As mentioned in my previous post, release day for The Song of the Sparrow, Order of Crows Book Two is just around the corner. I decided that today I’d like to talk about one of my favorite characters in the Order, Aleister aside. Today I want to talk about Casper Lekkas.
It’s true that characters sometimes surprise me as the writer. Casper was no exception. If you’ve read The Murder Meets at Dusk, you know Casper as the youngest member of the Order of Crows. He’s shy, awkward, always withdrawn, but you also learn in Dusk that Casper is a powerful mage. You don’t, perhaps, learn how powerful.
In Sparrow, Casper hits his stride. He starts to come out of his shell a bit and he gave me so much personality in the sequel. Casper is a chaos mage at his base, but I feel like the chaos part of his power doesn’t really come through until the sequel, which is understandable when the story in general starts with such a big cast. It was impossible for me to develop them all equally and still tell the story. So Casper’s spotlight doesn’t really happen until Sparrow. And, oh, does it shine.
I think this is a good time to mention that this is a dark fantasy story. There are elements of it that might sit uncomfortably for some. Casper also falls into that area due to the way he practices magic. There might be some triggers when it comes to him. Fair warning.
All of that being said, please allow me to introduce you to Casper in The Song of the Sparrow:
Santino eyes the others, more interested in their condition than he is the vampires’ house. Nichi is as still as a statue, staring forward as she no doubt sends the tendrils of her energy into the surrounding area. Miller fidgets restlessly, glancing around them, fingers absently counting the beads of the pearl and ruby rosary in his hand. Casper shudders violently, seemingly waiting on the head of a pin to act, his guns secured in their holsters.
Santino slowly twines his own rosary around his middle finger as his eyes run the length of Casper’s left arm, most of which is bared, save his close-fitting t-shirt and the strap of his double holster on his shoulders. Scars line much of the pale space, geometric and intricate patterns that turn his body into some living sigil. They are scars he shows no pains to hide. Santino has no idea what the sigils do but the savage nature of the practice makes him uneasy.
He thinks of the morning that began this epic day. He drove across town still half asleep to rescue Casper from the weeds of an abandoned gas station lot, as his body still tingled from the strange burst of magic that woke him from a deep sleep. He hadn’t yet directly made the connection of what made him get up and go, and it seemed easiest to leave Casper on his couch to recover from his exhaustion without questioning it.
It was only later, after several cups of coffee, after the magical buzz in his bones gave way to caffeine, that he realized it was the very sigil Casper had been charging that had risen to protect him in that dire moment. The question of why Casper’s magic had chosen Santino remains a more difficult one.
Santino notices a symbol, cut into the backs of Casper’s hands, carved since they parted ways that afternoon. The scabs have barely formed. A circle, nine points defined around its circumference in the same formation in which the Murder stands, and each point is connected inside like a nine-pointed star. The cardinal directions are notated, and there are neatly scribed words running around the outside of the circle. It must have taken a long time and a tiny blade to etch those little letters. It’s too dark for Santino to make out any of the words, which makes him ever more curious as to what they say.
The chaos mage’s hazel gaze turns on Santino like Casper can feel the priest watching him. The expression that meets Santino’s attention is surprisingly forward and the eye contact is electric. Such a far cry from the crunched grimace of pain earlier when the nightmares had stalked his heavy sleep. Gone is the frightened innocence with which Casper had regarded him when he woke to a protective touch, after Santino banished whatever had grabbed hold of his dream space.
Casper’s awkward shyness is nowhere to be seen. In its place is an obvious fascination and something else that sends a thrill shooting through Santino’s limbs, attraction. Santino doesn’t quite cover his surprise, nor does he deny the heady connection that lasts long enough to garner a curious look from Nichi. Casper looks away like nothing strange just happened. The cross in Santino’s hand feels obscene.
“Do we burn it down?” Casper asks, his tone quiet but firm.
Santino swallows thickly as Nichi studies Casper. She seems to be considering the option. Then she says, “As much as I’d like to, we need to focus on a way to ensure they’re also in the city.”
Silence settles at the end of her words and she looks back toward the house. Santino’s eyes are still on Casper, his thoughts still muddling over the overt connection the younger just made. Since he’s still watching he also sees the Lekkas’s jaw set.
“I can do it,” Casper says with an unsettling surety.
Santino sees Nichi turn back to Casper, eyes wide with obvious surprise. Santino mirrors the sentiment. This side of Casper has either been very well guarded or has emerged amidst the severity of their current situation. There’s a fierceness to him that he has never shown his fellow Crows.
“How?” Nichi asks.
Casper hesitates for a moment. He looks so young to Santino, the scars on his surface tragic. He takes a long breath then says, “Blood magic.”
The words sink like stones into Santino’s gut. An uncharacteristic anxiety follows them as the magnitude of those two words slowly reveals itself. Casper is right, it’s the one thing the vampires have no weapon against or resistance to. Santino instantly hates the idea.
Weighted silence brings Casper to face the rest of them, who are staring back.
“It’s practical for my path,” he says. He meets each of their eyes in turn, even Fr. Miller. “I can make them yearn for blood so strongly they’ll crawl into our streets like the ravenous dogs that they are.”
“Not just blood,” Fr. Miller interjects in his sharp accent that cuts through the familiarity among the other three. “If I am correct, your means of drawing them would enamor them to the blood that is offered by your pagan practices.”
Three sets of eyes critically study him. He adjusts his glasses and pins Casper with an expectant gaze, eyebrow cocking slightly.
“It’s true,” says Casper. Now he looks away from all of them to stare at the ground.
Santino’s attention volleys from Casper to Miller then to Nichi. They’re not really considering this, are they? Someone has to be a voice of reason here.
“Your blood?” he asks, not quite able to keep his expression from folding with disdain. “You want to use yourself as bait?”
“Yes,” Casper answers firmly.
Aj Elmore, Author 