Crowbones

CHAPTER 92

Vicki

Moonsday, Novembros 5

Rattle, rattle, rattle.

“Monkey man,” a voice sang from somewhere nearby.

“Moooonkey man,” another voice sang.

Rattle, rattle, rattle.

Fog so thick I couldn’t see my hand—which meant, thankfully, I couldn’t see anything else. Didn’t interfere with my hearing, though.

I heard Cardosa give the order to deal with us. I think Viktor sprang at me, but something attacked him with a speed that gave him no chance to shift to his smoke form. So I heard him scream as squishy bits plopped on the ground and bones broke and broke and broke. It took only moments.

Kira grabbed at me, probably intending to drain me past saving, but something slammed into her and tossed her aside. That same something knocked me off my feet but caught one arm and eased me to the ground.

I didn’t hear Richard Cardosa shout, so I figured he got away.

The fog thinned. I was sitting on the ground, partially hidden by a pair of legs in black trousers made from a fabric that probably cost as much as the entire population of Sproing made in a year. Okay, exaggerating a bit, but not the sort of fabric used for an off-the-rack suit. I looked up, confirming that the rest of the clothes were just as fine. Up a little higher to the dark hair and olive skin.

Sanguinati. Definitely.

“Can you stand?” he asked, his eyes fixed on something slowly coming toward us.

I thought about Aiden pointing out one line in a list of words and phrases. problem solver. ally. “Are you Stavros?”

“I am.”

He held out his hand. I took it and let him pull me to my feet.

“Vicki!” Grimshaw’s voice, a ways away but coming nearer.

“Victoria!” Ilya, also a ways away.

But right in front of us . . .

“Hello, Nicolai,” Stavros said gently.

Whatever had happened to this Sanguinati had been horrific, and the damage that I could see, especially to one side of his face and skull, made me think he would never fully recover. But he looked at me and made an attempt to smile as he held up a gourd and . . .

Rattle, rattle, rattle.

Not a threat. A warning to be alert, to be careful.

The female who came toward us . . .

It was possible for a being to be too beautiful. Her face, so painfully perfect, would give humans nightmares for generations. The rest of her . . .

I didn’t need to see the short-handled scythe dripping blood from its tip or the feathers woven into her black hair to know I was looking at Crowbones. Predator. Elder. Destroyer. Protector?

feathers and bones.

a no sign over pity.

lakeside. peace.

When I saw Crowbones gently adjust the cape made of black feathers that Nicolai wore to hide whatever else was wrong with his body, I suddenly understood the message from Meg.

“She . . . cannot speak . . . human words,” Nicolai said as if he had to struggle to find each word. “I speak . . . for us.”

I saw Grimshaw enter the clearing—and I saw Ilya grab him to hold him back.

“I have a message from Broomstick Girl.” I wrapped both hands around Stavros’s arm so that I could say this before I fell down. “She said you should go to Lakeside. Both of you. You should stay in Lakeside over the winter and return to your work in the spring.”

Crowbones might be an Elder who had lived a solitary existence as protector and predator, delivering her own kind of justice to terra indigene and humans alike, but she wasn’t alone anymore. And neither was Nicolai, who would never be normal but had a purpose again. Had friendship. Had a partnership without pity.

“It would be my pleasure to drive you both to Lakeside and speak to Grandfather Erebus on your behalf,” Ilya said.

“Nicolai?” Stavros said, his voice still gentle. “Is that acceptable to you?”

Nicolai looked at Crowbones. Then he looked at Ilya and Stavros. “It is . . . acceptable . . . to us.” And then he looked at me and smiled. “We . . . will have . . . a new story . . . to share.”

Okey . . . Oooh, no.

As Stavros lowered me to the ground, I realized Ilya, Stavros, and Nicolai were looking at me with various expressions of amusement and concern while Grimshaw stood a little apart telling the EMTs that I needed medical attention pronto.

“No Grimshaw blood,” I pleaded. “I will drink orange juice until I turn orange, but I’ve got enough sand, so I don’t need more Grimshaw blood.” I explained this to Stavros since I was still clutching his sleeve. I might have been petting the fabric because it really did feel good, but I would deny that, I surely would.

“Ilya?” Stavros said, clearly looking to someone else for an explanation.

“When Victoria was badly injured this past summer and needed a transfusion, Chief Grimshaw donated the blood,” Ilya explained. “Depending on how much blood she has lost now, she may need another transfusion.”

The donor stepped up and stared at me.

I narrowed my eyes and stared back. Maybe. I was feeling a bit loopy at that point.

“What are you doing?” Stavros asked.

“I’m channeling my Grimshaw.”

Grimshaw shook his head. “She’s too out of it to understand a thing I say.”

But still not so out of it to misinterpret the patented grim look that told me clear as clear that I was still in trouble. So I focused on Ilya. Both of him. “If Grimshaw arrests me for ignoring orders, will you still be my attorney?”

“If Ilya can’t because of a conflict of interests, then I will be your attorney,” Stavros said.

Ilya hissed, a sound of annoyance. Or warning. What happened to someone who tried to poach a client from a Sanguinati attorney?

I smiled at Stavros and said, “That is so nice of you to offer.”

A lot of things happened after that, but I don’t remember any of them because I sort of passed out at that point.