Keeper of Crows (The Keeper of Crows Duology Book 1)

by Casey L. Bond

  An abnormally tall man, clad in an onyx suit that cost more than my father paid for his hand-tailored ones, approached a person who was kneeling in the center of the fiery circle. His wife-beater tank was stained beneath his arm pits, a darker shade of gray, just as dark as the sweatpants he wore. The middle-aged man blubbered, much like Pamela had when we were captured and dragged to this place.

  “I promise, I didn’t do it. I’d never do something like that to a child. It wasn’t me.”

  My stomach turned. What did the bastard do? I didn’t want kids, but damn. No kid should ever be hurt.

  “You burned her with cigarettes, didn’t you, Earl?” the demon teased, his voice hissing each s. “You liked her screams. You ate them up.”

  Earl’s face shone with tears as the demon mercilessly pulled him to his feet. A wet stain spread down one leg of Earl’s pants, stopping short of his knee.

  “She was only three. Why would you hurt your own offspring? Such a vile creature, you are. The order has been handed down. Those like you must be taught a lesson. Those like you must atone. You will pay a penance before your final sentencing.”

  The hissing burned my ears. With my free hand, I blotted them to make sure they weren’t pouring blood again. He hurt his own baby? Earl deserved to burn for that shit. I shifted my weight, still crouching, and Keeper’s eyes flashed in warning.

  Sorry.

  My muscles were burning from holding the position so long. Keeper turned back to the scene, his silver blade reflecting the lapping flames.

  The demon, slick and fluid, grabbed Earl’s ears, each hand smashing them into his head. Black bands of thick tar webbed from his fingers as he eased them away from Earl.

  “No!” Earl screamed. “I can’t hear anything! Nothing. Nothing at all!”

  “And so you shall remain. Hear. No. Evil.” The demon laughed, deep and resonating. With a click of his finger, Earl fell into a trance and began to walk out of the circle, past the flames, and toward the abandoned, dilapidated homes dotting the valley below. He never looked back, just trudged forward in his piss-soaked pants.

  “Keeper, did you enjoy the show?” the demon called out.

  Keeper stood, letting go of my hand and motioning for me to stay put. I kept low. I’d done bad shit, too. Not as bad as Earl, but damn. I wanted to keep my hearing and dignity intact. The demon watched as Keeper approached him with slow, deliberate steps. He wasn’t as dark as the demon, but Keeper’s presence commanded attention.

  “I did,” Keeper replied, stepping into the flaming circle.

  “You sent two home today.”

  “Yes,” Keeper replied. “They were interfering.”

  “Merchants. It’s what they do. They interfere, according to you.”

  “According to you, as well.”

  “At times,” the demon conceded with a hiss. “You chased the fissure. Why do you waste your time, Keeper? You can never reach them all, never stop all of the souls smuggled across the barrier. Why bother?”

  Keeper straightened. “It’s my duty.”

  “You should have abandoned that sense of loyalty long ago. He sent you here. He. Abandoned. You. Perhaps He meant to teach you a lesson, hmm?”

  “He appointed me to a task, and I will not abandon it until He tells me to do so.” Keeper stood tall, but the demon shrank a fraction.

  “Then you’ll be busy chasing your tail for an eternity.”

  Keeper smiled. “I like chasing tails.”

  Damn him.

  “Don’t get too comfortable, Heliazar. The demons are losing more ground each day.”

  “Perhaps. On second thought, perhaps we gain more than you know.” The demon gave a slight bow to Keeper and slowly sank into the earth, inch by inch, until he was gone and all that remained was a pile of bubbling tar on the ground. Keeper watched for a few moments and then motioned for me to leave the sanctity of my mostly-bare shrub.

  I avoided the scorched grasses, the tar—all of it. My feet couldn’t handle more. Keeper stared at me. “We need to find shelter and something for you to wear. Also, we should tend to your feet.”

  “Tend to my feet?”

  “Yes,” he said earnestly. “They are torn apart.”

  “Okay, I’d appreciate that, actually.” A nice foot rub would feel like heaven. Maybe he’d want to rub me in other places.

