There’s no dust on the surface of the lid, a testament to it having been shoved in the back of my closet for so long, buried beneath old handbags, worn-out shoes, and tatty scarves. Thebox itself is made of thick cardboard, slightly larger than a shoebox, and decorated with the wallpaper that adorned Ed’s bedroom for nearly six years.
Grief fights with my adrenaline, this memory so stark, it almost punctures my chest. I remember him choosing the geometric wallpaper in the DIY store, my father paying someone to come and hang it, and Ed asking if there were any offcuts. My father hated it, saying it made him feel dizzy, but Ed loved it, the triangular design saying something to him that no one else could hear.
Swallowing my tears, I pull the lid off quickly, like a plaster from a wound.
It takes me a few moments before I can bring myself to touch his things.
As expected, his wallet, phone, and keys all stare at me, the familiarity of these inconsequential items almost choking me. Ed was forever losing his keys, so every year I bought him a new keyring that he would add to the bunch in the hope that they would be so large, it would be impossible to lose them.
I gave him so many over the years that he whittled it down to his favourites, and it breaks my heart to see the large redEI gave him one Christmas and the stainless steel one that reads “Thank you for being my brother.” And then there’s the silver one I remember seeing in a souvenir shop. I got it because Ed went through a phase of drawing birds, but the significance of it now has me holding my breath.
The keyring is of two birds facing in opposite directions, their bodies overlapping, their feet touching. I remember being attracted to the swirling patterns on their bodies, the beauty of the design, and the fact that the two birds reminded me of Ed and me, both the same but heading in different directions. It’s only now that I realise what I bought him: the two birds are ravens.
I take the keyring off the bunch and place it next to the box.
Next, I pull out a wad of paper, each page small but cut out with precision. I trace the delicate pencil lines with my fingers, knowing that at some point, Ed had touched these. They’re drawings, sketches, some detailed, some just an outline, but every single one is a bird. I haven’t forgotten how good at drawing he was, but I had forgotten his obsession with drawing birds. At the time, they were just birds, but now I recognise the angle of the beak, the dip of the head, and the sleek black feathers for what they are.
Ravens.
Had Ed seen Valdemar in a vision? Had he known he was to become a Raven Hand?
Ed was very particular about wallets and would only use one he’d purchased himself. He said they had to smell right if he was going to walk around with it in his pocket all day.
Opening it up, I find his debit card, a receipt for a jumper from Landor’s, and a ring pull from a can of pop. Shoving my finger behind the small flap at the bottom of the wallet, I pull out three pieces of paper.
Two are photos.
The first is a photo of me and Ed when we were about five. It was taken by our father while we’d been playing in the back garden. There’s a smudge of mud on my cheek where I can remember digging for treasure under the large oak tree, Ed watching me with fascination, telling me that I would need to dig really deep before I found anything. The second one is of our mother, smiling softly, eyes warm and happy. She’s sitting on a step, a house looming behind her.
The steps look familiar.
I squint at the door behind her and can just make out the intricate detail on the woodwork.
“This was taken at Corvus House,” I tell her.
Her hands rest in her lap, and her smile returns.
“What were you doing there? Why were you at the Raven Hands’ house?”
Ignoring her silence, I look at the last piece of paper, and my heart skips a beat.
There, in Ed’s familiar handwriting, is a name.
Ellison Rue.
CHAPTER FORTY
I fly backto the kitchen and pull out my notebooks from the first time I visited Valdemar.
Skimming my hurried writing, I search until I find the name I’m looking for.
Victor Rue.
Valdemar told me that Victor Rue had been the head of the Raven Hands when he joined and that he’d been suffering from some sort of dementia, which had resulted in him asking Valdemar to kill him, and thus Valdemar became the new head of the Raven Hands.
My head swims as I tap “Ellison Rue” into Google.
Nothing. It’s like he didn’t even exist.
