The City of Crows by Bethany Lovejoy (novels in english .txt) 📗

“You want mommy to be happy, don’t you, Lyra? Because if you do, and you want to be happy too, you will stay in your room. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, stay in your room, and don’t make a sound,” she cooed, brushing the mess of home-cut bangs out of my face, “we only have to do this one more time, and then I promise you, you and I will do something special. We’ll go get ice cream, and watch lots of movies, just like you like,” she smiled.

“Ice cream,” my voice responded, a grin stretching across my features.

“Ice cream?” A male voice asked from the kitchen doorway.

My mother froze, her hand still on my shoulder, willing me, forcing me to look towards her. I couldn’t help it though, my head swiveled around to look at the source of the sound, my mother slowly rising behind me. It was only a moment, a sheer second that I saw the long limbed, elderly man in our kitchen before my mother’s hip came into view, blocking him from my sight and me from his view.

“You said you would come at two,” her voice was low, deathly grave.

“I came early, figured I would give you another chance to change your mind,” he replied, the floor creaking under his feet as his voice grew louder, “I knew you needed more time to think about it.”

“I don’t,” my mother spat, her body shifting so that it stood more in front of me, her hand reaching behind to grab my shoulder, as if to be sure that I was still there. “And when I say two, I mean two. Not one forty-five, two.”

“Is that the girl,” the man changed the topic, attempting to step around her, only to find that she once again marched straight into his view. “Lyra,” he breathed my name despite the intrusion, shuffling ever so closer. “Oh, I suppose this form frightens her, doesn’t it? Should I slip into something a bit more comfortable?”

“You can slip out of my god damn house.”

“Oh Lydia,” the man cooed, though his voice changed as he spoke, sounding far less old, more healthy and young. “I just want to see the little baby girl.” Something about it, the way that he spoke, my chest heaved in and out, I knew that it wasn’t right. “Curious, she looks so little like you. It must hurt, her having the same face as her father—”

“Go. To. Hell.” She spat, bending down to pick me up. She hoisted me upwards, balancing me precariously on her hip in a way that forced my arms to grip around her neck for dear life. “I fulfilled my end of the deal and now he’s gone, far away with his secretary, no longer thinking of me. So, you keep your hands to yourself, because Lyra’s mine.” She jerked around, angling my body so that the man remained out of view.

“Oh, but Lydia,” the voice chided, taking on a familiar tone. I craned my neck to see, almost mistaking it for my neighbor’s voice. “Just like all witches, Lyra will be mine. Maybe not now, but some day.” A glimpse, just the slightest glimpse rewarded me with the sight of an eye shifting across dulled skin, nose clicking into place beside it as the man’s features seemed to rearrange themselves, turning from the unfamiliar to the far too familiar. I jerked my head back to my mother, burying my face in her shoulder. “Congratulations on the new house, by the way. Shame you had to move so far,” no, that was definitely his voice, the man who lived next door to us. Yet, just one minute prior, I could have sworn that I’d seen him outside, mowing his lawn. “But I’m sure you would have gone further had the opportunity arisen.”

My mother clutched me closer, burying me in her shoulder as she proclaimed, “Lyra’s tired, she needs to go to bed.” Her voice was quiet, almost begging. Never mind the fact that I didn’t even feel the slightest bit tired. “Please, just let me put her to bed, then we can keep talking.”

“Oh, but then she’ll miss all the fun.”

“She doesn’t need to hear about your perverse miracles,” my mother hissed. “Not now, not ever. Just let me take her to bed, then we can finalize things. I promise.” A beat, her hand clutched tighter to my back, “please.” I’ve never heard her speak like that, and I never wanted to again.

The man was swayed, my mother began to walk. She carried me, buried in her shoulder, and slowly turned out of the kitchen and climbed up the staircase. Every breath came out harshly, far more labored than her pack a day habit could create on its own.

Though her steps were hurried, it took far too long to reach my room. Time moved differently in the depths of the lavender haze, slow, fast, never at its actual speed. She sat me down on the floor in front of her, kneeling down to look me dead in the eyes. Her eyes were red and below them, her black mascara had just barely begun to run. Her lips bore chipped paint, lipstick bitten away from her lower lip.

She smiled, a hollow, empty smile; leaning forward to press her lips against my forehead. The skin stuck for a moment, signaling the transfer of burgundy lipstick to my skin.

“You’re going to be very good Lyra, aren’t you?” She asked. “You’re going to stay safe and do exactly what mommy asks you too, won’t you?”

A nod, my head moved of its own accord.

“Good,” she sighed, reaching into her back pocket. “Now, this is going to hurt, just a little bit. But you trust mommy, don’t you? You stay still and mommy will make it all go away, she’ll make it all better. You won’t have to be afraid anymore, you won’t remember a thing. Just stay still, Lyra.”

Another nod, my stomach dropping. I trusted her,