The City of Crows

by Bethany Anne Lovejoy

  He sat in the armchair across from me, his feet balanced on the edge of his short coffee table, hands wrapped around a mug of his own. It was one of the first times I’d seen him in the light without his sweaters on, his cardigan still wrapped loosely around my shoulders. His shirt clung to his body, leaving little to the imagination, I could see his lean muscles moving beneath the thermal cotton. “Frequently,” he admitted as he blew the steam from his mug. Pomegranate, cherry, and black tea; very tart and bitter, but Leo seemed to have a talent for balancing out flavors, and the agave cut through most of it. “My mother is a big coffee drinker, as was my father. You’re just never here in time to see me drink it.”

  “Or you just fill me full of tea leaves because you think it’s befitting a witch,” I muttered, taking another sip. Admittedly, I wasn’t one for coffee.

  “If I were doing it just because you were a witch, I wouldn’t fish out the leaves every single time. I’d leave them in and make you read them,” Leo informed me. “A lot less work.”

  I snorted, but then, just as soon as I did, I felt terrible for doing it. My eyes stared at the red liquid in my cup once more, the spoon moving absently through the water—Red, not the best color for a cup of tea with all things considered.

  The nice thing about Leo was that he didn’t try to make things better if he knew he couldn’t. It didn’t even cross his mind to turn to me and say that maybe Landon was okay because we both knew otherwise. He didn’t bring him up, or Autumn. He knew better. He knew that, whatever happened to Landon, he was lucky to survive it the first time, and now?

  “Are you still cold?” Leo asked, noting the way my body shivered. Not waiting for a response, he got up, crossing the distance to place his hand across my forehead, feeling for my temperature.

  Beside myself, I leaned into his touch, enticed by the warmth of his hand, my eyes closing. Did I always feel this cold? I didn’t know. But his touch then was a liferaft, just as it always was. Leo was constantly hot, and these days I’d been bone-chillingly cold.

  He agreed with that observation, withdrawing his hand with a worried nod before moving over to fit into the space beside me on the couch, his arm wrapping around my shoulder as he pulled me closer. It appeared that whatever distance we once favored was gone, having quickly dissipated during our adventure. I sighed in relief as he pulled me in, nestling into the warmth. I felt deathly cold, and I couldn’t tell if that was because of traveling or fear.

  “I’m sorry,” Leo began to speak again, a heavy sigh escaping his body. “I know that you didn’t want this, that you never wanted any of this. And yet now…” He trailed off, unable to find the words. Only one fit the situation, only one warranted saying. He repeated himself hoarsely, his arm betraying him as it held me tighter, “I’m sorry, Lyra.”

  It was a little too late for that, and yet…

  “Leo,” I croaked his name, knowing that if I didn’t say it then, then I would never say it. “I don’t want you to die,” there was absolute misery in the way that I said it, in the way that I admitted it. A thousand more words laid beneath it, ones I knew he would never be able to understand. I was becoming attached. Being human didn’t seem to matter as much anymore, though I still desperately wanted it.

  A dry laugh escaped him, his head resting atop my shoulder as he still held me near. There was absolute misery in the way we sat, in the situation we found ourselves in. But, it appeared that I couldn’t back down anymore. The thought of leaving Leo’s side, of him passing away, of facing Rowan all alone-- I couldn’t live with that.

  “Do you think we’ll end up like Landon,” Leo whispered.

  “Probably,” I choked.

  “And yet you think it’s worth it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  14

  Lacus

  A purple bricked building sat at the interaction where Burnley and Oak road crossed, paint flaking off it with every gust of wind. It held a small shop, the only one on the block, everything around it having been consumed by the needs of accountants and stock traders. The building once lived in the former aisle of sin of New Haven, but it somehow outlasted gambling and prostitution to become surrounded by beacons of commercial capitalism. It was funny; I was sure that nearly every business on the block had tried to buy it out, if only to make the rest of the district look better by tearing it down. But Lacus did not give in, and here it remained in all of its quirky glory. A neon sign hung from the tattered awning advertising palm readings for five dollars apiece. In the window a sun-faded sign spoke of fortunes to be told, through cards or otherwise, if one were willing to pay the price. Appointment only, however, but the sign bore no numbers or other contact information to book one. It was the sort of place that you see once, and swear that you’ll never forget it, but just can’t seem to find again when you try to go back to it. A place where the address had no meaning, which made it only more incredible that Landon was able to give it to us off the top of his head.

