Chapter 3

Iblinked fast and placed a palm against the mirror.

Solid.

Staring back were my own eyes.

I breathed deeply, remembering the times my mother would slip into some type of trance. Her eyes would roll to the back of her head, and she'd be stuck in that state anywhere from a few minutes to a few hours.

Stars. I hoped I hadn't been standing there for hours.

Before heading back to my room, I looked again in the mirror, a sense of longing fluttering within me. How I wished my mother were still alive. I missed her so badly my chest tightened. If there was someone who could explain what was happening to me, why I suffered with this strange affliction, it was her.

My parents worshipped nature as their deity, and when my mom fell into this hypnotic stupor, Dad would tell me she was communing with the elemental spirits. That theytold her things no one else knew.

Elemental spirits? I recalled looking at my dad like he had horns sprouting from his head. But I never questioned him further. I just thought Mom was strange, which was fine by me. She was still my mom and I loved her any which way.

As I stared at my mirror, I realized how dumb and na?ve I had been to think of her as strange, dismissing her uniqueness simply because I hadn't understood who she was—what she was. I knew I'd been just a child, but I still regretted not asking more questions, not asking her to share her secrets with me. Things would've likely still not made sense to me then, but now that I was grown, I might've had a better understanding of who I was. I'd since accepted that there was something different about me, even if after all this time all I had were more questions than answers. Though at least now, I had a face and a name.

Azrael. My angel and my tormentor.

Putting my palm back on the mirror, a deep and demanding need settled over my heart. The desire to see my mystery man one more time made my entire body ache. But why? I had no idea why he intrigued me so much.

After all the years of hunting for him in my dreams, he'd finally revealed himself to me, and the shock of it all made my blood burn wild. An electric current ran up and down my spinal column as I recalled the intensity of his sapphire-colored eyes and the hatred buried in them.

That pain. A pain so real he bled from his eyes.

And his teeth. He bore the maw of an animal, of a monster. And yet, the fear in my veins spiked with fascination. I wanted to know more. Needed to.

I peered into the mirror, hoping to will it to change, to show me that place, that world. To show me him.

Nothing.

I concentrated harder, making my head pound, and as I focused all my energy on the image of his face, the culprit for my broken window suddenly made a clacking sound, startling me and knocking me out of concentration.

My avian patient had walked all the way from the window and into the bathroom. It stood by my feet, staring up at me. That dark, beady gaze tunneling into me. What was with this bird and looking at me as if it was hiding some secret?

Sighing and reaching for a hand towel to dry my face, I said, "I guess you weren't part of the dream after all?" With one last glance at the mirror, I reluctantly gave up on trying to summon him.

I shook my head.

As if I had a clue how to even do that.

Bunching up my shoulders, I inhaled deeply then let the air out slowly, needing to calm the shivers skating over my skin. But the fright—the inkling something had changed, that something wasn't right about this new vision—wouldn't leave me. I tried to abandon those thoughts to focus on what I'd originally gone in the bathroom to do. I bent down and scooped up my little patient in the towel.

To my surprise, it didn't protest much, but it did give me a non-threatening peck as I gently touched its silky, black wing. I opened it, stretching it as far as I could without causing it too much discomfort, feeling along the edges and lightly pressing on the bones to determine if it'd broken it. There was a bit of blood at the shoulder joint from the impact as it shattered the glass, but thankfully, the bones did not feel fractured in any way.

"You're a lucky guy," I said. "Or gal." I had no way of knowing its sex. "The good news is, looks like you dislocated your shoulder. The bad news is… this may hurt a tad." I held on snuggly as I positioned the wing and tugged with enough force to knock the bone back in place. There was a slight cracking sound, and the bird squirmed and tried to peck my fingers, but it lasted a moment once it realized it was no longer in pain.

It didn't give me a hard time as I wrapped the wing in a typical figure eight bandage for added precaution. I found a medium-sized box in my closet, which I cushioned with a small blanket before putting the crow inside. "There, all better."

It sat on its legs as if warming an egg and closed its eyes. Poor thing was exhausted from the trauma. My gaze settled over its body, admiring the plumage. Black as night and shimmering with an iridescent blue hue whenever the light hit the feathers at certain angles, the color looked almost liquid in nature. The crow was an impressive-looking bird, but sadly, it would be a while before it could fly again. What a shame. And what if it left a mate behind?

