Reaper: A raven paranormal romance (Crookshollow ravens Book 2) (17 page)

“You’re the only one we know who has successfully gone rogue,” I said. “You’re not wearing your ring. And you are in a human form. You could never do that before.”

“If you had, I wouldn’t have been able to leave you alone.” Byron licked his lips.

Ingrid punched him lightly in the arm. “You haven’t changed a bit, Byron Erikson. You’re still a total man-whore.”

“And you are still smokin’ hot, even in those dungarees. There’s something sexy about a girl in dungarees ...”

Ingrid punched Byron in the leg this time, but she was smiling.

“Mikael was trying to find the witch who freed you before he was killed,” I explained. But he wasn’t having any success. She seems to have gone missing. We were wondering if you happened to know—”

Ingrid was shaking her head. I stopped talking, my heart plummeting.

“She’s dead,” Ingrid said.

“But then how—”

“I freed myself.”

I leaned forward. What did she mean, she freed herself? That wasn’t possible. “Explain.”

Ingrid tapped a pen against her knee. “As soon as I left the estate, I went to the witch Mikael had found. She was waiting for me at that old Witches’ Cemetery behind Crookshollow, preparing to perform the spell she’d concocted. It’s quite advanced magic, there were lots of crystals and incense sticks and incantations, and it took her some time to summon a circle of power. I was waiting on the outside of the circle for her to declare it time for me to enter. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shadow darting between the trees. I didn’t think much of it at first. After all, we were in the middle of the wilderness. It was probably a fox or squirrel.”

“But it wasn’t a squirrel, was it?”

“It was that wolf, Isengrim.” Ingrid shuddered. “I gathered from talking to other rogues later that this witch had been working with him to free other Bran who wanted to join his pack. But the night before my spell, he’d brought her a particularly nasty bird and demanded she free him. She refused, knowing that this bird would cause a great deal of damage if it were set free of the constraints of its master. They fought, and she told him she refused to ever perform the spell for him again, and told him she would warn other witches not to work for him.”

“Of course, none of this was known to me when I watched a wolf slink from the shadows, a still-living raven clamped in its jaws. He slunk to the edge of the circle, saw me waiting there, and gave me a wink. I croaked at the witch to get her attention, but she was so intent on her work she didn’t even look up. Isengrim slunk through the gap she’d made in the circle for me to walk through, and dropped the bird into the centre.

“The witch whirled around, and grabbed for the raven, trying to toss it out of the circle. But it transformed in her hands, becoming a large man with flowing black hair and cruel eyes. He knocked her down, its half-transformed talons slicing at her belly, and Isengrim lunged for her neck.”

Ingrid closed her eyes, the memory painful. “It was awful, there was blood everywhere, splattered across the grass, dripping down the tombstones. They disembowelled her, then used the energy she’d drawn down to finish the rite. I’d slunk back behind a grave, too petrified to run, but hoping they might leave behind enough energy that I could also break my bond. Isengrim crept over, poked his head behind the stone, and bared his teeth at me. I flew away, as far away as I could get.”

“But I don’t understand. If you didn’t perform the rite, then how are you rogue?”

“I told you. I freed myself. Everything we’ve been told about Bran and what they can and can’t do, it’s all a lie,” Ingrid said. “And the biggest lie of all is that we need our master or a witch in order to break the bond. We can do it ourselves, for we were never meant to be slaves. I went into the forest, and I hid in the trees. I spent days there, living with the other birds, listening, watching, meditating, drawing back the power of freedom, the power of the sky, the trees, the world. Day by day, the pain faded. And then, one day, I lifted my wing, and the ring just dropped off.”

“That’s impossible.”

“It’s not.” Ingrid held up her right hand. The only ring on her index finger was a small Celtic band. “See?”

“But how did you end up in human form? The whole reason we met was because Victor was trying to treat you for your inability to completely shift.”

“It was fear. I was so afraid of what the Carnarvons or Morchard would make me do in my human form, that I had internalised that fear, and it became a physical impairment. As soon as I had nothing to fear from my masters any more, I was able to change fully into my human form.” She flipped her long ponytail over her shoulder. “Now I spend most of my time in this form, except when I want to go flying. That bit is still too much fun to give up.”

“Let me get this straight.” Byron gripped the ring on his finger, wincing as it flared with heat. “You are telling me you went into the forest and just
thought,
and then this thing came off?”

“That is exactly what I’m telling you.” Ingrid met his eyes, and then mine. “We Bran have been fed so many lies in order to keep us in servitude. We have so much more power than we realise, but it’s not until you dig deep past all the bullshit that you can actually find and harness it. For fucks’ sake, we shuttle souls from one life to the next. That’s some seriously powerful stuff. It makes no sense that we’re forced to be bound to a human family.”

“No,” I agreed, thinking of Morchard’s grim face and sickening smile. “It doesn’t.”

“If you guys want to be free, you have to get back to the natural order of things, back to your base animal instincts, in order to draw that power out. I know it’s a bit hippy-dippy but I can’t really tell you much more than that, sorry.”

“I can’t fucking believe this,” Byron grimaced as he knocked his injured finger on the edge of the desk. “I’ve been living in agony for
days
thanks to my dear brother here
,
and you’re telling me all I have to do is fly into the forest, do a little bird yoga, find myself, and I’ll be free?”