  He scoffed with a grin, ignoring my internal comment. “Was that sincerity I detected in your normally-sour tone?”

  “I’m not sour.”

  He quirked an eyebrow.

  “Not all the time, asshole.”

  “The residents of Purgatory will get a view of your asshole if you don’t cover it soon.” Clutching the torn fabric, polka dotted with blood, I tried to keep Purgatory’s residents from any unwelcome views of my backside.

  “Follow me. There is a safe home nearby. We can stay there for the night.”

  I didn’t argue, just followed as best I could, albeit slowly. Tracking through a large field, back across the placid creek of molten silver and into a different neighborhood with larger homes, I walked behind Keeper. Was that his name? Keeper? Poor guy. No wonder he has emotional issues.

  “I have no issues.”

  “You have control issues,” I argued. “You control a billion birds, fella. Tell me that’s not a sign of a control freak.”

  Keeper approached a two-story stone home. The texture of the sidewalk felt like sandpaper in a wound. Looking down and behind me, it was no wonder. I’d left bloody footprints all the way to the front door, which Keeper shouldered open.

  “No key?”

  He smiled slightly. “Keys aren’t necessary here.”

  “No, why use house keys when you have brute force?”

  He craned his head in a few directions.

  “Do you hear something?” I asked.

  “Other than your incessant questions and inner monologue?”

  I raised one brow at him.

  “No, but I was making sure. I’ll check everything thoroughly in a minute, but this is a safe place. We’ll spend the night here so you can rest.” As he jogged up the steps, a gust of air rattled the windows of the house, followed by the sound of scratching and rustling from the roof. His freaking birds. They would tell every Lesson where to find us tonight – or today – whichever it was. Or maybe they were like a security system sign; a deterrent. Keeper Systems. Do not enter or the birds will eat your soul.

  “It’s the latter. No one will bother us, and from here I can call for help.”

  He jogged upstairs and back down, carrying a dark lump.

  “You’re calling for help?” I wondered who the Keeper of Crows called for back-up. Batman? He smiled, throwing the pile of dark clothing at me. I caught the pieces against my chest.

  “Get dressed. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I smirked at him as I untied the top strands of my hospital gown. “You can stay and help, if you’d like.” The cotton drifted down, the gown catching on my breasts. My nipples were sharp as the thorns in the forest we’d just climbed out of.

  Keeper swallowed, not entirely unaffected. Easing the sliding glass door open, he stepped onto a balcony. I eased the panties on, my legs sore from I didn’t even know what. How’d he know what size I was? And how’d he know the clothes were here? I fastened the bra and pulled the shirt on. Sitting on the couch, I pushed my feet through the pant legs, wincing as I forced my toes to point. The flesh flexed along with the movement, and something on the bottom of my foot began to bleed again. Buttoning my pants was easy; however, bending forward to roll the pant legs up at the bottom hurt like hell. The carpet underfoot was painted crimson.

  Outside, Keeper called one of his birds. He spoke to it, and though I couldn’t hear him, I wondered if he was using the language he’d spoken against the lightning leash, the same language that he’d controlled Pamela and tried to control me with. It was lyrical and beautiful. If only it had worked.

  He stroked the bird’s head
and raised his hand, allowing it to fly into the air. He watched for a long moment, until I couldn’t see the crow anymore and doubted he could, either. He turned and opened the door again, stepping inside.

  “I will rinse and bandage your feet. They’ll heal by morning.”

  There was no way they would heal by morning. Maybe in a week if I kept them clean and wrapped, but bandages were the first step in that process.

  He smirked, having gotten his way, and ran up the steps. I could hear him rifling through cabinets, and then he returned with a thin, white towel and a bottle of water. Easily tearing the towel into strips of fabric, he wetted one with the water and settled next to me on the couch.

  “Give me your foot.”

  Um. What if they smelled? “Honestly, I can do this.”

  “You can’t. Give me your foot,” he repeated patiently. I lifted my left leg, and when he grabbed my ankle, the electricity shot up my leg again. “Are you doing this on purpose?” he growled.

