Raven Chapter 1 Chocolate Cake and War Crimes 10 #2
Not a serious meeting, then. Probably just the daily check-in. I rub my hands together. The past few days I’ve been so wrapped up in the relationship drama across the street that I’ve missed the last two. I make my way over and eye my options: between Kieran and Dre, or next to Anik.
“Decisions, decisions,” I mutter, then opt for the cloud of lighthearted energy that always swirls between Kieran and Leandre.
Settling in, my eyes lock onto Kieran’s glorious hair—a soft, reddish-brown cloud hanging past his shoulders. I will be confirming that softness the second I’m real.
His vivid green eyes are usually lit with mischief, and his face has softer angles than the others, but it's no less stunning. I still haven't figured out what he is. They've all known each other so long they never bother stating the obvious.
Some supes are open about what they are—shifters practically glow with predator energy, and you can spot a dwarf or nymph from across a room. But the ones that just look… pretty? The ones who could pass for human if they weren't standing next to one? Those are impossible to pin down.
All I know is his Scottish accent alone could probably convince a saint to sin. Well, unless you're Forrest. But I'm determined to crack that nut once I'm corporeal.
I shift my gaze to Leandre—another mystery. Fast, strong, with a hint of mental manipulation. Could be one of a dozen breeds. But he’s the group’s doctor, the one who patches these lovable idiots back together, which tells me more than any supernatural label ever could.
A smile tugs at me as I take him in. Prominent forehead, strong cheekbones, dirty-blond hair shaved at the sides with a long, intricately braided strip down the middle.
And thank the gods for his almost criminally fitted t-shirt—it shows off the knotted tattoos covering his arms and snaking up his neck.
His bright ice-blue eyes hold a savage glint I desperately want to get familiar with.
“It should be here tomorrow morning, first thing,” Anik says, and I whip my head toward him.
“You guys need to start these meetings after I’m done staring dreamily,” I complain.
Forrest turns to Emerson. “You’ll be alone tomorrow. Okay to handle the delivery?”
Em just nods.
"Old one goes. Stay calm. No stabbing." Anik tells him. I look around, still confused.
“Seriously, what have I missed?” I ask loudly.
Em snorts. "Like I'd have a use for a sub-par fridge that couldn't even keep itself running for longer than five years." He says it matter-of-factly, but his lip curls slightly. "The compressor alone is a crime against thermodynamics.”
Remembering now that the communal fridge has been on the fritz, I nod and keep listening, determined not to be out of the loop any more than I already am.
“Aye, we can finally move out of Niko’s fridge,” Kieran says, his Scottish lilt playful.
Anik rolls his eyes. "About time. Nothing's labeled."
I make a deal with myself to stop paying attention to the relationship drama next door. Because, obviously, I’m missing out.
“You let them use your fridge?” I screech into the void.
His super-fancy industrial fridge lives in the room next to the kitchen—the pantry, because apparently food deserves its own shrine.
Nobody touches that fridge. Nobody touches eighty percent of that pantry.
His mother is the rumored exception, but I’ve never seen it.
Anik’s domain is the kitchen, and by extension, the pantry.
Messing with his systems is like poking a bear: eventually, you’ll get mauled.
“Is the spare room ready for Miriam?” Forrest asks, looking at Dre, who nods.
“It’s ready.” He winces before turning to Anik. “Are you sure she doesn’t want her own apartment? That spare room is like a shoebox. It barely fits the twin bed I hauled up from downstairs.”
Anik shakes his head, "She won’t leave and will end up on the couch."
Dre sighs. “Well, there’s a bed, the built-in, and a space for a suitcase, but not much else. I made sure there were plenty of blankets and pillows, but outside of that, there’s nothing I can do to make it any more comfortable.”
I can tell this bothers Dre. He’s fidgeting and tapping his thigh, trying to distract himself from the imagined disappointment that will rain down on him when Miriam sees the room.
“She’ll love it.” Anik says with absolute surety, “Thank you.”
Some of the tension eases in Dre, and he smiles.
