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

by Steffanie Holmes

“You are a saviour, Simon.” I wanted to give him a hug, but moving from my chair didn’t seem like a great idea at this time.

  “Are you OK, honey?” Alex asked.

  “I’ve been better.” I gripped the edge of the table to keep myself upright. “But I’ll be fine after some food. Perhaps a hen night on the night before the wedding wasn’t one of our best ideas.”

  “Libby definitely agrees,” Alex grinned. “I heard her in her bathroom this morning, praying to the porcelain god.”

  One by one the other girls trooped downstairs, drawn from their caves by the smell of breakfast. Libby emerged last, her eyes glassy, her hair a matted mess. After we’d all had our fill, I kicked everyone out of the kitchen, pulled open the chiller boxes where I kept the sections of cake I’d made the day before, and started the hard work of assembling and decorating the layers.

  I downed four painkillers in two glasses of water, but I still felt awful. My head throbbed and my eyes felt as though they were about to roll out of their sockets. My balance was off. I looked over at the list I’d made of everything I had to get done, and my stomach twisted. How was I going to do this?

  You just have to do it. There’s no other way.

  I pulled myself together, and turned back to the cake. My hands shook as I tried to balance the second layer on top of the first. I stood back and admired the result – it looked a little lopsided, but I could probably hide that with icing. I picked up the third layer and settled that on top. As I moved forward, I bumped the edge of the table. The cake slid out of my hands, and broke into pieces against the counter.

  “Oh shit!” I wailed.

  “Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Alex called out.

  “No, I’m fine!” I called back, my stomach clenching. I didn’t want anyone to come in and see what a mess I’d made.

  It’s OK, I can fix this I just had to focus, is all. The cake wasn’t completely destroyed, it had broken into three large pieces and a lot of crumbs. I dusted off the cake pieces and arranged them on top of the second layer. There were lots of gaps between, but I could fill them with a chocolate whisky ganache ...

  See? Everything’s fine.

  I mixed the ingredients for ganache into a heavy saucepan, and went searching in the liquor cabinet for some whisky. The only bottle I could find was a seventy-five-year-old Scotch that probably cost more money than I made in an entire year, but desperate times called for expensive whisky. I poured a generous lug into the ganache and took it off the heat, the smell of the alcohol making my head squirm. When it was cool enough to spread, I filled in the gaps and created a layer over the top. Crisis averted.

  I managed to get on the fourth and fifth layers without any trouble. Next, I mixed my first batch of buttercream icing. Only when I started spooning it on the cake did I remember it was supposed to be left white, not coloured pink as I had done it. I scraped off the icing as best I could and made another batch, leaving out the colouring this time.

  As I spread the icing over the cake, I glanced up at the clock. An hour had gone by. But how? I hadn’t got anything done. Tears sprang in the corners of my eyes. How was I going to get anything done?

  Your friends offered to help. You could ask them to—

  No. I shook my head vigorously. They’ve done so much already. You’ve been doing things on your own for months. It’s no problem. I just have to concentrate and stop making mistakes—

  You’ve been doing it on your own for so long, and how has that been working for you? Maybe it’s time you let people help.

  I poked my head out into the living room, where everyone was lounging around, drinking champagne. Elinor was holding up different dresses to get approval, twirling around to see how each one settled on her buxom frame.

  “That red one, definitely.” Eric declared from the couch. I couldn’t help but agree. The flared skirt and bold corset were like a dress from a fairy tale.

  “Um, guys?” I called tentatively, my heart hammering against my chest. “I really hate to ask this, and if you’re all busy, don’t worry about it, but I wondered if a couple of you could give me a hand—”

  “Count me in,” Alex skulled the rest of her glass of champagne and jumped from the couch.

  “I will!” Ryan leapt up and raced to the kitchen.

  “You really don’t have to—”

  “Are you kidding? That lot have been talking about dresses for hours.” Ryan grinned. “What can I do?”

