Chapter 22
“Murdered.” I needed to repeat it because my brain wanted to refute it totally and completely even though I’d suspected as much for weeks.
“Yes.” Olive nodded. Then, as if it occurred to her belatedly to offer sympathy, she added, “Sorry.”
I staggered to my feet and said, “I need some air.”
“There’s a balcony upstairs, feel free to step outside, but don’t do anything dumb.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know. You librarians are an overly emotional sort, so I feel compelled to caution you against being impulsive.” Olive’s focus returned to her laptop.
I blinked. “That’s the first time I have ever been called too emotional because I’m a librarian.” The mere suggestion almost made me smile as I thought of every overthinking, pragmatic librarian I had ever known during my years of service.
“Just stating facts.”
“M’kay.” I turned and headed for the upper floor.
“Your room is second on the left,” Olive called after me. I raised my hand in acknowledgment. Whether she saw it or not, I hadn’t a clue nor did I care.
I pulled myself up the spiral staircase and saw the balcony doors. I turned the handle and stepped outside. The cold air hit my face like a slap. It felt good. Even as I shivered, I was grateful for the sting.
I stepped up to the waist-high railing and noted the stairs that led to the roof above. I wondered if it had a garden like the Museum of Literature did. When I hauled myself up, I was disappointed to see a barren landscape of roof. No garden beds, no chairs, no Miles and Tariq enjoying tea.
Why this gutted me, I had no idea, but I sank to the ground as tears blurred my vision. I sat on the ledge, letting my legs dangle. Then I dropped my head into my hands and sobbed.
The terror of the day, almost being strangled—twice!
—the endless reveals about my family and the past, the probability that my mother had been murdered, combined with the overwhelming sense that I was failing at what I was supposed to be doing—figuring out who did it—all of it took me out at the knees and I indulged in a pity party of epic proportions.
I don’t know how long I sat there or when exactly I felt another presence on the roof, but as my sobs diminished, I knew with a sudden clarity that I wasn’t alone.
I swiped at the wetness on my face with the sleeves of my coat.
If it was Olive, I would never live down the humiliation of proving her right about the overly emotional state of librarians.
I dropped my hands and lifted my head. I put on my most disinterested expression, usually reserved for library patrons who offered scathing opinions about books they hadn’t actually read, and prepared to face who or what was out there.
“Oh, hey, you.”
Perched on the ledge mere feet from me was a raven. He was big, black, and boldly beautiful. His eyes were the same light blue that I remembered, which meant that he was young, probably a fledgling, as his eyes would change to a darker color when he matured. Yes, I’d looked it up.
I tipped my head to the side. Was he the raven who had taken up residence on my mailbox? We were in another state and more than two hundred miles from home. Ravens were known to fly up to thirty to forty miles from their roost to their feeding areas each day. It couldn’t be him, could it?
“Are you following me?” I asked.
The raven tipped his head to the side as if he were listening.
Weird. Was his appearance right here and now just a coincidence or did the bird have business here as well?
Okay, that was ridiculous. What sort of business did a raven have on the top of a four-star hotel in the Boston suburbs in November?
“Apologies, I realize your life is not my business,” I said. My voice was gruff from crying. I sniffed and sighed. “I’m not normally so impolite. It’s just been a really rough day.”
The raven turned to the view, then he very carefully began to sidle down the ledge toward me.
He stopped when he was mere inches away.
I wondered if he was a zombie raven that I’d inadvertently resurrected.
He didn’t look undead. If he wasn’t a zombie bird— oy!
—was he my familiar? If I did have the gift of necromancy, a raven would certainly be an on-the-nose choice.
My throat hurt, my eyes were swollen, and my nose wouldn’t stop running. I had no doubt I was the picture of misery. Perhaps having a designated magical buddy wouldn’t be such a bad thing. Still, I didn’t want to assume.
“Are you my familiar?” I asked. If the bird had talked back, I probably would have fallen right off the roof. He didn’t. Instead, he inched closer to me and then he leaned in, pressing against my side.
It was then that I remembered my mother’s words when she’d given me the raven puppet so many years ago. I’ve had a vision about you and a raven. You need to trust the raven , she’d said. Had the vision indicated that the raven was my familiar? I had so many questions and no way to get any answers.