  Leo stood beside me on the sidewalk across the street as we watched people pass by, busy people averting their eyes the second they got too close to the building. It was a necessary precaution, to stake out the place before we so much as crossed the street. There was no guarantee that I would be the only witch going to Lacus that day, not after what we’d seen.

  I averted my eyes before a man in a grey suit could look back, dipping a lone french fry in ketchup while I waited for Leo to declare it safe to approach the shop. It was another day off for me, another warning from my boss. I was beginning to have a feeling that I wouldn’t hold down my job much longer and, with Rowan knowing where I worked, I was okay with that. I had far greater worries than shelving books at this point in my life, I reminded myself as I eyed the crows that sat on the power lines for nearly the length of the entire block.

  Lacus was the only place where they weren’t lurking. The birds seemed to be sitting upon every telephone line and roof that we’d gone past so far. Ominous, even Leo agreed, but we couldn’t quite place why. Maybe if Pat Lobdel were more focused on being an actual mayor rather than bedding young artists and preaching false hatred towards witches, the city would be able to work on its crow problem.

  Maybe.

  “You’re alright with this?” Leo asked once again, waiting for me to reassure him that he wasn’t making some grand mistake. Around him, waiters and customers bustled around the small patio that we sat at.

  Unfortunately, there weren’t many options left. “What do you think it will be like inside?” I’d never been inside a fortune teller’s shop. My mother had no interest in the future when I was growing up, she told me that one should focus on improving themselves in the present, the future will take care of itself.

  “I don’t know,” Leo admitted, eyeing the building warily. “Maybe an ancient mystic, or another hidden club; perhaps just one of those old fortune machines from the fairground. I’m not as familiar with this stuff as you are, so it’s hard to predict.”

  “I’m not as familiar with divination either,” I admitted, swirling a fry in the ketchup before me. “My mother’s not a fan, she says it’s all hogwash. She used to go when she was a girl, to real witches. They told her she’d have three kids and be happily married as a housewife.” As if my mother even had time for one child or the patience to perform tasks for any man who did not have her on his payroll. “It’s sensationalism, and they only want you to leave blindly happy or desperately upset. There’s no inbetween.”

  “Are those your beliefs or hers?” Leo inquired.

  “A mixture of both,” I admitted. “I don’t know if I believe that others can read the future, not in these times. But I’d like to, I really would.”

  “It’d be interesting if it were true,” said Leo, casting a wary look over at the shop. Again, our only option. I think he, more than anyone, wanted to believe in it. Still, he made no move to get up. It was as if he didn’t want to go in, likely afraid that she’d reaffirm him of what he already knew and feared.
Leo didn’t need another person telling him he would soon die.

  “Only one way to find out,” I stated, pushing back from the metal table. It was the only way that we would get in, the only way that we would get anywhere. I had a feeling that Leo would be content sitting at the table until the end of time.

  The door slid open easily, a small silver bell ringing above it to signal our arrival. The bell did little in actual practice; the young woman at the desk made no move to welcome us, still chewing gum and reading her magazine without a second thought, reaching back to scratch at the base of her half-hearted bun composed of blonde hair so straight that it jutted out of it like pins. Light music, a relative of elevator tunes but a distant one, rang through the air, filling the time. Somehow I got the feeling that said music only irritated her further.

