The raven looked away and crossed his legs, hiding his ring foot with his left as though that would keep me from seeing the huge rock. It didn’t.
“Poe?” I demanded, and I placed my hands on the counter next to his right foot. “If you’ve been lifting rings from the local jewelry stores... I think I might have to pluck all your feathers.” The nerve of that bird. I had enough problems without having a warrant out on his ass. Familiars weren’t exempt from thieving or other lawbreaking gambits. Plus, witches were responsible for them. If your familiar broke the Coven Law, he or she would be labeled as an Un-familiar, and they’d either be returned to the Netherworld or be destroyed, depending on the degree of the crime and the circumstances surrounding the situation.
I didn’t want either of those options. I loved Poe, but he was more than capable of driving me insane.
“Give me the ring, Poe, or I’m gonna whip your ass.”
The bird tutted. “And you kissed Logan with that mouth?”
Heat rushed to my face. My gaze flicked to my grandfather. He was slushing his gin around in his mouth like mouthwash and didn’t seem to have heard the raven.
I’d had enough. “Give it.” I reached out towards the ring with my right hand—
In a blur of black feathers, Poe lashed out, and his beak sliced into the soft flesh of my finger.
“Ow!” I cried, yanking my hand back. A nasty red welt stood where Poe had bitten me, and blood seeped through a small cut. He’d broken the skin. “I’m bleeding.” I hissed at the bird. “You made me bleed! Are you crazy?”
The raven glared at me, eyes bright with anger. “You know better than to surprise a Malphas demon. You came at me. I acted on instinct. It’s not my fault your hand got stuck in my beak.”
“Like it won’t be my fault if you accidently fall into my boiling cauldron.” I clenched my jaw. “You know damn well I was just going for that ring.”
The bird shrugged. “I’m not Colin, the boy psychic. I don’t read minds.”
A laugh escaped my grandfather, and I glowered at him.
“Don’t give me that look, girl,” he said as he refilled his glass with his cauldron-brewed gin. “You chose a raven for your familiar when you had your pick of cats. Everyone knows ravens are too wild and too unpredictable to make compatible familiars. Even a rat would have been a better choice.”
“I wanted a familiar to pick me. Not the other way around.” It had sounded right at the time, but now I wasn’t so sure anymore.
I moved towards the wicker basket next to the fridge and pulled out a pen. I drew the anti-pain sigil on my finger, just below the cut. “Sine dolore,” I breathed just as I finished drawing the sigil.
A tingle spread over my hand to my fingertips. After a few seconds, the throbbing in my finger subsided. It wasn’t a huge cut, but he had broken the skin. My own familiar had made me bleed.
I was going to kill him.
I let out a labored breath, straining to keep my anger from seeping through my pores. “Poe,” I said, trying to keep the anger from my voice. I waited for the raven to turn his black eyes on me. “Do you want to be branded as an Un-familiar? Is that what you want? Because if you don’t stop stealing, that’s exactly what’s going to happen, and I won’t be able to do anything about it.”
“You’re getting all worked up for nothing,” said the raven as he walked over to the center of the island to the wooden fruit bowl. He jumped up and clasped his claws around the rim of the bowl as he peered inside.
I pressed my hands on my hips. “It’s not nothing if you’re stealing diamond rings.”
A puff of annoyance sounded from Poe, and then he picked out a peach from the fruit bowl, jumped back down on the counter and began to tear it apart.
“You really disappoint me sometimes,” I said, thinking perhaps my grandfather was right. I should have picked the old, one-eyed, orange tabby as my familiar instead of a stubborn raven.
The large black bird looked up at me, juices trickling down his beak as he swallowed a large chunk of peach. “Did you tell your grandfather about the kiss?”
The little shit. I am going to kill that damn bird.
My grandfather set his glass on the counter and raised his brows at me. “Kiss?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What kiss? Did you get kissed, Samantha?”
How old am I? Twelve? I glared at Poe. “There’s a nice boiling cauldron upstairs with your name on it, Poe. Care to take a dip?”
The raven chuckled, cementing my anger.
Ticked, my lips parted. “I swear—”
Something gray and white shot through the open kitchen window.
My heart slammed against my chest, a spell forming on my lips, as the thing skidded to a stop on the island. It wasn’t a thing. It was a pigeon.
Poe let out a cough of laughter. “Well, I’ll be damned. A freakin’ messenger pigeon. Hallelujah. The mortal world is saved.”
“Bite me, crow,” shot the pigeon as he puffed out his chest proudly. He was a beautiful bird with gray and white feathers and a bit of purple on his wide chest. He was large for a pigeon, but he was still half the size of Poe.
The raven walked up to the pigeon slowly in a show of size and strength. “I would, but I wouldn’t want to soil my beak with the taste of pigeon servitude.”
“Servitude?” laughed the pigeon as he raised his brows indignantly. “Looks to me as if you’re the slave here. A witch’s slave. Whereas I have a job. A real job, which consists of getting paid, three weeks off a year plus benefits and a retirement plan. I have my independence, which is more than what you have.” He eyed Poe. “You’re nothing but a witch’s pet. A familiar. Bound to do what they demand. So tell me now, crow,” the pigeon mocked, “who you calling a slave?”
Poe made a strange sound in his throat. “What do you want, duck?” His words came out a tad higher than usual, and guilt tugged in my chest. I didn’t want to think of Poe as my slave, but familiars were bound to us witches and were expected to follow our instructions.
The pigeon straightened. “A message from the dark witch court.”
My grandfather came around the counter. “Who’s the message for, Tank?”
“For Samantha Beaumont,” replied the pigeon as he turned to look at me. The bird stuck out its leg, revealing a rolled-up piece of parchment clasped to it.
I stiffened, staring at the parchment. This wasn’t my first messenger pigeon. The pigeons were common in Mystic Quarter—the witches’ version of emails, just a little dirtier.
This had to do with the vampire attack last night. I was sure of it. The timing was right. After the human police conducted their primary investigation, the scene and the particular way the victim was killed would have alerted the paranormal community. Hence the pigeon.
And I was the idiot who’d forgotten to inform the court. Great.
I reached out and grabbed the piece of parchment from Tank’s leg. I looked up at the sound of wings, and my chest contracted at the sight of Poe flying out the kitchen window. Damn. He didn’t even wait to hear what the message said. Guilt swam up anew.
I took a breath, smoothed out the parchment, and began to read.