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Apparently the whoosh of air she’d heard in the dark was him shape-shifting and flying away. But she wasn’t sure what had drawn him to this particular room, if it was coincidence or if the witch had pulled him in this direction.
Not that there was a sorceress in sight. Nothing stirred. No shimmering shadows. No supernatural surprises.
Only a raven peering down at her, and a cat that slipped under the coffinlike bed.
Raven cawed in the silence, his call unmistakably loud, deep-pitched and powerful. Allie thought about Edgar Allen Poe’s poem, wishing she knew the words.
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