  Ryan was surprisingly helpful. I’d assumed that since he had a butler and enough money to buy a small Pacific island he didn’t have much in the way of domestic skills, but after showing him how to use his own mixer, he was kneading and shaping pastry for the tartlets like a pro.

  Alex, however, was less useful. I tasked her with cutting mushrooms for the polenta. But ten seconds of watching her wield a knife was about all I could handle. Instead, I got her to mix the filling for the stuffed peppers, which turned out to be an even worse idea, with more filling ending up on the front of her apron, the floor, the ceiling, and Ryan’s head then in the bowl. Finally, I told her to go sit down.

  “I want to help,” Alex said firmly, folding her arms. “There must be something I can do. I could help decorate the cake, maybe? I am an artist, after all—”

  “No!” I held out my hands to protect the cake. Behind me, Ryan cracked up. I had an idea. “You can decorate the salted caramel tarts, once Ryan’s finished cutting and filling them. You take that pan of warm chocolate and drizzle it over the top.” Ryan handed me a tart and I demonstrated the technique for Alex. She elbowed me out of the way and drizzled with gusto.

  “Fun, this is like an abstract painting! Can I made Mondrian swirls?”

  “Do whatever you like, just as long as most of the chocolate actually ends up on the tarts.”

  “Where’s Elinor? She’d love to help make Mondrian swirls.” Alex dribbled a huge blob of chocolate on the floor.

  “Didn’t you know? Eric got a bit excited after seeing her in that red dress. He’s dragged her off to their room.”

  “Ah, so she’ll be occupied for at least another three hours.” Alex grinned.

  “I’d say so.” I said. “I walked past before on the way to the bathroom and things sounded pretty heated in there.”

  “After everything you and Cole have forced us to endure when he was here, you have no right to look so scandalised.”

  I felt my cheeks going red.

  “Don’t look like that,” Alex laughed. “It sounded like you were having a lot of fun.”

  “The whole neighbourhood would agree,” Ryan added. “And probably the residents of the next town over. They were treated to quite a performance.”

  The burn in my cheeks intensified. The last thing I needed to think about now was making love to Cole. I turned back to the stove and busied myself with melting more chocolate, feeling Alex’s caring eyes boring into my back.

  The only way to start again was one step at a time.

  19

  Cole

  I had never been so happy to see the faded “Welcome to Crookshollow, the Most Haunted Village in England” sign in my life.

  “I can’t believe we made it,” Byron muttered, as he turned down the high street. He’d been behind the wheel for the past two hours, which meant I was stretched out across the back seat, trying to get some much-needed sleep. But every corner slammed my head against the window, so all I had to show for my convalescence was a large lump on the back of my skull.

  “I thought for certain we were going to be stuck at that repair shop in Crooks Crossing for the rest of eternity.” Ingrid said.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t pack a spare tyre.” I grumbled at her.

  “I wasn’t exactly planning a cross-country road trip before you boys showed up.”

  “Could you both shut the fuck up?” Byron pounded the wheel with his fist. “I have a killer headache. Cole, do something useful and direct us to the wedding.”

  I
glanced at the dashboard clock. 2:55pm. The ceremony would be starting at 3:30pm. The guests would already be arriving. We didn’t have much time.

  “Take a left up here,” I pointed past Byron’s ear. “You’ll see a sign for Carlisle Hall. It’s about five miles up that road. A big, run-down Georgian house – you won’t miss it. We should park further away, though. In the forest. I think that’s where Morchard will be hiding.”

  I’m coming, Belinda. I’m coming.

  20

  Belinda

  At 2pm we transferred operations to Carlisle Hall. I would be missing the ceremony in order to put the final touches on the dinner and help instruct the serving staff. It was just as well, I didn’t think I could live though watching a happy couple make their vows to one another in my delicate emotional state.

  Libby looked radiant as she left Raynard Hall. Her makeup team had done an amazing job. You couldn’t tell she’d spent the morning locked in the bathroom puking her guts out.

