These were the weekends Kyle - and everyone else in New England - waited all winter for. The sun was shining in a cloudless sky and the thermometer outside the kitchen window indicated that the temperature had finally breached the sixty-degree mark.

It was still only late March, but when he stepped outside to grab his newspaper first thing in the morning, people were already strolling around the neighborhood in flip-flops and t-shirts. After finishing his coffee, he’d done one better. Radio in hand and a book tucked under his arm, he’d dug an old aluminum-framed chaise lounge out of the shed and set it up in the backyard. It sank a little ways into the thawing ground, but he didn’t care.

Already in shorts, he pulled off his shirt and wadded it into a makeshift pillow. If his neighbors had been able to see him over the high fence that enclosed his backyard, they might have thought he was crazy even for a New Englander. But he was sure he wasn’t alone.

“Radio, please,” he said, opening his book and settling back in the chair.

Ryka grumbled, but Kyle saw the Power light flicker on, and seconds later Crosby, Stills and Nash were drifting out of the radio he’d owned since college. And he was actually glad when Ryka, who was feeling just as lazy as his host, gave up some of the precise regulation of the body they shared. Kyle closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the sun. Even the chill in the breeze, a reminder that winter wasn’t far gone, felt nice.

The fact that he had already finished all his work for the week, and was completely prepared for school on Monday, made the day perfect. With a contented sigh, he opened his book and started to read. Five pages in, his eyelids started to feel heavy, and he only made it another half a page before his chin dropped to his chest.

Thinking he’d been asleep for hours, he started awake. “How long was I out?” he mumbled, stretching.

You weren’t.

Not believing Ryka, who still had a poor grasp of time, Kyle looked around. But it seemed the demon was right. The sun hadn’t moved in the sky, and now he realized the same song was still playing on the radio. “I guess not.”

Thanks for your trust, asshole.

“Sorry.”

I’ll let it go this time.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“I appreciate that.” He paused, picking his book back up. It had slipped off his chest and landed on the ground beside him. “Um, one more favor, if you don’t mind.”

Page ninety-three. Third paragraph.

“I owe you.”

Damn right.

Pushing aside the thought of what exactly he’d owe Ryka, Kyle resumed reading. But he didn’t make it much farther than page ninety-five, first paragraph. Once again, sleep overtook him, and this time he did doze for more than a few seconds.

Long enough, in fact, to relive making his contract with Ryka once. It wasn’t the dream starting over that woke him, though, but the unexpected ruckus in his backyard. Still half-asleep, he could swear the noise sounded like birds. Crows, more specifically. Cawing far too loudly, and in what seemed to be great numbers.

Grumbling, he opened his eyes, shielding them from the sun. And he nearly toppled right out of his chair. “What the fuck?” he breathed.

His ears hadn’t been deceiving him. Perched all along the top of the fence were dozens of the black birds, watching him with dark, intelligent eyes. A few had scattered when he’d moved, but quickly reclaimed their places. He swung his legs over the edge of the lounger, startling more of the birds, but even those eagerly returned.

“Ryka ….”

You owe them money? the demon quipped, chuckling to himself.

“Very funny. Why am I being surrounded by crows?”

They’re scavengers, right?

“I guess so.” Kyle was no ornithologist, but he was sure that was correct.

They’re waiting for a meal.

“If they’re waiting for me to go, they’re going to be waiting a long time.” That had been Kyle’s understanding, anyhow.

Idiot, Ryka teased. They’re following me. Hoping for the remains of a sinner.

“Wonderful. How come I’ve never seen them do this before?”

They usually keep their distance. And there aren’t usually this many.

“Do I need to be concerned?” Not that he was worried about being attacked by a flock of birds – even ones collectively called a murder – but all those beady eyes on him was a bit unnerving.

My guess is they’re being nosey. We’re not usually holding still this long when we’re outside.

“Well, before the entire neighborhood notices.” Kyle jumped to his feet and started waving his arms. Every last crow took off, most with offended-sounding croaks. He watched them disperse, shaking his head. “I mean, unless you were planning on killing someone today.”

Wasn’t on the agenda, no.

“Is it usually?”

Sure you wanna know?

“No. I sort of just want to sit and read. If that’s okay.”

Page ninety-five, paragraph one. And try to stay awake this time – it was getting good.