I felt a sob bubble up, but I held it in my throat. I didn’t want to scare my bird friend away. It was such an unexpected comfort to have this wild creature be so seemingly in tune with my emotions, which were all over the place at the moment.
There was nothing like being forced to confront my own mortality to make me realize I had so few connections in this life that practically no one would notice if I were suddenly gone.
Agatha. Agatha would miss me. A handful of people would notice I was no longer at work, mostly Bill, but the rest of the world would just sail on, going about their business as if Zoe Ziakas had never existed. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
I didn’t want to scare the raven, but the need to connect to another being was so strong that before I could overthink it, I reached out to stroke his feathers.
I expected him to peck me and launch himself off the roof.
Instead, he leaned more firmly into me while I rested my hand on his back, the silky softness of his feathers beneath my fingers the only thing locking me into this moment.
“I’m sorry I described you as pesky to my coworkers,” I apologized, remembering my conversation with Tariq, Miles, and Jasper on the rooftop of the Museum of Literature. “You’re not. In fact, you’re really very lovely.”
The raven ruffled his feathers and preened his outer wing a bit while still leaning into me. We sat on the roof ledge like that for a very long time.
· · ·
The hot shower I took might have been the best of my entire life.
By the time I’d left the roof, I couldn’t feel my fingers or my nose.
When I’d stood, my new friend had flown off into the night and I’d wondered if and when I’d see him again.
I felt oddly certain that I would and I took comfort in that.
The clothes Olive had managed to acquire were actually very comfortable, even if they were the top and bottom of a tracksuit in an eye-watering shade of orange.
I felt like a traffic cone. I wondered if Jasper had fared as well or worse.
My curiosity and hunger propelled me downstairs to the main room.
Jasper, Eloise, and Olive were seated at the dining table and I could see they were in a video conference on Olive’s laptop with Claire, Miles, and Tariq. Claire paused whatever she was saying to greet me.
“Zoe, good to see you,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.” I winced, as my throat hurt when I spoke.
“Jasper told us what happened.” Claire shook her head. “I would appreciate it if you’d see a doctor.”
“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.” I pointed to my neck. “It looks worse than it is.”
Claire didn’t look convinced, but Olive took me at my word, which I appreciated.
“You look like hell, but you’ll live. Eat.” Olive nodded to me.
Jasper handed me a plate and I noted his tracksuit was a blistering shade of neon green. His gaze took in my suit and we shared chagrined expressions.
“If you say this is my color, I’ll never forgive you,” he said.
My lips twitched. “Same.” His returning smile made a warmth unfurl inside me. At least I wasn’t alone in this fashion catastrophe.
I perused the options on the loaded food cart while listening to the others talk. I chose a piece of cake. In my defense, it was coconut cake. Coconut was a fruit, so that made it practically a fruit salad.
“We have no idea who activated Moran,” Miles said. He sounded exasperated. I glanced at the laptop screen as I took my seat and noted that his customary tufts of hair were higher than usual, as if he’d been running his fingers through them repeatedly.
“I checked the whereabouts of every known necromancer in the area and none of them was anywhere near Mystwood Manor,” Tariq said. “Whoever brought Moran back is unknown to us.”
“Is there any way to make them known?” Jasper asked. He was working his way through a plate of fish and chips, which looked excellent but wasn’t what my body was craving.
“We’re working on it,” Miles said.
“I don’t like it,” Claire said. “If we don’t know who it is, we can’t protect you. I think you need to come back to New York.”
I picked up my fork and went to stab a mouthful of cake. The tines hit the granite tabletop with a plink. Olive had whisked away the slice of cake and was shoving a plate of salad in its place, all while keeping her gaze on the laptop.
“Hey!”
“You can’t fuel your potential with fat and sugar,” Olive said. “Salad first, cake later.”
“That’s bullsh—” I began, but her scarred eyebrow went up and I took it as the warning it was. I stabbed a spinach leaf and stuffed it in my mouth to keep myself from saying anything else.
It occurred to me that Olive was even worse than Agatha. At least I wasn’t afraid Agatha would turn me into a toadstool or a chair if I displeased her. I worked on the salad, eyeing the thick slice of cake and counting the seconds until it was mine.