"Sorry, luv," I said. "It's you and me now. But I'll take good care of you, promise. And I guess if I'm going to have you as a new roomie for a bit, I might as well give you a name."

As I ran a finger along its head, its eyes opened, then closed again, as if enjoying my touch. "Dark. Mysterious. Creepy." I smiled as I thought for a second. "How about…Shadow? Sorta fits, right?" He didn't open his eyes or flinch. "Shadow it is, then."

As I placed the box on top of my bed, another icy gust of wind blew through my broken window. Darn it. My landlord was one hundred percent going to yell at me for this, and if I'd learned anything from the other tenants, we would be waiting quite a while before he fixed it. I needed to find another way to cover up that hole in the meantime or I would freeze to death.

Unable to tolerate the cold any longer, I slipped into a pair of black leggings and a cream-colored, oversized knit sweater. I sat on my bed and winced. The throbbing on the side of my head was growing stronger. I needed to draw to help ease the pain.

I still had about an hour before I needed to be across town for work. Not to mention CJ was due to come home from her second job, which meant she'd interrupt my drawing session.

She worked at the hospital as an orderly during the day, and at night she moonlighted as a DJ. Last night had been Friday night, one of the busiest clubbing nights in the city. She'd likely played at a couple of clubs, crashed for a few hours at one of her friend's couches, grabbed breakfast, and was on her way home to shower and clean up before heading back out to the hospital. Only to head back out to the clubs again. I had no clue how she did it.

Not wanting to waste a single second, I rushed to my kitchen and rummaged through my kitchen drawers looking for a rogue pencil. There had to be one somewhere someplace.

For crying out loud, I was a sketch artist. Having spare pencils stashed in every corner should have been my number one rule of life.

Then. Bingo.

In the very back corner of the random crap drawer was an unsharpened, emoji-themed pencil with a chipped eraser. Just perfect. My mystery man finally decided to reveal his face, and all I had was a cruddy dollar store party favor?

It would have to do. I had to draw, and at this point I was willing to use anything, even my own blood if it came down to it. This time, though, it would be more than a drawing. This time, I had the missing key piece to the puzzle haunting me for years.

After coveringup the hole in the window with the lid of a cardboard box and some tape, I put a kettle on the stove. Chamomile and vanilla tea did wonders to ease a troubled mind. I dropped in a tablespoon of honey before pouring the hot water into my favorite mug. While my tea steeped, I leaned against my kitchen counter, turned toward our living space, startling myself when I realized how furiously I'd been drawing the last few hours.

Drawings of a castle lit in flames littered my exposed-brick walls, images of the witch burning on a pyre lay scattered on the hardwood floors, and random images of people and places I'd seen in my recent dreams were strewn across the entire living area. The apartment wasn't very large, and aside from my full-sized bed, night table, small armoire, and a tiny dining table for two, the only other furniture was a love seat and my desk. With all my crap scattered all over the place, it looked like a hurricane had barreled through our living room. CJ was not going to appreciate the mess, despite knowing about my affliction.

As the kettle went off, CJ stormed in through the door, her short purple hair still spiked with gel. She stopped short as she scanned the room, her deep brown eyes finally settling over me. They were bloodshot from little sleep, but they widened to twice their size. Her bronze skin tone made her look glowy despite how tired I knew she was.

CJ was my ride-or-die. Like me, she'd lost her parents when she was just a little girl. Difference was, they lost custody of her when she was merely six years old due to drug-trafficking and living in squalor.

With no next of kin, we both ended up in the foster care system. She bounced from foster home to foster home because of her challenging behaviors.

My blood sizzled at those words—it was the same thing they used to say about me. Try being torn away from your parents and thrown to live with strangers who rarely made you feel welcomed. See if you wouldn't have issues.

We were kids forced to grow up real fast. The things we experienced… no kid should ever live through that.

The state of Arizona thought we were troublemakers and believed deep in their hearts they were saving us—that they were doing what was in our best interest. If only. Until you've lived it, you'll never understand the hardship of being a foster kid.

It's why I became a runner, and it was during one of my runs when I met CJ.

But eventually we ran out of places to crash, and we grew too hungry to care where our next meal came from so long as it came. It wasn't long before we found our way back to the system. Couldn't say they weren't trying to help. It wasn't like we had any other place to go.

But one year, they ran out of foster homes willing to take us, and fed up with our behavior, the state of Arizona sent us off to the Winslow Group Home for Troubled Girls.

In other words, a prison for kids. Those memories would be forever forged into our skulls.

