Crooked Crows Novels & Stories

CHAPTER 58: TRUTH SPELL. Soaring over the city, a crow flew to the coliseum. It perched at the top of the building, adjusting itself as it cawed. It blinked its eyes, revealing a purple coloration. It turned its head from one side to another, as though taking a view of the whole arena, and all that went on within. After a while, it cawed again and then flew off, heading toward a secluded part of Winterhill. It arrived at the old Grayson mansion and perched on a window, letting out a loud caw.

Half an hour later, numerous crows circled tree branches in the drizzling rain at Mount General Cemetery. They occasionally emitted eerie sounds that resembled the cries of lost souls. Soon, this atmosphere was swiftly disrupted by a series of organized and loud sounds, causing the crows to scatter. After scattering and seeking refuge in the distance, they watched with apprehension as a crowd approached them. A thin but upright figure was walking in front, trailed by a group of burly men with menacing countenance.

When I went to take the shake, he turned to me and pointed at the parking lot. “I wonder whose car that is?” he remarked and turned back to the window. I followed his gaze and nearly dropped the chocolate milk all over the table. My car was covered in crows. Crows sat on the roof and hood, some even perched on the wing mirrors. There had to be at least fifty of them. “Is that a flock of crows?” The kid’s mother asked. The little kid shook his head. “It’s not a flock when it’s crows, mama. It’s a murder.” The kid turned to me. “It’s a murder of crows.”

“I simply let go—before they dragged me down with them.” After the call, I watered a white rose just beginning to bloom. My assistant approached. He was newly hired—young, composed, sharp-eyed. White shirt, clean lines, steady hands. He offered me a cup of hand-brewed Blue Mountain coffee. “Director Collins.” I took it. Rich. Bitter. Clean. He glanced at the roses. “They’re thriving,” he said quietly. “Because they’re cared for properly.” His eyes met mine—clear, unassuming.

“I am going to kill you all, if you dare touch a hair on her head I am going to kill you.” “Oh, Brody,” I shook my head in pity. “You touched what was ours first. Tell us what we need to know, Brody. Keep them alive, even if you die," I sneered. Agent Brody sucked in a deep breath, and finally, he looked at us, the fierce expression in his eyes gone. “They call themselves the crows.”

Zoran and Naelis immediately followed her gaze, their primordial instincts on high alert. Perched on a low branch was a large, jet black crow. Its eyes weren't the usual bead-like birds' eyes, they were cold, obsidian voids that seemed to be absorbing in everything they were saying. The bird sat perfectly still, its head tilted in a way that looked disturbingly human. The moment it realized it had been spotted, the crow let out a harsh, mocking caw. It spread its wings and took flight, disappearing into the dark canopy of the surrounding forest before Zoran could even think of shifting.

The guys exclaimed and helped the new guy to his feet. “They are here. We have to leave immediately." Azriel spoke just in time as a massive black dog emerged from nowhere and stepped on the frame of the broken door. Its eyes were the deepest shade of black, like peering into an abyss, and its fangs were jagged as he licked them while glaring with a malevolent stare, its claws were the sharpest and didn't belong to a dog because this wasn't a dog; Roxie realized she was staring at a bloody wolf.

Eden’s POV My jaw dropped open. The crow continued to circle high above. Caw. Caw. It screeched at us in a frantic, frenzied way. “Did you just say…sister?” I whispered back to Beta Brighton. Unlike the rest of us, he was looking up at the crow with admiration. Crows have never been my favorite bird. They’re scavengers and they’re smart. A group of crows is called a ‘murder’. I always found that disturbing. But Beta Brighton gripped my arm. “Please,” he said under his breath.

“Not that interesting in all honesty. My ancestor got bitten by a wolf, the wolf was cursed. Hey presto, first shapeshifter.” “Oh… I heard a winged beast cursed some siblings.” “Not ever heard of that,” Christopher grunted as he picked up a larger carved boulder. “Was probably a lie, what stories do you know?” she probed, trying a heavier boulder. “Nothing that interesting, I suppose Daniel the Diabolical is kind of fun, but of course you’ll know about him.” Klara frowned, “No, never heard of him.” “Oh…” Christopher looked confused, “Erm…” his confusion turned to discomfort. “It’s not actually that fun… or interesting.”

and emailed Marcus Greer back. "Give me a number." The reply came thirty seconds later. Marcus had been waiting for the email. "Two million. Cash. Untraceable. Forty-eight hours." Damien closed his eyes. Two million was not about money. Marcus knew Damien could write a two-million-dollar check in his sleep. Two million was the amount of money a desperate man asks for when he wants to say, " You owe me this for ruining my life. The amount itself was an insult as much as a price tag.