Yet what if she had already come back as a human, or worse yet, he came back to earth again with no recollection of who or what he was? Neither he nor Libraean had heard word from the Council, Anubis, or any other unearthly creature since the Night War—what if there was no one left who remembered him? His mind then drifted to Libraean, who was patiently waiting out his own life underground.
Although he could never disclose it to him, David often wondered if it was more difficult to have him so close in proximity, serving as a constant reminder of what was. Some days, he considered taking his leave of him, that maybe in doing so, the long years would finally rob him of his memories for good, giving him the chance to disappear into the world a different man with a different name. But he couldn’t will himself to abandon Libraean as had been done to him before, and although he couldn’t recall feelings of paternal love for the creature, he’d grown to care for him deeply. It did help that Libraean preferred solitude, politely declining David’s standing offer to reside with him in the manor, even though the accommodations were far more comfortable than in the vaults. But to leave him to die alone, the last creature left on earth, that David simply could not do.
He had flown home before the sun could go any higher, tumbling through the open window of his parlor and draping himself across the floor under the shadows, waiting for the old familiar despondency to creep back in.
David’s memories were interrupted by the loud squawk of a crow, which had landed right at the windowsill. It blended seamlessly against the evening sky, its glistening eyes the only thing distinguishing it from the darkness. It was too late in the evening for crows, but David knew this was no ordinary corvid. He smiled to himself, appreciating the coincidence. “I was just talking about you,” he told the statuesque bird.
But the crow looked grim, clicking its talons impatiently on the pane. It was one of the largest crows David had ever seen, so much so that he initially mistook him as a raven, until he realized that it was the same crow who found him on the battlefield, so many years ago. He was weathered but strong, ruffled plumage at the back of his neck as if he’d once been caught in a fight but won. The crow visited him so often after that initial meeting, that David soon figured out he had been sent to keep vigil over him in her absence. He’d taken to calling him Grip, his weekly visits bringing David comfort during some of his bleakest periods.
“Are you here because you anticipate my impending sorrow or have you taken on the role of harbinger of death?” David asked him, as his fingers found his dying companion’s hair.
It cawed in reply, the guttural sound echoing throughout the guest room.
“I suppose I will miss her company, though it was brief,” David admitted. “It brought me solace to have someone near who knows what I am. Besides Libraean, of course.”
The crow lifted its plumed wings and in a sweep of black, flew across the room to land on the bust of Athena that David kept on the fireplace, one of the few items he’d salvaged from the Ancient World. The bird looked even more ominous next to the polished white marble, the image evocative of the dual entities that were Morgana—the patron goddess of Delicia, commanded by the Morrigan’s crow. The bird stared at him patiently, his claws wrapped around the narrow shoulder of the forgotten war goddess as it squawked once more.
His companion suddenly shifted, though she was still unconscious, turning her head towards the sound. A thin line of red trickled down from the corner of her lips as they parted, letting out a soft, curious murmur, “My crows…”
David's mouth went dry.
“What did you say?”
The crow boldly darted towards them, landing right on the narrow dip of her side. David’s eyes widened as dozens more of his kind entered the room, a flurry of onyx feathers soaring in through the open window and settling around the guest room, flapping their wings as they settled into their positions.
David’s entire being was now rigid with shock, staring at the congregation that flocked around him. Grip turned to face him from his womanly perch, opening its mouth once more to scold him. He relocated to the bedpost when David finally heeded his instruction, gently rolling his companion onto her back.
Her face was serene, already settling itself into the blank expression common in the deceased. He almost didn’t dare speak her name, reluctant even to hope. “Morrigan?” he whispered, choking on the syllables.
She could not respond, but the frustrated crows that invaded their room called out a response for her.
“Goddamn it, no!” he cursed, leaping up from the bed and darting across the room with unnatural speed, leaving the corvidian mass behind him. He reached the vaults in seconds to greet a visibly shaken Libraean, who had been peacefully reclined across his couch with a book. He fumbled for his glasses.
“It...it is your mother,” David panted, so panicked that he spoke plain. “Please come, she is dying.”
Libraean bolted to his feet, the movement sending the glasses which had been resting on his lap to the ground. He scooped them up and shoved them back on his now colorless face, grabbing his overcoat with shaking hands and following him up the stairwell of the vault.
Although Libraean moved at a significantly slower pace, they both reached the guest room within moments, David throwing open the door with such urgent force that it nearly fell from its hinges.
The crows fluttered in surprise, but remained fixed in their respective places, dozens of beady black eyes observing their arrival. Libraean gasped at the sight of them.
His companion had not moved, draped across the bed like a beautiful, broken doll, her arms bent awkwardly where David had left her.
“My gods,” Libraean whispered, as he limped around the birds to the bedside. He felt for her pulse, his eyes swimming with sadness. “David, I’m quite sure she has already passed.”
“Nonsense, I would see her spirit rise,” he argued, climbing onto the bed to take her back into his arms.
“Ah, yes, your clairvoyance,” Libraean remembered.
Her lips had parted, the slightest bit of steam rising up from her mouth against the chill wind drifting through the open window. The more David studied her, observing her raven hair and bony face, picturing her blue eyes grayed by sickness, the more he was convinced. How hadn’t he seen it before? “We must do something,” he pleaded.
“I know you’ve been waiting for her for centuries, but there is nothing that can be done,” Libraean sighed, gazing wistfully at her as he spoke.
“Not true,” David disagreed. “I can turn her into one like me.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Libraean sputtered in surprise. “You should know most of all what happens to a mind forced to live and kill for centuries. You and I are outliers, taking this damned curse along with us when we die—putting an end to this madness! You cannot make another blood drinker. You would be cursing her again, like you and Lucius did so many years ago. She would never forgive you.”
David felt tears, dormant for decades, begin to surface. “If she has come back, then it means something has gone wrong,” he insisted as he swallowed them. He added, softly, “She would not come back just for me.”
“Don’t say that…”
“You know it is true. We have not seen Lucius in years, neither have we received correspondence from the Council nor any other gods. Something may have happened—we cannot be certain that Lucius is still contained.”
Libraean was quiet.
“And I miss her, Libraean,” he whispered as a stubborn tear finally escaped his stony facade. “More than you know.” He wiped at his face in annoyance.
Libraean looked down at where she lay. “Then I will do it,” he decided.
“Absolutely not—”
“It is the only way I will allow it,” Libraean cut him off. “My soul has been unblemished for millenniums, my sins long been absolved. Perhaps my blood will ensure that she keeps her goodness throughout it all.”
“But you haven’t been a true blood drinker for centuries,” David protested.
“I may have been forgiven and allowed to age, but Lucius’s blood still runs through my veins, however it has been transmuted since I first turned.”
David was torn, his conscience battling his selfish desire. “But you have worked so long for absolution, how can you simply throw it away?” he continued his dispute.
