NINETY-SIX | THE RAVEN

“Oh my God,” I whispered.

“And look, underneath the words,” Skye muttered. He himself was no longer looking into the cargo bed; he had covered his eyes with his one hand, the other clutching at my forearm as though without it he would fall into the darkness.

Beneath the word fail, as though it was underlining it, a single, shining raven feather had been placed. It gleamed like an oil spill beneath the too-white torchlight, rippling with purples and greens and glistening like undisturbed water.

“Quoth the raven,” I murmured, “’Nevermore’.”

“You – you think that’s what it means?” Skye murmured, peeping at me with one eye.

“I think we should get out of here,” I said. “You’re coming in the front. Let’s go.”

It was a tight squeeze &ndash