“I don’t know if it works that way for every Bran,” said Ingrid. “But it worked that way for me.”

“Will you help us?” I asked. “Will you help Byron and I figure out how to be free?”

“Of course. But first, I think you probably need something to eat.”

As if in reply, Byron’s stomach rumbled loudly. Ingrid laughed. She reached under the desk and pulled out a pet cage, the kind with plastic sides and a wire front you used to take cats to the vet if you wanted your legs clawed to death through the wire mesh. “Hop in here and I’ll take you back to my place. I’ll make you a feast you’ll never forget.”

* * *

“
T
his is bullshit
,” Byron complained in caw-tongue.

“Shut up. I can’t focus if you’re talking.”

Ingrid sighed. “You’re both hopeless. I don’t how why I even bothered bringing you here.”

We were perched on one of the highest branches of an ancient oak, deep in the heart of Sherwood Forest, or at least, what was left of it after deforestation and urbanisation had claimed a major portion of the ancient wood.

Ingrid was trying to show us how she had freed herself. But between Byron’s obnoxious flirting and Ingrid’s giggling at his obnoxious flirting, and all the thoughts of Belinda running through my head, I was finding it impossible to concentrate.

When we’d gone back to her place, Ingrid had cooked us a huge dinner of roast beef, potatoes, peas, and carrots. While we ate she went out and found some clothes for us at the local Salvation Army store. The blue t-shirt and Bermuda shorts weren’t exactly my style, and Byron looked less-than-impressed with his checked shirt and slacks, but at least they allowed us to walk around in our human forms without arousing suspicion or desire.

We waited until nightfall, Byron and Ingrid chatting and flirting across the kitchen table, and me staring out of the window thinking about Belinda. When the clock struck 9pm, Ingrid hustled us into her truck, and headed out to the forest.

And there we had stayed for three hours in our raven forms, trying to find our inner bird. But all I found was thoughts of Belinda, strange thoughts that were like memories that hadn’t happened yet, vivid half-dreams where we rolled together in her bed at Raynard Hall, our limbs twisted around each other as we made frantic love.

All Byron found was frustration.

* * *

W
e went back
to the forest in the early morning, and tried again. After two hours of attempting to clear my head of Belinda, I gave up. I transformed into my human form and started climbing down from the tree. “This isn’t working.”

“It’s not going to be immediate, Cole.” Ingrid said. She was sitting under the tree we were both perched in, reading a book.

“I know that, but I think I need a break. I need something else to do for a little while, and then I’ll come back and try again later.”

“I’m due at the aviary this morning. Do you want to come with me? If you help me, I’ll be done in half the time.”

The chance to see an aviary that actually set out to help birds, instead of pump them full of drugs and viruses? “Hell yes. That sounds great.”

Byron wanted to stay in the forest, and keep trying the meditations. His finger had swollen up to about twice its usual size, and he winced every time he walked. He assured us he’d be fine on his own.

I hopped down to the ground and pulled on the clothes Ingrid had waiting there, then we walked back to her truck. Ingrid stopped at a farming supply store to pick up several large bags of bird feed. I helped her load them into the back of the truck, and then we drove up to the bird sanctuary.

“I’ve been volunteering here for three years,” Ingrid explained. “Pretty much ever since I emerged from the forest. At any one time we have over two thousand birds in the aviaries or the infirmary, and we also have tagged species in the wild we study. Scientists work out of the main research centre, which is that building,” she pointed to large building on the left of the driveway. “They monitor the wild species, as well as some of the aviary birds. A lot of students from the university come here to do internships, and we also run a great public education programme in the local schools. People in the village bring in injured birds they’ve found, and we have a really successful adoption programme.”

“What’s your role?”

“Right now, I’m run the public programmes and the adoption programme, but I also do a lot of odd jobs around the place.” Ingrid said. “When I started, I had to clean out the cages. I’ve been working my way up.”

We rode down a winding, gravel drive, moving deeper into the forest. All around me, birds in the trees chirped, their pleasant song a delightful change from the pained cries in Morchard’s aviary. Ingrid parked the car next to the long aviary cage. I jumped out and peered inside, my heart soaring to see and hear such a wonderful cacophony of different species. A dove hopped along the branch in front of me, its broken leg splinted. Above her, two rainbow lorikeets preened in the sun, croaking “Turn that TV down!” at each other.

Ingrid unlocked the small potting shed we’d hidden in the day before, and tossed me a set of grey overalls. “I know this isn’t your usual denim and leather, but around here we’re not too concerned with trying to look as though we play guitar for a heavy-metal band.”

“This is fine.” I pulled the overalls on, while Ingrid pulled on her own dungarees and moved the bags into the shed. She ripped one open and filled a bucket with feed. When I was fully kitted out, Ingrid led me into the cage.

Hundreds of birds fluttered down from the branches to peer into the bucket. They hopped around my feet, excitedly exclaiming both over the possibility of food, and the fact that a second Bran had joined Ingrid in their abode. Even though we were both in human form, the birds knew what we were.

I picked up handfuls of feed and threw it to the birds, spreading it around so everyone got a morsel. The birds skittered around me, squabbling over the food. They didn’t seem to mind me being in their space.

“What’s going to happen to these guys?” I asked.