I relax as I see my Crow—or Bernard, as I've christened him. He's dressed in the black funeral clothes that make him look like a Victorian undertaker. He stands glumly staring up at the house, his body language clearly screaming that if he were wearing a sandwich board, it would state that the end of the world is nigh.
"Evening, Bernard," I say cheerfully, and he turns to look at me. After a year of seeing him, his empty eye sockets no longer freak me out, but his utter stillness still does. It isn't normal to be so still. Well, not in this world.
"Any message?" I ask, twirling my house keys around my finger. "Speak now or forever hold your peace, because Levi's waiting for me."
He hesitates, and for a wild second, I think he's going to actually say something.
I hold my breath, as his mouth opens and closes.
My breath leaves me in a shocked grunt as black blood suddenly begins to ooze from his eye sockets. It drips down his wrinkled cheeks in gruesome streams as his mouth opens in a silent scream.
"What the fuck?" I gasp, stumbling back. My ankle turns awkwardly, and I narrowly avoid jettisoning into the wall. I right myself, taking in great gulps of air.
I glance at Bernard and discover he's himself again, staring silently up at the house.
"Bernard, that's naughty. Warn a bloke, will you?" My words are light, but I'd bit down hard on my tongue when I'd stumbled, and there's a lingering grittiness in my mouth that tastes like fear. He's never shown me that side of himself before. "I really wish you could talk," I add. "You're like the world's creepiest non-singing telegram."
But why would he speak when he has such a cute party trick? His very presence is a message. Crows are given to us Partworlders as an early warning system for trouble. I've grown used to Bernard, but Tom thinks I should have an army of Crows, as Bernard could be heading for work burnout. So far, though, he's the only poor sod who's shown up.
Which leads me to a worrying thought. Why has he shown up now?
At one point, I couldn't get through an hour without Bernard popping up and pacing in my vicinity, but for the last few months, I haven't seen hide nor hair of him.
I'd sort of missed him, but now I'm reconsidering that sentiment. I might be bored off my tits with the psychic world, but Bernard's gory eyes were not the entertainment I was hoping for.
"I hear you, Bernard," I say softly, and he ignores me as usual. The wind gets up, but not a thread on his clothes moves. I follow his gaze to the ground-floor window, but when I glance at him again, he's gone, leaving me alone in the dark lane.
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