  The inside was, predictably, odd. Creaky, grey wooden floors, thick multicolored rugs, and lighting that was far more decoration than utility. A bundle of dried herbs hung near the door, brushing against Leo’s head as he ducked into the shop; sage, dill, and thyme; a typical blend used by elderly witches to ward off evil spirits. A few more items served to hint at the occupant’s age: a large cuckoo clock, the body of a stuffed magpie, and mirrored balls of every size; either the owners were witches or very well versed in the history of witchcraft. Honestly, it looked like one of my mother’s colleagues’ offices at the university, old maps hanging from the walls, a mirror turned backward, and burnt down candles on nearly every surface. The only thing that reeked of new-age magic was the young woman at the counter, her feet resting atop the aged wood with a sort of devil may care attitude that was almost enviable. The yoga pants on her legs very loudly proclaimed her to not be of that generation unless she was a very eccentric young witch.

  The pop of her bubblegum and irritated clearing of her throat only served to support my theory. “Appointment only,” she reiterated boredly, not bothering to look up from her magazine. “Read the sign.”

  My eyes narrowed, an exasperated sigh escaping me as I entered the shop, Leo trailing behind me. Leave it to him to become distracted by the array of artifacts. “Could we make an appointment here? There’s no instructions for how to book one.” I gestured towards the window, indicating the large piece of paper that covered it, not a number in sight.

  “It’s on the sign,” the young woman insisted, not even bothering to look up.

  “It’s not on the sign,” I informed her.

  “Not my problem,” she responded, lazily flipping a page. “If you don’t know how to book an appointment, then you just won’t get one. Simple.”

  “That’s not--” My voice raised, irritation climbing with it. “Listen--”

  “Landon sent us,” Leo interrupted, peering over my shoulder. Finally, he’d had his fill of the room and decided to interact. Good, considering the fact that he was the only reason we were here, to begin with. Seeing how the girl didn’t pay him any heed, however, he continued. “She’s Lyra, Lyra Wynne, and I’m Leo Hoang. Any of that ring any bells?”

  The girl lowered her magazine, revealing startling blue eyes. For a moment, I thought that meant something, that we’d finally broken through to her. Instead, she only did so to pointedly roll her eyes where we could see them. “Congrats on the names; I don’t care. No appointment, no entrance. Learn to read signs.” She raised her magazine once more, ignoring us once again; I just couldn’t handle it.

  Honestly, I wanted to go home. Leo, however, would not be swayed. His hand smacked down on her desk, the hard sound echoing through the shop. It was uncharacteristic, not something I ever thought I’d see the artist do. And yet, his steeled eyes were full of purpose.

  And it worked.

  Not with her, of course. She was an unmovable fource, and she couldn’t be bothered to care about us. But someone else appeared, a face that seemed familiar but not quite peeked out from behind the curtains. Reddened, frizzy hair, paper-like skin, and stunning blue eyes. She echoed someone else, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Try as I might, I couldn’t put into words who she reminded me of before her body shuffled out onto the shop floor.

  “Anastasia,” the woman crowed, pulling a pair of wire-framed glasses from her pocket and beginning to rub at the lenses. “What did I tell you about scaring off the customers? You really must learn to be more pleasant. At the very least, hand them the cards so that your sister can book them an appointment later. It’s hardly a business if we don’t have any clients,” she tsked, holding her glasses up to the light so that she could be assured that there was no dust on them. “I’m sorry about my granddaughter,” the woman sighed, raising her glasses to her eyes, “she really is quite the handful--”

  No sooner had her glasses neared her eyes then she dropped them, the frames clattering to the floor. She didn’t attempt to pick them up, instead gaping, her mouth wide open as she shuffled out from behind the desk, further and further away from the heavy curtains leading to the back room. Her eyes flittered from Leo to me, then back to Leo again, wrinkled skin doing little to hide her amazement.

  “You…” Her voice carried, eyes lingering on the man. Stooping to pick up her glasses once more, she placed them crookedly on her nose, shuffling even closer. With her short stature and the robes trailing behind her, she looked anything but human. “The boy… and, her.” The look on her face did not suggest that she was impressed with me.

  Leo nodded, an easy smile on his face. “You’re far more successful than I’d assumed, ma’am. A shop in this district and high recommendations from Landon; you are quite extraordinary.”

