Free The Altonevers by Frederic Merbe

settling in for the night,
uncomfortably sitting across from each other on the water towers
rotted support beams. Surrounded by the scene from the roof’s view,
of the gleaming wet town’s lights glistening with the change in
winds and jollies rolling through the rain.
    “ We'll have to make for the
station when this dies down. At most at daybreak,” he
says.
    “ At least it's not cold,”
she says.
    “ That's the
humidity.”
    “ Idiot,” she says, eyeing
him coldly.
    “ What?”
    “ What? anything you care to
explain? guy with gun.”
    “ No, not really. You have
one too.”
    “ How about that psycho
bitch with the hole in her head. The one who shot a crime boss
without anyone lifting a finger or anything?”
    “ A few people raised their
glasses,” he says, though seeing his charm isn’t rubbing adds
shrugging, “that kinda thing happens a lot.”
    “ To a weather chaser, who’s
on a wanted poster? She was a damn zombie.” Anna says, her
excitement is more from fear for her life then anger at
him.
    “ She was just passing a
friendly word. She's a Raven, they'll follow me, us, as long as
you’re by my side. Wherever we go.”
    “ And you, you’re
a...Raven?” she asks as she scowls at him and his dishonesty. He
replies with a look of being lost, and hangs his head. Hesitating,
hardly breathing for nearly a minute and holding his gaze to the
ground.
    “ What exactly is a Raven?”
she asks, wanting him to say who he is.
    “ Exactly?”
    “ Yeah,”
    “ Ravens are a group of
people, of all type of character, most are pawns, vermin, who work
for a guy.”
    “ Acting sort of like a
criminal syndicate that controls territory in almost all the Alto’s
we can possibly go? and you’re one of them and their after you?”
She says.
    “ Kinda, that’s a bit more
accurate,” he says.
    “ Kinda what? just spit it
out,” she spits.
    “ The Ravens are like a
syndicate, one that strives to gain power by any means, usually
deemed criminal, in whatever Alto they're sent to.
    “ A criminal syndicate, for
what?”
    “ Well they have to be
killers, and they all have to die, like I said before.”
    “ So he is death, and the
Ravens his reapers?”
    “ Not exactly. It’s just his
gig I guess, I mean he's not a bad guy. A bit unsettling to be
around but not bad, just from a different Alto is all. There's one
more thing.”
    She says nothing. Only staring at him
intensely, thinking that her life is now intertwined with his in
the eyes of a person who he says isn’t entirely unlike the entity
she thinks of as death.
    “ To be a Raven, as I am or
Rebecca is, one with free will. You have to take your own life so
you have your own soul to barter with.”
    “ How does that
work.”
    “ I think it’s if it's not
taken from you, you still possess it when you die, and since you've
died you cannot live. You have something to want and something to
barter with it to get it.”
    “ For what?”
    “ Life, to be alive,” he
says.
    “ Your soul, bartered to
live in service of him,” she says.
    “ Yes,” he nods “and he’s a
silk tongued demon when it comes to the art of the barter. The
price, the deal as we who have one call it, is unique to the
individual. You may live your deepest desires, your dreams he
promises, as long as your soul, your being is bound solely to
him.
    “ So, what's your...deal?”
she asks. He knew she would inevitably ask, he dreads having to
tell her. The thought of her being scared of him, ashamed of him,
he's terrified she'll see him as a heartless monster.
    “ And you? is it gambling?”
She asks. The cautious tone creeping from her lips is stinging to
him, he's thinking she’s already sees him as some sort of monster
or demon, like everyone else sees him, as one of them, merely a
Raven and nothing more. He only wants her to be near, to stay close
and smile and laugh with him, though knowing the price could be
that she will never smile and laugh again.
    “ Not gambling, Carrots