Page 65 of A Murderous Crow
“What?” he demanded.
“That you would look at me differently if you knew I didn’t come from money,” I said.
He nodded slowly and said, “You’re right. I respect you more – now pack some shit. I’m not leaving you here.”
I stood frozen, and he looked at me, his expression harsh and yet inscrutable.
It was then that any argument I could have made became an entirely moot point, because with a loud groan and a crack, I swear the whole little house shuddered and we both stood staring at each other wide-eyed and confused.
I went in the direction of the sound, which had come from my bedroom, and the smell of mold, mildew, and rot shoved me back a half a pace and right into the wall of Corvus’ chest as he was right behind me.
“Holy fuck,” he muttered, and I stared wide-eyed at the collapsed ceiling, old insulation and gross water pouring onto my bed and the floor.
“Son of abitch!” I screamed, and I doubled over with the force of it, even as Corvus pulled me back out of the doorway and shoved me in the direction of the living room.
“You don’t know if there’s asbestos,” he said and I covered my face with my hands and tried like hell tobreathe.
“I can’t do this,” I said, shaking my head.
He gripped me by my shoulders and said, “You can. You’re not alone. Let me help you.”
I sniffed and stared at him, which there barely was an “up” when we were both standing. He was only a couple of inches taller than me. Still, the way he held such a commanding presence, it felt like so much more than that.
“Get your shit together for work. I’ll try and rescue some shit out of your closet and drawers.”
He pulled out his phone and called someone, putting it between his ear and his shoulder as he marched into my room.
I stood there and blinked for several seconds, before I got moving.
Laptop, briefcase, keys, purse, and phone.I silently repeated the checklist in my head as I gathered the items from their various places around the house.
Corvus came out of my room and hung up his phone, shoving it into his back pocket. He had a bunch of my things on hangars, and my overnight bag in his other hand.
“Where’s your car?” he asked.
“Jag is in the garage,” I said tiredly, and he nodded.
“Put some shoes on. It’s muddy out there and there’s no telling what tetanus is lurking and waiting to happen.”
“Shit,” I grumbled. I slipped on some ballet flats and belted my cozy robe tight. I followed him out into the night, and unlatched and wrestled the old garage door up. He looked stunned as I keyed open my trunk. We sort of just unceremoniously dumped everything into it, he shut the lid, and knocked on it twice.
“Follow me to my place,” he said.
“Who did you call?” I asked.
“Nobody you need to concern yourself with,” he said. “Let’s go.”
I watched him trail out to the front of the drive and climb aboard his motorcycle.
I sighed and went and got into the Jag, backing it out slowly and carefully turning it around in the soft mud and earth of the yard.
I pulled out carefully past him, and he fell in behind me, before zipping out in front of me to lead the way.
It’d stopped raining, but everything out here was still unpleasantly… moist. The air hanging thick with humidity, and with the plunging night temperatures, a mist rose from the pavement in places. I followed Corvus into the city, and it wasn’t long until we pulled into the garage under his carriage house apartment.
Well, he pulledthroughhis garage, parking the motorcycle in the courtyard like he so often did when I arrived.
I shut off the Jag and carefully got out, going to the trunk to get my work stuff at the very least.