  “Doing what?” I sat up and tried to take my foot from him.

  “That jolt-thing… Never mind. Just sit still.” He blotted my feet and tied strips of cloth so that the knots sat along the top of my foot in a long row. His skin was perfect, the tattoos stationary for now.

  Shifting in his seat, I realized he’d heard me. Sorry. It’s just strange that they change.

  “It isn’t strange for me. Give me your other foot, please.”

  I eased my left one down and lay back on the couch while he gently tended to the other. I expected his touch to be rough, like the beautiful exterior of him, but it was a whisper, a barely-there brush that didn’t hurt at all. Under his breath, he uttered words in the beautiful language. I wondered if they were words of frustration. Would angry sentences sound beautiful when spoken by the Keeper of Crows?

  When the bandages were finished, he gently sat my foot down and stood up.

  “I’m hungry. Is there food in the fridge?”

  He stared down at me. “We’ll eat in the morning. For now, you should get some rest.”

  He didn’t have to tell me twice. I was planning to sleep on the couch, when his arms scooped me up. Gently, he carried me up the steps to the first bedroom we came to and laid me on the mattress. The blankets had already been turned down.

  Watching him walk away was the perfect end to a very long day, but it left me wanting. I could hear him moving around, but couldn’t tell exactly where he was in the house. The safe house, he’d called it. But this place, if it truly was Purgatory, didn’t make me feel safe at all. I was afraid. Would I ever be able to leave? Why was I here to begin with?

  From the stranger’s bed upstairs, I tossed a thought into the air. I’m cold. Feel like warming me up?

  A growl from the room beside mine was my only response. I pictured him stretched out on the mattress, hands behind his head, dark hair falling into his eyes, broody look on his face…maybe with a hard-on, because now he was picturing me naked and he really did want to come into my room and warm me up.

  “Go to sleep, Carmen.”

  I wiggled into the mattress to get more comfortable before drifting off.

  8

  How long did I sleep? My back was stiff. I placed my feet on the floor, sitting up and yawning with a long stretch of my arms. When I eased onto my feet, there was no pain. I sat back down and peeked beneath one bandage. Nothing. No blood, no cuts, no holes or torn flesh. Just a shimmer, a dark shadow, beneath the skin. I wondered if his words healed me, but they didn’t work to persuade me in any other way. The shadow was dark, which I assumed meant the veil inside had healed my feet. Did he tell it what to do? Staring at the bottoms of my feet where clean, new skin had grown over the gashes and holes… It was as if I’d never been hurt.

  “How is this possible?”

  One by one, I eased the blood-stained bandages from my feet, revealing fresh skin, new and pink and tender to the touch, but new all the same. I left the shredded pieces of fabric on the floor and padded to the door, going downstairs in search of my handsome new friend. Keeper was on the porch, gathering chunks of bread that littered the surface of the wood. He looked up at me and ticked his head for me to come outside.

  “What is that?”

  “Are you still hungry?” he asked, smirking.

  “Yeah, but I’m not eating sky bread.”

  “Sky bread,” he muttered. “It’s manna.”

  Manna. Of course, it was manna. “You’re kidding, right?”

  He smirked. “I am not.”

  Keeper held a piece up to my lips, teasing me with the white ball of fluff. Maybe it would actually taste good.

  “Eat. It will fill you for the day.”

  “Don’t we need to bake it or something?” I asked.

  He grinned. “It is perfect the way it is. Baking it would destroy it.”

  I reached up to take the piece from his fingers, but he tutted. “Open wide,” he teased.

  “That phrase can mean a great many things, Keeper. Be careful who you say it to.”

  His eyes narrowed and flicked down my body, making me all too aware that he liked what he saw, even though he fought it. Then he lowered the piece of manna into his hand where the other pieces lay in a pile. He extended the hand to me. “Take all of this. I’ll get more for me.”

  He emptied his hand into both of my cupped ones. I raised the manna to my nose and smelled. It smelled sweet, but not like sugar; sort of like honey or honeysuckle. I couldn’t place it. “What exactly does it taste like?”