“Any updates regarding our case?” Forrest asks. When no one speaks up, he simply nods. “Keep at it. Something will break sooner or later.”
I watch as the guys all nod and go their separate ways, debating who to follow.
Em is probably too deep into whatever he's doing, but maybe I should check in and see what nature documentary he picked this time? If I’m lucky, it’ll be a new one.
I watch Forrest walk out of the hallway into the main living area wearing his usual workout gear, headphones in, and have to tear my eyes away from his ass in those shorts.
“Gods, Ro-ro!” I moan, fanning myself dramatically. “Warn a woman, will you?”
I debate spending another afternoon watching Forrest get sweaty in solitude, but decide to mix it up. I’m about to float off after Dre when I spot him heading for the door in his scrubs. Right. Tuesday—graveyard shift at the clinic. He gives a casual wave to Kieran, who’s still lounging beside me.
Well, that’s not suspicious at all.
Kieran returns the wave with a lazy flick of his hand, then cocks his head. I tilt mine, too, and catch the familiar chime of a video call from Anik’s room. Mom or sister. He’ll be tied up for at least twenty minutes.
Before I can even shoot him a suspicious look, he's up and speed-walking toward the kitchen—past the dining table, around the corner from the living room, heading straight for disaster.
“Oh no, no, no.” I repeat, hands in the air, pleading uselessly as I walk toward him. “Do you have permission to be in here?” He just stands there grinning, rubbing his hands together, and starts taking pots and pans out.
“Ki-ki,” I say, as stern as his nickname will allow, “you know what happened last time you were in here unsupervised. I don’t think crimes against food are detailed in the Geneva Convention Dre has mentioned, but if they were, you would definitely be labeled a war criminal.
” I wince as he ignores me completely and makes his way into the pantry.
A montage of his greatest, or worst, hits flashes through my mind: the glitter potatoes shimmering under the kitchen lights; the time he tried to "un-pickle" a jar of those gherkin things Em is obsessed with and almost got shanked because of it; the "midnight snack experiment" that somehow involved every spice in the cabinet and left the kitchen looking like a crime scene; the time he decided to prove store-bought was inferior and tried to make his own hot sauce, only to gas out the entire floor; the glitter potatoes—wait, I said that one, but they really deserve repeating.
I try one more time. “Ki-ki, whatever you’re doing, just ask yourself: would a sane person do this?”
When I hear a literal cackle coming from the pantry, I turn and sprint my ghostly legs straight into Anik’s room. Someone needs to stop him before he commits any more crimes. Also, if he touches Em’s gherkins again, I think Em might actually disembowel him instead of just threatening it.
“Hey, big guy. I know your video chats with your mom are your favorite, and I wouldn’t be interrupting if it wasn’t dire.” I peek around him and wave. “Hi, Mom!” (Yes, I’ve adopted her. Or she’s unknowingly adopted me?) “Anyway! You need to go out there and stop Ki-ki.”
He rudely ignores me. I huff before marching over and, with all the panic in my system, try to nudge a pencil off his desk. Nothing happens. The emotion has to be real—not summoned—and panic, it turns out, isn't the same as rage.
The pencil doesn't move. Kieran won't stop. The apartment might actually burn down.
Welp. I gave it my best shot. My best shot just sucks.
I shrug, move to the edge of Anik's bed, and sit down to bask in the loving weekly video chat vibes. Future Raven can deal with the fallout. Present Raven wants to live in mom hug delusions.
“Syju,” Anik says softly, his eyes warm as he checks in on her, “how is your garden? Did the early frost do any damage?”
She waves her hand. “Oh, don’t worry! Everything is fine.
It’s good for the arugula to get some cold.
” She speaks with a very faint accent I can never quite place.
“But now, enough about me. How are you holding up? Selena tells me you are needing to share a fridge.” I can see the shudder she gives at that.
Apparently, the need for absolute control over the kitchen is a family trait.
He just shrugs. “Could be worse.”
I snort at that ridiculous statement and focus on Miriam. “As always, your adopted disaster son has been terrorizing him. He just loves him too much to throw him under the bus.”
