The Hour of the Crow

Chapter 5: The Chosen One

A soft tapping woke Arran up. He cracked one confused eye open. The lonely candle on Adira's night stand had long since burned up and the air in the room was pitch black, save for several thin rays of moonlight. He listened for a few more seconds, but when the silence stretched on uninterrupted, he lowered his head back onto the pillow.

Tap, tap.

"For the gods' sake!" He bolted upright and reached for the wooden board in front of the window, which hung right above his bed. Bright light streamed into the room as he removed the board, blinding his eyes. He waited for them to adjust, but he could have spared himself the effort; the street outside was abandoned.

"Arran?" Adira's voice, hoarse with sleep, flowed toward him from the bed on the other side of their shared space. "Arran, what are you doing?"

He motioned her to be quiet. "I thought I heard something outside."

"Heard what?"

He didn't answer. Although his eyes claimed otherwise, his instinct warned him that someone was watching him from the shadows. He felt fear's cold breath on the back of his neck, a vibe that reminded him of the three figures he had seen in the tunnels under the city. The mind warpers with auras like black holes of nothingness.

He slammed the board back in place.

"What's going on?" Adira's voice shot up at the last syllable.

Arran swung his legs out of bed and tiptoed to his sister. He crouched down beside her, enveloping her hand with his own. "Whatever happens, whatever you hear, stay in this room. Don't come looking for me."

Adira's breath quickened, in the way a prey animal's might when it detected a stalking predator. "You're scaring me."

"I'm sorry, Adira." He pressed a kiss on her forehead. "Just ... stay in here, okay?"

"Are you in trouble?"

His mouth contorted into a bitter, lopsided smile. "I don't know."

Thief.

He shivered. The mind warpers' magic pulled at him, just like it had done in the tunnels the previous day. Even if he crawled back into bed and buried himself under the sheets like a five-year-old hiding from a nightmare, his body would eventually betray him again. He'd rather not suffer the consequences of their impatience.

Come out.

Though the darkness was nearly impenetrable, Arran still begged his sister with his eyes not to thwart him now. Adira dug her nails into his flesh as he pulled away, her other hand tightening around the sheets. He stopped at the doorway, listening for his mother's familiar snoring, and only slipped through the curtain when he got confirmation that the coast was clear.

Their house was barely big enough to lodge three adults, yet the route from his bedroom to the front door seemed to take up an eternity. Despair clawed into his chest, its razor-sharp talons sinking deeper into his heart with every step he took. For perhaps the hundredth time that day, he cursed himself for having raided Villa D'Ohara. If he'd been able to turn back time, he would have discouraged himself from proceeding with the burglary against his better judgment.

Since no lanterns lit up the alleys in Arran's neighborhood—contrary to the wealthier districts—he had to put his trust in the moonlight to prevent himself from tripping over his own feet. His blood turned into acrid venom as he contemplated the injustice of such a simple detail. Yet, he forgot about his bitterness again as soon as he switched to Aura Vision and spotted the mind warpers' auras at a disturbingly close distance.