up, Belinda. When have you ever taken the easy way out?

  Where was this voice coming from? And why did I want to listen to it?

  The beginning of a plan formed in my head. It was so much work. Staring at my ruined shop, I didn’t want to do it. I wanted to give up, to just roll over and accept the fact that the world didn’t want me to be a baker, that nothing I ever did was good enough.

  But I couldn’t. The voice of Cole was right, even if Cole himself was a complete dick. I’d worked so hard for this. I didn’t want to do anything else. I wanted Bewitching Bites to succeed, and that meant I had to keep going.

  “Where did you go?” Bianca demanded when I stepped back through the doors of Raynard Hall. She and Elinor were peeling their coats off in the hall, having just arrived back from their shop. “You can’t just run off like that without telling anyone. We were worried about you.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, dumping my bags down on the marble floor and giving her a hug. “Can you help me with these? There’s more in the car.”

  Elinor bent down to pick up the bags. “Flour? Salmon? Organic greens? Belgian chocolate? What’s going on? Are you pregnant or something?”

  The flash of a beautiful baby with Cole’s piercing brown eyes flashed across my vision, but I pushed it away as quick as I could. “No. I feel like shit. Cole leaving … it’s really hard, but sitting around here being sad isn’t going to help me. I have to work. I feel better if I work. And I don’t have a shop anymore, so I’m going to start catering.”

  “Belinda, are you sure this is a good idea?” Bianca studied my face, her pretty forehead creased in concern. “You’ve just suffered a horrible ordeal. You’re emotionally fucking wrecked. Maybe you should just relax for a few days at least—”

  I shook my head, tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. “If I stop, I think about him.” I whispered. “And the bank called me at the grocers because I missed a credit-card payment. I have to do this, or I’ll go insane.”

  “OK.” Bianca patted me on the shoulder. “I’ll take these to the kitchen. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Yes. I need a flyer designed.”

  “We’re on it.” Elinor grinned. I grinned back. I had the coolest friends.

  For the rest of the day I took over Ryan’s huge kitchen, creating a series of small tasting dishes, which I wrapped carefully in foil and ribbon and packaged up in boxes. Thai chicken meatballs, mushroom polenta, stuffed peppers with goats cheese and chives, prosciutto crostini with fennel slaw, salmon puffs, and, of course, the sweets – delicate lemon scones, salted caramel friands, and mini heaven and hell cakes with whisky ganache.

  Libby poked her head in the door just as I was icing the cakes. “What’s going on in here? Something smells delicious.”

  “I’m opening a catering company.” I explained. “I’ve always done a bit of catering work, but the shop took up the majority of my time, and now I don’t have a shop any more until I can afford to fix it, and I foolishly forgot to plant a money tree, so I’m going to try and build up some catering jobs, instead. I thought I’d take some food parcels around to all the function venues in Loamshire, see if they’ll consider promoting me to their clients.”

  “It sounds like a good idea,” Libby stepped into the room and eyed the tray of stuffed peppers I’d prepared. “Do you mind if I try one?”

  “Sure, go ahead. I made plenty.” I turned back to the stove top to check on the spicy peanut sauce for the meatballs. Everything was nearly ready to go. If Simon was available, I’d be able to drive these around tomorrow, and—

  “Holy shit,” Libby exclaimed so loud I dropped the spoon I’d been stirring with. Great, now I have to wash it.

  “What?” I whirled around. “Are you OK? Did you burn yourself?”

  Libby was cradling a half-eaten salmon puff in her hands as though it were a precious gem. “This is amazing. It is literally the best thing I’ve ever put in my mouth, apart from possibly the stuffed pepper I put in it only a moment before.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You have to cater my wedding.”

  “Your wedding? But … that’s only two weeks away. Don’t you already have caterers?”

  “Of course, but not like this.” Libby jabbed her finger at the puff. “This is what I want to eat on my perfect wedding day, not the prissy French cuisine my stepmother booked. And when my stepmother’s friends get wind of you, you will be booked solid for months, although whether you wanted to work for that brigade of sour-faced old biddies is entirely your own business. I’ll fire the French caterers, and you can do it instead. What do you say?”

  I looked over at Libby’s earnest face. She wanted me to cater to her four hundred extremely distinguished and partially undead wedding guests? Was my first big catering job really going to be the wedding of a notorious vampire?

  The old Belinda would never have agreed to such a crazy proposition. But this new Belinda … this one who heard the voice of a departed raven in her head … she was a real loose cannon. “Sure, Libby. I’d love to.”

  She clapped her hands in excitement. “Awesome. OK, I’ll let you finish up those baskets, and then we need to talk about the menu. My stepmother is extremely finicky, and of course all her friends are on no-gluten, no-sodium, no-carb diets. And my Thomas won’t touch pork—”
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br />   As she prattled on, I felt my heart sinking down to my shoes. What had I got myself into?

  13

  Cole

  As soon as the sun started to stream through the windows, I knew we have to move. The library opened at 8am sharp, and I figured those librarians as early risers, so they could be on their way right now to date-stamp books or film a dirty movie or whatever it was that librarians did first thing in the morning.

  I reached over and shook Byron awake. “Mmmmph.” He buried his head into the pillow, and didn’t move.

  “Get up. We should leave.”

  “You should leave. I’m comfortable.”

  I yanked the cushion out from under his head. His body rolled and crashed on to the hard floor. “Hey!”

  “Come on,” I was already on my way to the kitchen. “You said last night there was some coffee in here.”

  “Fuck you, Cole.”

  In the tiny kitchenette, I found the coffee on the bench. There was milk in the fridge, and sugar in an Libby in Wonderland bowl beside the microwave. There was even a loaf of bread and some jam on the top shelf. While I boiled the kettle and buttered bread, Byron moaned from the other room. It had been so many days since I’d last slept in the roost, I’d almost forgotten what a prick he could be in the mornings.

  When I came out carrying our breakfast, he was lying face down in the pile of cushions, his arms and legs splayed out like a starfish. “I’m so sore,” he mumbled into the floor. “My whole body aches. Why did you make me fly so far?”