Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Copyright

       Dedication

       Epigraph

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

       Chapter 7

       Chapter 8

       Chapter 9

       Chapter 10

       Chapter 11

       Chapter 12

       Chapter 13

       Chapter 14

       Chapter 15

       Chapter 16

       Chapter 17

       Chapter 18

       Chapter 19

       Chapter 20

       About the Publisher

      he night belonged to him. He wore its shadows, tasted its scents. He savoured its sounds and silences. Caw leapt from roof to roof, a boy witnessed only by the white eye of the moon and the three crows that soared in the dark sky above him.

      Blackstone sprawled like a bacterial growth on all sides. Caw took in flashes of the city – skyscrapers rising to the east, and to the west, the endless slanting roofscape of the poorer districts and the smoking chimneys of the industrial quarter. In the north loomed abandoned tenements. The river Blackwater was somewhere to the south, a roiling sludge carrying filth away from the city, but never making it any cleaner. Caw could smell its fetid stench.

      He skidded up against the dirty glass panel of a skylight. Laying his hands softly on the glass, Caw peered into its soft glow. A hunched janitor wheeled a mop and bucket through the hallway below, lost in his own world. He didn’t look up. They never did.

      Caw took off again, startling a fat pigeon and skipping around an ancient billboard, trusting his crows to follow. Two of the birds were barely visible – flitting shadows black as tar. The third was white, his pale feathers making him glow like a ghost in the darkness.

      I’m starving, muttered Screech, the smallest of the crows. His voice was a reedy squawk.

      You’re always starving, said Glum, his wing-beats slow and steady. The young are so greedy.

      Caw smiled. To anyone else, the crows’ voices would merely sound like the cries of regular birds. But Caw heard more. Much more.

      I’m still growing! said Screech, flapping indignantly.

      Shame your brain isn’t, Glum cackled.

      Milky, the blind old white crow, drifted above them. As usual, he said nothing at all.

      Caw slowed to gather his breath, letting the cool air fill his lungs. He took in the sounds of night – the swish of a car across slick tarmac, the thump of distant music. Further away, a siren and a man shouting, his words unclear. Whether his voice was raised in anger or happiness, Caw didn’t care. Down there was for the regular people of Blackstone. Up here, among the skyline silhouettes … was for him and his crows.

      He passed through the warm blast of an air-conditioning vent, then paused, nostrils flaring.

      Food. Something salty.

      Caw jogged to the edge of the rooftop and peered over. Down below, a door opened on to an alley filled with rubbish bins. It was the back of a 24-hour takeaway. Caw knew they often threw out perfectly good food – leftovers, probably, but he wasn’t fussy. He let his glance flick into every dark corner. He saw nothing that worried him, but it was always risky at ground level. Their place, not his.

      Glum landed next to Caw and cocked his head. His stubby beak glinted gold, reflecting a streetlight. You think it’s safe? he asked.

      A sudden motion drew Caw’s gaze; a rat, rooting in the rubbish bins below. It lifted its head and eyed him without fear. “I think so,” Caw said. “Stay sharp.”

      He knew they didn’t need the warning. Eight