Without taking her eyes off me, she slowly placed her bags on the floor by the entrance, her lips parting.

"I'm gonna clean everything up, I promise. After I finish drawing my latest vision."

She looked around again, her mouth agape. "All this…was from one vision?"

"Well, not exactly. I had a dream and woke up early and just started drawing, then this crow crashed through our window," I said, pointing at the patched-up pane. "Then I was in the bathroom, and I went through the mirror?—"

"You went through the mirror?"

I closed my eyes and puffed out a breath. Even though she knew I suffered from these dreams and visions, I also knew how preposterous I sounded. "Not literally. I mean, yes, I went through the mirror, but not physically, if that makes sense."

She walked up to me and wrapped her arms around me in a silent hug. I returned it, and even though she was much shorter than me, I caved into her embrace. She didn't need to say a single word to make me feel safe and to make me feel like I wasn't losing my mind. When we pulled away, she pursed her heart-shaped lips, still stained with her dark purple lipstick. "Don't worry about the mess. I'm more concerned about that window."

"If Chuck doesn't get it fixed, I'll take care of it."

Tugging on one of her silver cross earrings, she strolled over to the window. Dressed in her tight, ripped black jeans and short cropped leather jacket, CJ showcased all her dangerous curves, making sure she didn't step on any broken shards with her Converse sneakers as she looked over the broken window.

"I already cleaned all that up, but I'll double check."

Shadow squawked, making her jump. "Shit," she said, putting a hand to her heart, the four roman numeral tattoos inked above her knuckles reminding me of our bond. We'd both gotten the numbers one through four tattooed on our right hand as a reminder of the four years we survived together at the Winslow Home. She peeked inside the box on my bed. "So, we have a pet bird now, huh?"

"Only until I know he's okay. I plan to bring him to Lola's."

"She'll let you bring in a stray crow?"

"I work my ass off in that pet store for what she pays me—she owes me. Plus, even though he won't be for sale, an exotic bird like this will probably still attract more customers. Speaking of which, I need to hurry up and finish this drawing before I'm late for work."

As I headed toward my desk, CJ said, "Don't forget about tonight, by the way." The edge of her tone clearly indicated she thought I'd forgotten.

I hung my head. I had forgotten. Damn it.

The reminder she'd left me sat on top of the kitchen table under stacks of other papers. It was a small, wallet-sized, crimson-colored card made of some velvety material with the word Requiem etched across in gold and black lettering.

Requiem was the new underground invite-only nightclub in town, and CJ had somehow scored two invites. She was desperately trying to break into the dark, electronic music deejaying scene, and landing a gig at Requiem would be her golden ticket.

She'd been begging me for days to accompany her, but with the resurgence of my nightmares, my headaches had been debilitating. Enduring a night of ear-pounding beats at Requiem wasn't on my priority list.

"Avery?" she said more firmly. "I need to RSVP before noon."

I had a feeling there was no way I was going to finish my drawing before work, and not tonight if I went to Requiem.

"You know how much this means to me," she continued. "And I really want you there."

I did know how much Requiem meant to her. Music had seen her through some of the darkest moments of her life—it's how she coped, and now she wanted to give back.

She'd been working on a set for months. Getting an invite to Requiem was like winning the lottery. I still didn't know how she'd done it, but it was an opportunity she couldn't miss.

I offered her a warm smile. "CJ, even if I said no, you'd drag me kicking and screaming."

A sparkle shimmered in her eyes, matching the glimmer of her diamond stud nose ring. "So that's a yes?"

"Is Ricky gonna be there?" I asked, rolling my eyes. Even saying his name made my tongue feel icky.

She pursed her lips, cocking her hip to the side. "Ricky is who got me the invite. Of course he'll be there."

I grunted. Ricky Williams was one of her new DJ friends, and every time we were in the same room, something beneath my skin prickled. Ever since she'd met him, he'd been up her ass and pretty much absorbed my best friend.

"What?" she asked, as if she didn't know why it annoyed me to hear his name.

"Something's off about him. I keep telling you that."

"You just don't know him like I do."

"I don't trust him."

"You don't trust anyone. Not even your own shadow."

I gave her a pointed stare. "There are reasons for that."

"You sound edgy. What's going on?"

I sighed. Ricky wasn't the only thing making the hairs on my skin bristle. "It's been an interesting morning, that's all."

"The vision or the crow?"

