something falls from his coat and flutters to the cobblestones. A bright blue feather with a distinctive eye pattern. A peacock feather. “You are shitting me,” I whisper. I look at him. “Seriously? You’re the bastard who killed Archie Evans?” My gaze flits over his outfit. All black, including a mask and what I now realize is a cape. “Raven, my ass. You’re just a damn turkey vulture.”