  With Alex and Ryan helping, I managed to finish the cake. It was perhaps the most complex – and definitely the most interesting – cake I’d ever made. Libby wanted it to be more than just a dessert, she wanted a kind of edible sculpture to greet the guests as they entered the reception hall. Well, she got it.

  With Simon’s help I set up the five-layer cake on its designated table. It looked stunning, bedecked with red ribbons and skull-shaped fondant balls. On the top, a skeletal bride and groom, entirely carved from chocolate, sat astride a white fondant horse. The horse carried a ribbon in its mouth, which read “Til Death Do Us Part.”

  Til Death Do Us Part. How appropriate for a vampire wedding.

  As I stood back to admire my handiwork, Simon signalled me from the front of the marquee. “The horde is descending,” he said in his deadpan voice. I peered over his shoulder. Sure enough, the guests were making their way from the ceremony site in the garden to the marquee. Panic rose in my chest. Was everything in order? Had I prepared every element of every course? How many vegans were there, again?

  A hand clamped down on my shoulder. “You’re going to be fine.” Simon said.

  I sucked in a long, slow breath. I hoped he was right. “Well, don’t just stand there. Go, go!” I clapped my hands, and the wait staff rushed outside with trays of champagne to greet the guests.

  21

  Cole

  Ingrid hadn’t even turned the engine off when I threw open the door and bolted into the forest. “Cole, wait!’ Byron called after me, but I was already mid-shift. My clothes fell away as my bones cracked and reformed, and I swooped higher into the trees. I’d cover ground much quicker and have much keener sight as a raven.

  The white peaks of the marquee towered over the unkempt lawn, which sloped gently down the side of the house towards the forest. I knew from what Pax had told me that Victor was hiding somewhere in the forest, and it made perfect sense – the dense trees would hide whatever surprise he had waiting, until it was too late.

  Wings flapped behind me. I craned my neck and saw Ingrid and Byron flying behind me, fanning out in a wide arc as they scanned the forest for signs of Morchard.

  Something stirred on the edges of my hearing. A loud croaking, like a hundred frogs debating Nietzsche around a pond. Only there weren’t any ponds in this part of the forest.

  Down there. I gestured with my wing towards a thicket of trees, where the noise seemed to be coming from. Byron was closest, and he entered the thicket first.

  I see something! Byron called back to us. I dived into the canopy, ducking and diving as branches snapped against my body. The croaking drummed in my ears, louder and louder ...

  I emerged into a small clearing where an ancient oak had fallen, the once-mighty trunk rotting away. Behind it – strapped to two thick trunks so the sheer force held within wouldn’t lift the entire structure – stood a tall cage. Made from steel and toughened glass, it loomed like some kind of industrial sculptural installation amidst the pristine nature of the woods.

  Inside the cage, hundreds of black ravens flapped and dived and croaked. Like a great biblical plague, they swarmed together in a thick, black cloud of shadow. Hundreds of beady eyes stared back at us as we regarded the horrid sight. The ravens were clearly deranged, their eyes bugging with hunger, their talons dripping with blood and gore as they tore apart their own kin in the chaos. A thick, viscous fluid dribbled from their beaks. They slammed against the glass, cracking their own bones in their frenzy to escape.

  I listened hard, trying to separate one single voice from the din, trying to comprehend their thoughts. But not a single one spoke in caw-tongue, not one reached out to communicate with us. They were too far gone for that.

  They were sick.

  There was no doubt about it. These birds had been pumped full of drugs, starved and left here to fend for themselves, possibly for days. I noticed what was left of a water dish at the bottom of the cage, overturned, riddled with holes, and nearly completely hidden beneath the carcases of several dead ravens.

  I knew only one man diabolical enough to do this. But where was he?

  There was no Morchard in sight. I did a circuit of the clearing, just to be sure. But he wasn’t hiding behind one of the thick trunks, nor cowering beneath the rotting oak. He wasn’t here.

  But that didn’t make any sense. Morchard would want to watch the results of his revenge. He’d take great pleasure in seeing these monstrous birds devouring Gillespie and Libby and Belinda and all of the guests. So where was he?