"Both." I glanced over to the clock—it was almost nine. "Shoot."

"What is it?"

"I have thirty minutes to get to work."

"Okay. I'll let you finish your thing. But don't forget about tonight."

"I won't. Aren't we getting ready together anyway?"

"Can't. I'm going straight to the club after my shift."

As CJ ran to her room to put on her scrubs, I stared at the blank canvass waiting for me, the eyes of the man who had finally revealed himself materializing in front of me, begging me to put my fingers to work. Heavens, the man—creature—whatever he was, was inhumanly perfect.

Shaking my head, I inhaled deeply and pinched the bridge of my nose. I struggled to find the words to describe what I felt. It was this nudging tightness at the back of my skull, a sensation, or a premonition of some sort. As if I knew deep in my subconscious there was more. As if finally seeing his face was only the start of the beginning.

There had been a shift, like a gear was set in motion, and I could feel it in my blood, this fiery ripple growing warmer and warmer, warning me something big was coming.

Until now, my dreams and visions had been like stepping into a movie and observing the action in 3D. This time, I felt like a character in a story for which I'd yet to see the script.

I couldn't help but wonder why he'd chosen now to show his face? Why had he cried tears of blood? Who was the woman he wept for, and why was she burned at the stake?

Questions. Questions. And more questions. That's all I ever had after every vision. It seemed now I was about to start getting some answers. A truth existed out there, of that I was certain. The tingle in my veins told me there had to be an explanation for all of this.

And I wouldn't rest until I unearthed every single secret buried in my dreams.

As much as it killed me to leave without finishing his portrait, I had to make it to work on time or I'd have to listen to Lola complain.

Before heading out, I checked on Shadow. Slightly turned to the side, its head rested on top of its shoulder. Poor thing was still sleeping. I put a small bowl with water inside the box and gently caressed its crown. "See you later, my little Shadow."

Before heading out, I slipped into a pair of fluffy winter boots and a long coat, then slid a slouchy hat over my head and a pair of fingerless gloves over my hands. Slinging a messenger bag over my shoulder, I hollered to CJ, "Heading out. I'll see you at the club tonight."

"Leaving in five myself," she shouted back from her bedroom. "Don't be late tonight. Remember I want to pregame."

"Don't worry. I'll be there," I said, darting out the front door.

I lived on the corner of Eastern Parkway and Bedford Avenue, a block away from Brooklyn's lively Franklin Street, the neighborhood's up-and-coming main drag, home to all the new trendy hipster shops and cafes.

Many of the nineteenth century-built structures still standing were being torn down or remodeled into modern versions of their vintage past, making room for the new wave of residents spilling in to stake their claim of the new and hottest neighborhood not ending in ‘burg'.

Our apartment was on the fifth floor of one of the remaining relics. The building was so old, it still housed a birdcage elevator no one was brave enough to use. The thing was a death trap in my opinion.

When we first moved into the building, no one bothered to warn us the elevator was temperamental and rarely functioned properly. I wound up locked inside between floors for twelve hours before the fire department freed me.

That was the first and last time I used the damn thing. It also meant my legs enjoyed an extreme workout every day.

As I exited the front entrance of my building, a gust of wind hit my face like a million tiny blistering-cold needles stabbing at my skin. It made my eyes water, tears streaming down my face in icy rivers.

I pulled a scarf from my messenger bag and wrapped it snuggly around my neck, covering the lower part of my face to protect it from the arctic wind assailing the city. Luckily, I didn't have a long trek to the subway station.

As I took off on my sprint-walk, I glanced up at the electrical wires and my heart shivered. The crows were all gone. Roomie had lost his flock. Poor Shadow. At least he had me.

Remnants of the prior week's winter storm covered the sidewalks in small mounds of dirty, frozen snow. The sun shone brightly, but no amount of sunshine could melt the ice on this rimy February morning.

I walked, that weird sensation still tickling the back of my skull. Everywhere I turned, I found strangers staring at me as if they knew me.

The notion sparked a nervous energy in my muscles, prompting my legs to move faster. Perhaps it was the way my morning had started that had me in a state of paranoia.

People didn't know me; there was nothing special about me to cause heads to turn or eyes to pause over me. My body was probably still on edge from the nightmare.

Not wanting to dwell on the silly thoughts swirling in my mind, I tucked myself tighter into my coat and scurried away to catch my train, careful not to make eye contact with anyone, not even my own reflection in the glass windows of the subway car.