  “Like everything and nothing,” he replied simply, his dark hair mussed from sleep last night.

  “Did you sleep well?” I should have peeked into his bedroom, now that I thought about it.

  “I don’t sleep, but you slept deeply, which is good. In Purgatory, you have to rest in order to heal. You have to eat the manna provided to keep from starving. And right now, you need to tell me everything—again—so I can see if there’s anything that can be done to allow you to pass through the divide. No detail is too small.”

  “I’m not wasting my time or yours rehashing it, and you’ve already seen my memory of it. Or so you say…”

  “I did, but I can’t wrap my head around it.” He paused for a long moment, hands on his hips. “No wonder the merchants were frightened. No soul has ever physically torn the fabric before. Not even my kind.”

  “Keepers? As in plural? There are more of you?”

  He frowned. “In a manner of speaking, yes, but I am the only one assigned to Purgatory indefinitely.”

  “Tough gig. Who did you piss off to get sent here?”

  “Someone important,” he answered honestly, taking a piece of the manna and chewing it.

  I bit off a little chunk of manna to taste it and found that it was nothing short of amazing. With the consistency of a marshmallow, somehow it was rich and sweet, but not too sweet. There were hints of cinnamon and bread; like monkey bread, only completely white. Mmmmm. And it was filling. The handful of manna he gave me was too much. Three bites were all it took to fill me. I doubted that feeling of fullness would last the day, though.

  Keeper smiled. “It will. I promise.” Promises… Promises were important to people. Were they important to Keepers? And who was he, really?

  “Is that your name? Keeper?”

  “I do not give my name to those I don’t know well.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s not wise,” he said, chewing another piece.

  Pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, he searched for something.

  “Looking for a lighter?”

  “Or matches. I usually have both.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you take them from me?”

  Well, bristle my feathers. “Hell, no!” I answered indignantly. “I’m not a thief. And why would I want your lighter?”

  “I had it yesterday.” He searched his pockets again and then started looking around the house. They probably fell out of his jeans when the birds carried us. They we
re probably teetering on a rock ledge along that God-forsaken cliff. Just a little gust and they’d be gone.

  “Never mind,” he said, pulling a small neon green lighter from his back pocket. “I found it.”

  Well, wasn’t he nice to have apologized for accusing me of stealing? “Why are you smoking, and how in the hell do you get cigarettes here? Are there convenience stores?” Maybe it was a black-market thing, like the soul traffickers. Maybe Keeper got them in exchange for people.

  He snorted. “I have them delivered from Earth, and another shipment should arrive in a day or so.”

  “Brilliant. Can you see if they can score a Pepsi?”

  He ticked his head. “Caffeine is bad for your body.”

  “And cigarettes are healthy?”

  “Not for you, but for me there are no ill effects. I like the taste, and it’s become a habit.”

  “Can I have a smoke?” Watching him guardedly, I wondered what he would expect in return. I remembered the last time I bummed smokes. In all fairness, I’d offered the blow job. It was a trade, and at the time I thought it was fair.

  Keeper threw the pack of smokes and lighter onto the couch cushions. He bared his teeth and walked away angrily, pacing over the carpet of the house. He was going to wear a path. I knew what he saw in my mind, but his anger was confusing. I wasn’t angry about it. I really had no feelings about it whatsoever. I wanted smokes. The guy wanted a blowjob. What was the problem?

  “You… What you did for him? He didn’t… appreciate it. He was just using you.”

  “I was also using him. Or do you not get that? I wanted cigarettes. I got cigarettes. End of story.” Judgmental asshole.

  “You’re worth more than that,” he said, his voice gritty with emotion. The muscle in his jaw flared rapidly.

  “I decide what I’m worth. Not you. Not that guy. No one. I decide.”

  Keeper glared at me and then, even though his demeanor hadn’t calmed, he used a soothing voice and artfully changed the subject. “There has to be more to the story. A soul can’t tear the fabric of the divide. The veil was torn once, but not by the hand of a human soul,” he said, trying to figure out what I’d done. But I didn’t understand it either. It just did. It tore off and freaking disappeared into my hand.