  “Morchard will be closer to the house, I bet,” I told Byron. “But then how will he let the birds out, if Pax isn’t going to do it?”

  “Cole, look.” Byron tapped a black box with his beak. I flew over to inspect it. It appeared to be the cage’s locking mechanism. A large timer was counting down seconds. There were less than two minutes remaining.

  Shit. We had just two minutes and forty-two seconds to figure out how to keep those birds inside that cage.

  “What do we do?” Ingrid asked.

  “We’ve got to get inside the box.” I tapped furiously on the keys, trying to find a disarm button, but of course Morchard had it password protected. “Maybe there’s a way to disable the lock release.”

  Ingrid flew behind the panel, and started digging at the screws that held the casing on with her beak. Byron joined her, and they wiggled and scratched at the screws in a vain attempt to shift them. I wished we’d thought to bring a toolkit, like Alex had when we broke Belinda free from Morchard Castle. I attacked the keys with my beak, trying all the passwords I knew Morchard used, hoping one of them might get us in. But nothing.

  The seconds ticked by. 1:35 … 1:34 … 1:33 …

  “I’ve got mine!” Ingrid cried triumphantly. She hopped over and started attacking the other screw.

  The screen blinked angrily at me. PASSWORD INCORRECT. I slammed my foot down on the keyboard with enough force that two of the keys pinged off.

  0:54 … 0:53 … 0:52 …

  “Cole, we can’t get this one, it’s too tight.” Byron moved back to the open corner and jammed his beak inside. “I see some wires. I don’t know what goes to what—”

  “It doesn’t matter. Just start cutting them!” I yelled, panic rising in my chest.

  “If you say so.” Byron shoved his head inside. There was a sharp electronic BUZZ, and Byron flew backward, toppling off the box and landing in the leaves below. A cloud of black feathers floated down after him.

  “I’m OK,” he called back, struggling to his feet. The scant feathers remaining on his body stood out at odd angles.

  “Cole, the clock!” Ingrid cried.

  I turned around. Whatever wire Byron had cut had jumped the clock forward. It was now counting down from 00:10 … 00:09 … 00:08 …

  No. We were out of time. Which meant Belinda was doomed, unless I could get to her first. I unfurled my wings and took off, zooming towards the marquee with all the speed I could draw up.

  “Cole, fuck!�
�� Byron yelled after me, but I didn’t slow down, didn’t look back.

  Belinda was in that tent, and I had to find her.

  22

  Belinda

  The next two hours passed by in a whir of activity. I rushed between the kitchen and marquee, checking dishes, instructing staff, rearranging the displays on the buffet. Libby and Sir Thomas arrived from their photography session, she fresh of face and laughing, and he stoic, his smile in his eyes. They looked so happy together.

  I hated them with the fire of a thousand suns.

  Enough of that. I scolded myself as tears started to form in my eyes. Back to work.

  While the guests were enjoying the first course, I had a few minutes to visit with my friends. Libby had seated them all at the same table, near one of the marquee windows. Ryan had rolled up the window, so a cool breeze blew in, ruffling the pristine table linens and towering floral arrangements. I felt a twang of jealousy as I watched them all toast and laugh as they dug into the food. It would have been nice to be able to enjoy the wedding with them, instead of working, but needs must when HMRC comes knocking.

  “Hey everyone,” I said, standing behind Alex and waving awkwardly. “I only have a few minutes, but—”

  “Belinda, this food is amazing.” Elinor gushed. I noticed she’d already cleared her plate.

  “You have a rare talent,” Bianca agreed. “I fucking hate peppers, but I’ve had four of yours.”

  “You love goat cheese, though. That probably helps.”

  “Probably—hey, Eric. Fuck off!”

  “Can you come on tour with us?” Eric grinned, stealing the last stuffed pepper from Bianca’s plate and shoving it into his mouth.

  “Come on, Belinda. Sit with us for a few minutes.” Ryan stood up, offering me his chair with a flourish. “I’ll get us some more drinks.”