The City of Crows by Bethany Lovejoy (great books to read .txt) 📕

his eyes drifting down to the ground sheepishly. “I don’t exactly have an up to date copy.”

“What. Do. You. Mean?” Finally, I reached the far corner of the bookstore, turning him around to face me and gripping both of his shoulders, my body leaning invasively into his space. “Obviously not, if you wrote down my name with magic ink.” Scanning him, I demanded, “the paper, please. I want your copy, everyone thinks that their blend of ink is so special, but it’s not. I’m not going to have my name on your looseleaf and risk a human finding it.” When he didn’t immediately provide it, I held out my hand, flexing my fingers towards him. “My address, please. You have no right to keep it.”

He blinked at me, nervously looking around. For some reason he avoided my eyes, as if I too would out him. Foolish, he was the one who had risked my identity in a human shop.

After a moment, he relented, his hand dipping into his pocket. Slowly, he withdrew a plain white piece of printer paper, presenting a sheet that was folded several times into a small triangle. I blinked at it, confused. Normal wizards mixed their own blends of paper, it was one of the few ways to ensure that their magic was carried out. Of course, just like every other form of magic, they dissolved when wettened. The curse of weakening ties to the universe, we were now subject to the elements.

I snatched the triangle out of his hand, quickly unfolding it. His mouth opened as if he was going to speak, but then he quickly changed his mind. Finally, I reached the last of the creases, expecting to see clean, efficient handwriting in an ever-changing account of my address.

Instead, there was a photocopy. An aged, wrinkled photocopy with god knows how many coffee stains and an assortment of handwritten notes on it, locations on my street crossed off.

“You’re…”

His eyes were pleading, I didn’t need to hear him say it. Still, he obliged me, beginning to explain himself, like whatever he wanted somehow mattered more than my quality of living. “Listen, I didn’t know that--I mean, this is--” He paused, taking in my angered demeanor. “I tried to call your mother, as did my father and my grandfather before him, they even tried to go to her address. She didn’t respond, she didn’t--”

“I can’t help you--” I began curtly.

“You’re the only person who can,” he insisted, somehow stepping even more impossibly close to me. “Listen, I am desperate, and you’re the only name that’s left, I’m just a human and I need you to--” He was just another one of those magic chasers, the ones who had a dream but didn’t have the common sense to realize that it would all melt away with their first shower. They showed up from time to time, more so in Magictown than anywhere else, people who had read stories about witches and their long-gone powers.

The bell to the shop rang, a clear chime hitting the air and causing me to wince. I heard the door nearest the cash register open too, Emma stirred by the sound of new customers and the reassurance that the old ones had left had rentered the shop floor. I looked to the man with an expression that begged him not to speak anymore, my hand tightly wrapped around his wrist.

He got more from that than he should have. He swallowed, his eyes settling on my face as a decision was made. “There’s a list, and you’re on it; my father and grandfather worked on it. Nineteen witches and wizards, not a single one has picked up. I’m going to write down my number,” he began, his voice low and careful, “and you’re going to call it once you’re done here.” He looked unsure of himself with that statement, but he added the nails in the coffin, even thought it was obvious that he didn’t want to. “You’re the only person who can help me and… If you don’t, I’ll have to do something stupid,” he said, flinching at his own statement.

Stupid. I could only guess what that meant, the murmur of conversation in the front reminding me of one thing I had to lose. “Listen--”

“No, you listen--” He said, tearing his forearm out of my grasp to reach for his sketchbook. He withdrew a thin black pen, writing numbers upon the paper with a flourish. “You are the only person who can help me and I’m sorry, but I’m desperate. If you don’t help me, I…” He paled, shaking the thought out of his head as he ripped the corner off of his drawing, presenting it to me with a flourish. “I won’t but, if I got really desperate, maybe I’ll--” He floundered, his face reddening as he took in my frightened expression. “Well I might just tell some people what you are,” he said with a nervous glance towards the front of the store.

Did he see the way that my eyes widened? That they reddened and threatened to boil over with tears? Or did he understand that revealing me would be far too cruel? I humored him, only slightly. He didn’t seem well versed in this world, I tried to inform him why seeking out a witch was of no use to him. “Whatever you need, it better be a momentary desire because--” My pulse raised, refusing to take the sheet of paper from his hand.

Well, at first at least. Another ring sounded, another customer entered the shop. I flinched, my eyes drawn to his once more. There was something about him, about the way that he genuinely asked for my help. It was more than that though, restless puppy eyes had never moved me before, but the danger of being exposed, of losing my cozy job and my shitty apartment? That moved me.

I hesitantly offered my hand, his closing around it as he handed the paper to me. His touch