Page 1 of The Crow Games
Chapter 1
“Many insist devils are the most fearsome of creatures. But I tell you, no fury burns hotter than that of an avenging witch.”—Esther Weil, Renowned Folklorist
The gods hated witches like us, but one look at my sister was enough to fool most into believing we were blessed. Lisbeth had a light to her as bright as the gift the goddess Berhta bathed the world in every morning.
I peeked in through the front window of the hat shop we owned and let out a rueful sigh. My breath fogged the glass. Lisbeth leaned over the counter inside, flirting unabashedly with the two chaps who delivered our coal.
I needed to ruin her fun again, but I didn’t want to. Her comely kindness brought new friends to her in flocks. The goodness in her should be shared. Even now it outshone the gas lamps in that dim little room. The eligible bachelors of Kosh were especially besotted with her, poor clueless creatures that they were. They never recognized the great threat we posed to them all.
Feet inert in my boots, I stood in my oversized apron and tall green witch’s hat, doomed to soon be a wet blanket again.
Avoiding the inevitable, I fussed with my hair. The weight of it in a tight knot under my hat made my scalp sore. I plucked free the pins one at a time, combing out the kinks in the long bronze strands with my fingers. Overhead, Mirk—god of dusk—gathered the fading light together in fat purple clouds, and the autumn air grew colder, crisper.
I swept the walkway free of fallen leaves and chased street children out of our bins. We sold rare herbs and roots alongside our hats. The spoiled concoctions I threw out could kill a small person. Sweet Lisbeth wanted to do more for the littles that haunted our alleyways, but keeping a free spirit like her safe in an unforgiving city was enough of a chore.
A sharp wind bit at my cheeks and nose, reminding me of the late hour. I could delay no longer.
A bell tinkled above the shop door as I pushed inside. The earthy scent of dried herbs and fusty felt teased my senses alongside the peppery fragrance of the perfume our guests wore. We sold a similar product. The luxury probably cost them both more than a month’s wages.
Bram, the taller of our guests, turned to me and removed his woolen cap politely. He was fair-skinned, his cheeks and nose turned ruddy by too much sunlight. “Miss Elder,” he greeted.
I hardly recognized him without all the soot. He appeared older all cleaned up, more dignified. Thirty-five, or near it, if I had to put a number on him. Bram was handsome in a crisp shirt and floral-printed waistcoat, chestnut hair in a sweeping part over hazel eyes. He threw an elbow into his partner’s side.
“Oi!” Seb, the stocky blond spun on his heels and fumbled his own hat, a sheepish smile crooking his mouth. “Oh . . . evening, Miss Elder.”
“It is in fact evening now, gentlemen,” I said, doing my best impersonation of a patient hostess.
“There are no gentlemen here,” Lisbeth teased, and her guests guffawed.
My sister and I were similar in composition, short in stature and solidly built. We had the same dark hair lightly gilded by the sun, sandy skin dusted in so many freckles. But I did not have the effect on people she did. The light in her was hers alone.
I put out a shadow.
“It’s time,” I said, and Lisbeth let out a whine like I’d bent her fingers backward. “We’re locking up for the night. You lot don’t have to go home, but you’re welcome here no longer.”
I softened my words with a smile, but it twisted on my lips before vanishing. Their faces fell into forlorn frowns. Guilt twinged in my belly, and I buried my hands in the deep pockets of my apron to busy them.
I remained conflicted. Lisbeth was an adult—had been for a few years now. She should be allowed to have innocent fun with the men who came calling. But I couldn’t shake off the worry that these two were only kind to us because they believed we were pretty green witches, harmless with our herbs and crafts and cute little hats.
What would happen when they lingered too long and discovered we were something else?
Fearmongers chased after our kind in mobs armed with flaming torches. I’d been protecting Lisbeth from the pitchfork-wielding sort since she was a scrawny child, smiling up at me with gaps between her teeth. In this I would never fail her. I couldn’t. We didn’t have anyone else.
“See you tonight,” Seb promised my sister, his crooked grin impish as he made his way toward the exit.
Following behind his partner, Bram hung back as our paths crossed. He always talked at me in that way of overly polite people, and I always dismissed him in that way of people who weren’t polite at all.
This time was different. He reached out a hand and ran a finger briefly down the bronze strands that hung over my shoulder. His touch lingered, and my cheeks warmed. “I hope I get to see you later tonight, Maven.”
I stared at him for an unseemly amount of time, trying to spot a clue that would shed light on his request. Then it dawned on me: he was still waiting on an answer. Thrown off-balance by his interest, I nodded. His face lit as bright as Berhta’s favorite morning star, and the crinkles near his eyes deepened. Suddenly it didn’t matter what I’d just agreed to. My silly lips grew a mind of their own and quirked.
“See you soon,” Bram said. The bell chimed over the door as he and his partner departed.
I waited for their retreating backs to disappear down the alley before turning on Lisbeth. “What did I just agree to?”
She came around the counter, her mouth in a pleading pout. “There’s a harvest festival tonight at—”
“No.”