  If it were possible for her smile to spread wider than his, it did. “And you, such a kind fellow. I watched you, though I was not there. I saw you help that woman, even though the girl at the desk told you not to. I am so pleased to see you once more, whatever is it that you need?” She reached forward for him, taking his hand in hers and beaming upward at him. “No, don’t tell me. I can see it already. You’ve come here for me.” An obvious statement, he was in her shop. I doubted that any other psychics worked there.

  “Yes,” Leo nodded frantically, seeming quite pleased. Beside us, her granddaughter only sighed, raising her magazine higher as if she were done with the older woman. “I was told to come here, told that you might have some solution to my problem.”

  “Ah, an awful problem you do face,” the woman replied, rubbing his hand between hers with a hint of sadness. My face fell beside the two of them, yet Leo only grinned brighter. He was delighted, delighted that it was her and delighted that she seemed to know exactly what she was talking about. I could hear the generalization from a mile away, my ability to spot it practically hammered into my head by my mother years before. “And yet somehow you keep defying fate, my dear,” she said, and I couldn’t help but notice the way that her eyes drifted to me. I returned her gaze with a narrowed stare, not fully understanding her meaning and not caring to. If she meant to insinuate that I was not meant to be there with him, then the universe had likely neglected to inform her of the very specific blend of incidents that led to our meeting. “And you wish to defy fate once more,” an air of breathlessness colored her voice.

  “Fate? That’s--” He began to argue.

  “You come with me, boy,” the woman demanded. “You come with Dalia and you let me tell you what will come. Leo obeyed, shuffling closer. I tried to follow suit, but, “only you, Leo. It’s only your future to view, your possibilities to explore. Not Lyra’s.”

  That was the only odd part; I’d never even told her my name.

  Leo didn’t argue, giving into the woman far too quickly. He let her pull him away, behind the curtain without a single glance back. I didn’t move to follow him, I didn’t dare try. All I could do was stand by the desk and stare at the teenager, wondering what Leo was about to discover.

  He stumbled out minutes later, looking far more ill than anything else. It was almost robotic the way he exited, Dalia staying behind the curtain. I sat by the door, reading a sm
all travel booklet that had been left on one of the many shelves for people to take. He didn’t acknowledge me as he approached, didn’t say a single word. He merely stared, waiting for me to join him.

  No hand was offered, no smile was given. Leo’s eyes were downcast, his lips unmoving. As we exited the shop, I moved to stand closer to him, hoping to at the very least brush against him. I wasn’t rewarded with such contact. Leo moved away just in time, still walking in line with me but not providing any of the friendly touches I had become so used to.

  15

  Names

  “Are you sure you’re okay, Leo?” I asked for the umpteenth time, unfolding the lids of our Chinese take out containers and beginning to fork the contents out onto plates. I had been the one to suggest it, figuring that my comfort food might help him. Somehow, it wasn’t working. I don’t know why I was surprised.

  Leo had not so much as spoken a word since we’d left Lacus. His shoulders were tensed, his eyes avoiding mine, he did not say anything. He had walked with his hands tucked in his pockets and his neck craned downwards; if he hadn’t slowed down occasionally to make sure I was following him, I wouldn’t have known that he intended for me to go with him. We reached his apartment, still no words. I sat on the sofa and ordered take out, still nothing. Instead, he sat in the armchair, feet planted firmly on the ground as he gazed off into space.

  It was only when I went downstairs to get our order that he seemed to move, frantically digging through the closet nearest his front door, revealing shelves of sketchbooks that had previously been tucked out of view. I spared him only a momentary glance; it was far too concerning watching him as he desperately dug, holding each sketchbook up as if it held the secrets of the world, then frantically flipping through the pages only to be disappointed. There was no order to his madness, but I suppose that was due to his lackluster style of organization. It appeared that nearly every sketchbook was thrown to the side and just tossed onto the shelves, much like how the coats were thrown onto hangers within the closet and forgotten about. Whatever he was looking for was special.