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A cry tore through the air as the injured black wings, no longer capable of flight, flapped futilely in the air, in a desperate attempt to break the fall. The rushing air mussed the feathers, further destroying the former elegance of the dark plumage.
Terrified heart rattled in the slender chest as even escaping the assailant above meant only destruction from the impact of what lay below.
There was a snap.
Suddenly everything stilled, the fall interrupted without the expected impact.
“For future reference, hawks do not good playmates make,” a voice sounded right next to him and before the crow had a chance to protest, a pair of hands grasped him firmly. A moment later the air started moving again but it was no longer at the rushing speed spelling lethal impact.
He tried to flap his wings again but the hands stopped him and the sudden increase of pain swiftly reminded him why it was a problem in the first place.
“Hold still, would you? I need to get you somewhere where I can get a proper look at it,” the voice sounded again, and the panic relented enough that the crow allowed himself to take a look at the creature holding him.
It looked vaguely human-shaped but the keen avian eye detected something not quite right with the image. How would humans look with wings unfurled anyway? The crow never really thought about it before, preferring to avoid them altogether.
Before he knew it, they were both on the ground and the pain in his wings turned into a strange itching sensation. He tried flapping them again, now that the creature wasn’t holding him as firmly.
“No, stay still,” the hands immobilised the wing again. He tried to caw indignantly but it came out more like a chirp. “You don’t want to strain your wings immediately after they’ve been miracled together. Trust me, I’ve been there, it’s no fun.”
The crow relented and a moment later noticed that there was some fabric holding his wing to his side. Which was odd because he didn’t remember allowing himself to be touched by any fabric. The sensation was mildly annoying but at least the wing wasn’t hurting any longer and the stranger didn’t seem to mean him harm.
“I think it would be better if you stayed like this for a bit. Gosh, but you’re skin and bones under those feathers. What do you even eat? You know what, I know a pretty unkempt orchard with lots of wormy apples and a walnut grove nearby. Between those I’m sure we’ll find you some snacks.”
The crow didn’t really know how they got to the new place with the fruit trees when he didn’t notice any significant movement but two hours later he was a very content, sated and drowsy bird. And for some reason a short nap near the stranger didn’t even sound like a bad idea.
III
Crowley looked at the young crow with something that decidedly was not tenderness because demons don’t even know the meaning of that word (which, perhaps, was for the best because the look on his face was dangerously close to tender and caring).
Chippy’s wing was fully healed now and the bandage had been removed over a week ago but the creature still insisted on staying close to him. Which might have been a result of suddenly decreased confidence after the hawk attack or the wing still not being at its full strength. In either case, he supposed, making sure the bird was well fed and got plenty of exercise under some supervision would probably remedy the problem easily enough.
The bird stretched his wing, allowing the sun to catch in the feathers, bringing out the opalescent green on the shiny black. Apparently satisfied with the effects of the preening, Chippy hopped closer to Crowley to accept an offered walnut before taking off into the air. It gained height, did a little circle overhead and disappeared over the trees.
Black wings cut through the air expertly, making the demon think the bird was really overcautious, insisting on staying so close.
A very self-satisfied caw brought Crowley back to the window just in time to see something shiny drop onto the floor. He bent to pick it up, discovering a silver button, shiny, with some slightly worn decor. He looked back to Chippy, who looked very proud of himself.
“Don’t tell me you decided to accessorise now.”
“Caw.”
“I know black and silver go with everything but your feathers really don’t need any additions.”
The bird looked slightly offended.
“Caw-crra!”
“Don’t give me that.”
“Cark”
“Now you’re just fishing for compliments. I’ve got some hazelnuts and wild berries, want some?”
“Ca.”
“You know, these supposedly give people inspiration. Just don’t go getting any ideas.”
“Caw.”
III
Crowley knew better than to roll his eyes when Hastur, in full seriousness declared that he had tempted a soldier to accept bribes from people coming late to the gates. Still, it was a close one. But one had to remain impassive during those boring meetings or others would start paying attention to you (he really wished Hell finally figured out a way to send him messages without dragging him miles away from home to some appropriately dreary location)
“What about you, Crowley?”
Crowley swore internally, as only a demon who’d spent the last month staying inside until the weather decided to be a little less damp could.
“Me, uh, you know, this and that, proper demonic work.”
“Doesn’t sound like proper demonic work to me. What have you done to secure the souls for our Master?”
“Oh, lots, all proper inventive work, promoting sloth, what in keeping with the season.”
“That’s it? ”
A chest filled with buttons made of precious metals and several rings came to Crowley’s mind.
“Of course not. I’ve also been encouraging plenty of theft, building up frustration in the local community, proper groundwork for evil, as I’m sure you understand. Didn’t want to say anything before the tarnish on the souls was properly noticeable. You can’t rush those things.”
Predictably, Hastur started muttering about Crowley not doing proper demonic work but at least he was off his back for now.
III
“You know, Chippy, you should really find some other hobbies. We’re running out of space for your treasures,” Crowley grumbled, miracling the chest bigger without any apparent problem.
“Caw,” the bird looked smug. Crowley had a sneaking suspicion that he was the one Chippy learned that smugness from.
“Maybe you should find yourself some friends?”
“Ca!”
“I don’t count. Other bird friends, I mean. To do bird things with.” The demon frowned. Maybe the lack of company was what was keeping the bird so insistently close to him?
“Craw.”
“I’m not saying you’re not good at helping me with the demonic work. Speaking of, how does looming on a tall tree near the cemetery in the evening sound?
“Ca?”
“I need some proper setting for a job Hell mandated. If that bunch of humans can’t be bothered to make a ritual and barter their souls in some nice inn, we can at least try to give it a decent background. Simply standing up to your ankles in mud would be just embarrassing otherwise.”
“Craa.”
“Supper is on me, after. It’s grapes and fish.”
“Caw.”
“Deal.”
III
Finding some company for Chippy wasn’t all that hard, all things considered, when one kept an eye open for any instances of crow hatchlings falling out of their nests.
“Caw.”
“I’m not making you nanny them. I’m just saying you could give them a chance. They just need someone to show them the ropes.”
“Ca!”
“Well, I’m hardly in a position to do it, am I? I’m not even a bird.”
“Caw.”
“Fine, you tell that lot what’s what and I’ll get you some berries.”
“Caw.”
“If you want worms you’re catching them yourself.”
“Ca!”
“Fine, I know where to get some clams.”
When the hatchlings grew up into enthusiastic young birds Crowley resignedly miracled the crow treasure chest into a huge brass-bound storage trunk.
III
“Now let us recount the deeds of the day,” Hastur announced with emphasis that would be much more justified if they weren’t all lurking just outside of town, near the place where local stables piled the manure. He was likely the only one not to notice the smell. Crowley really wanted to be done with this report already.
“Oh, you know, the usual. Propagating theft, been looking into encouraging murder lately.”
Hastur looked vaguely impressed.
As soon as Crowley got home, the murder, feeling very encouraged, pestered him for treats before he could even have a bath to get rid of the smell.