Miriam tsks. “She tells me he declared kale evil then tried to set your recipe book on fire. This seems bad, no?”
I see the corner of his mouth twitch before he says, "He didn't succeed. The challenge keeps things interesting."
“How long must you share this fridge? You are a better man than me. I would commit murder since the first day.” She declares, her words getting a little more mixed up the more heated she gets.
Anik simply smiles warmly. “Syju, you say ‘I would have committed murder on the first day’ instead of ‘commit murder since the first day.’”
She nods, then scribbles something down off-screen.
“Yes, good, this is why we switched to English.” She looks over her shoulder like she’s making sure she’s alone.
“Che ra’y,” she says quietly, using her own term of endearment for him, “your sister still has not met anyone. I am afraid she is lonely and hiding it. She spends too much time in the library.”
Before Anik can growl out his usual response—that he’s quite happy his baby sister hasn’t met someone he’ll probably need to get rid of one day—Kieran bursts in holding a charred pan and a bottle of wine.
“Niko! Yer abuela’s tamale recipe is a war crime—oh, hola mis amores!” he says loudly, very obviously trying to feign shock so as not to let on that he was waiting for this very moment to create chaos.
Miriam’s eyes narrow in motherly concern as she looks him over. “You look thin! Is my son starving you?”
Kieran drops the pan dramatically so he can clutch at his heart. “Worse. The man made me eat quinoa. It’s a human rights violation.”
Anik rolls his eyes so hard I’m pretty sure he strains them. “You need more fiber and whole grains. You can’t survive off of potatoes and meat alone.”
He motions to his very obviously cut and muscled body—drool may or may not leak out of my mouth at the action. “Good genetics mean I can. Nae need to suffer unnecessarily.”
Miriam laughs. “Well! I will be there tomorrow evening to fatten you up.”
He blows her a kiss. “Cannae you make those empanadas? I’ve been craving them, and that one’s,” he points at Anik, “tastes of gym socks.”
Anik gives him a glare that should be melting Kieran’s skin off, but instead he just stands there smiling.
The pan still sits on the floor, and the wine is still in his hand.
These are the times I wish I could flip open a book or tap on a keyboard.
There’s no way Kieran is anything but a chaos gremlin.
Do they exist? Who knows! Definitely not me, because I can’t open a fucking book.
“You burned the last batch,” Anik clarifies.
“He did,” I confirm, shrugging. “The man has the attention span of a labradoodle.”
“Che michi,” she says, looking between both of them like she’s scolding children, “why must you fight? I will be there in one day to feed you both. Now,” she says, looking at Kieran, “how is the yuyo I sent? For your nightmares?”
“Aye. Yer a saint, Mami. I slept like the dead.”
I snort at that. “The dead don’t sleep. They follow around loved ones and criticize them while gossiping to their dead friends. Obviously.”
Then I realize Anik has stiffened and is glancing at Kieran. That’s when I remember last week’s video chat. Anik was the one who mentioned the issue and possible fix to his mother, and she sent off the weird herb sack that same day.
Miriam snaps her fingers. “Stop glaring. He’s family.”
“Family doesn’t set fire to my kitchen,” he grumbles, pointedly looking at the charred pan lying on the floor.
Kieran just smiles knowingly. “Och, the man loves me. Actually thinks I’m pure dead brilliant.”
“Out. Now.” Anik points to the door, trying to suppress a smile.
“Right, see ye tomorrow, Ma.” Kieran blows Miriam a kiss and walks out the door.
“And clean up your mess!” Anik shouts before going back to talk with his mom.
I watch for a while longer as Anik and his mom talk.
Their relationship is so wholesome, and it’s obvious in every sentence and glance how much they love each other.
I feel a pang in my chest as I think about what it would be like to have people to interact with, to love.
I let the feeling linger for a second, then use it to harden my resolve.
Because the alternative—the one I already know—is the static.
The slow fade into nothing where loneliness wins. I've been there. I'm not going back.
No. I will have a real existence. And I will get this list checked off. Even if it actually kills me.