Page 14 of Magpie

I thought the stairs would lead straight to the floor below, but I am woefully mistaken.

He pulls me through a dizzying series of doors and down endless hallways.

My mind is still foggy, unable to keep up with the twists and turns we take, going up and down stairs seemingly at random.

I panic, realizing if I lose track of him, I will not know the way to get out.

Hurrying forward, I cling to his arm, pressing myself tight against him.

He looks down at me, giving me that same Cheshire smile, and I feel my own shy smile begin to form.

There’s something so oddly comforting about his embrace, no matter how a feeble voice in my mind begs me to run.

Freeing his arm from my grip, he wraps it around me, pulling me close beside him.

There is a presence surrounding him that envelops me as we touch, thick and heavy, easing my confused mind as I lean into him.

A voice in my head whispers that I should not be so trusting with a stranger, but that voice dies in the poisoned fog that rolls off him.

The doors and hallways blur before my eyes, but I do not mind. As long as his arm remains around me, I am perfectly happy to be lost in this haze—until we step into a foyer, and I come to a staggering stop, finally pulling away from him. His grip tells me he is reluctant to let me go.

“I remember this place…” I say, tugging entirely out of his arms and cautiously walking around the room.

Flashes of two strangers pop into my head, but I can’t recall their faces.

I get the sense that someone is calling to me, begging me to come back, and I shiver against the visceral anguish in the voice.

Images and thoughts try to force their way to my mind, try to pierce through the hazy fog that encases me, but they flee as soon as he takes my hand again.

“Of course you remember this place. It’s your home,” he croons, his cold voice calming the sharp panic, easing the warning bells into silence.

I stare at him, confused. I’m trying to piece together the shattered fragments of faded memories, so it takes a moment for his words to reach me. I frown. Odd. Something about him calling this my home feels wrong.

“I don’t think this is my home,” I say slowly. I’m worried if I upset him, he’ll leave me alone in this vast empty house.

A small frowns spreads across his face, his eyes growing darker. My heart races, a lump forming in my throat.

Don’t leave me. I can’t live without you.

The words scream in my mind, covering every other thought.

Desperation for his touch, longing to be held by him, fills me wholly.

It’s as though every fiber of my being is aching to please him, to accept him, to let him claim me entirely.

I rush forward, gripping his arm with both hands, terrified at the idea of being without him.

After a moment, the easy smile returns to his face, and he takes my hand again, leading me to the front door.

“This has always been your home, Magpie. It was just waiting for you to arrive.” He says Magpie as though it is my name, and I have no other name to contradict him with.

He laughs at my furrowed brow, the velvety noise echoing around me as he pulls me closer to his side.

“I know it is a lot. These first few days can feel like a dream. Come,” he says, not giving me a moment to question him before he’s opening the front door and leading me into the night. “I will explain everything.”

I don’t want to leave the safety of the house behind, but I don’t want to let him go.

We walk down the stone steps leading from the front door, and turning, I see an old brownstone, nestled in a row of other identical houses.

I study the structure, my eyes bouncing between the three stories.

The house we stepped out of is far too large to be confined to such a small building.

Before I can think any more on it, he is pulling me after him.

The night is cool, a wet mist clinging to my hair and clothes.

The click of his shoes along the cobblestone street has me looking down and noting that I am barefoot.

The cold of the air and the stone should bother me, but I find when I touch him, I am filled with a gentle warmth.

A sigh escapes my lips, and I lean into him, content to let him lead the way.

Everything is bathed in a soft orange glow from the streetlights as we settle into a leisurely pace, walking down the streets of the neighborhood.

The buildings look old, their mismatched stones and gas lamps reminiscent of a time long gone.

Shops are nestled together in a row across a small river, their interiors dark, gaping holes in the silent night.

The streets are quiet, and I find myself at peace in the emptiness.

We stroll by businesses, parks, and a church with glittering stained-glass windows winking at us.

Turning off the sidewalk, he leads us to a bench near a silent fountain, its water sitting stagnant and quiet.

I sit on the edge, leaning over and looking at my reflection.

I have no idea who she is. I’m having a hard time focusing on her features, unable to commit them to memory.

The exact color of her eyes, the hue of her hair—it all slides out of my mind, unable to find purchase.

His presence looms over me, a dark shadow in my wake. Looking away from the stranger that is my reflection, I lock eyes with him.

“Who are you?” I ask, breaking the quiet between us.

“I am your creator,” he answers, sending a shiver down my spine. Once again, that feeling of warning, of danger, tries to break through, but his soft smile quiets that voice in my mind.

“I still don’t understand,” I say apologetically, shaking my head slowly. It is a strain to continue to exist in this haze of emptiness and ignore the weight of the questions that are drowning in that growing cold.

Putting his hands in his pockets, he begins to slowly pace around the fountain. I follow him with my eyes, thinking about a jaguar stalking its prey.

“That house, your home—I created it, and every creature that resides within its walls,” he says, his shoes snapping echoing circles around the fountain.

I am enrapt by his voice, clinging to every word as he continues, “I was like you, long ago…” His eyes are looking ahead, seeing something far off.

Something long gone. “I was lost, a wayward soul, wasting away in a life that was not worthy of someone like me. I yearned for something greater, knowing that there had to be more to this life than just the pitiful hand I was dealt. I found my purpose, and with it came the urge to find other souls like me, the lost ones languishing in the mundane.”

His voice rolls over me like the gloves that grace his hands, soft and inviting, drawing me in. I am lost in it entirely as he weaves a tale of his life. I tumble from one story to the next as he sets out the stepping stones that led to him becoming a powerful mage.

I find myself briefly stopping, drawing back from the story.

The idea of magics, ancient rites, and black rituals seems like something out of a fairy tale.

I don’t know why my mind tries to fight against it so, because as I sit here, watching the stranger with his shadowy aura, I find I can think of him as nothing less than power incarnate.

“I created my home to be a place outside of time, a place unconfined by the terms of this world. I needed a place for my new family, made up of the souls I saved from withering and dying in a worthless world. People wasting their full potential on this shallow life. It was easy enough to seek them out, their dying souls crying out from the void, calling them to me.”

He at last stops his promenade around the fountain and takes slow, measured steps toward me, his eyes locked on mine. He puts a single finger under my chin, tipping my head back. He is all I can see, the only thing I can focus on.

“I felt you crying out through the darkness, Magpie. The sound of your soul dying was unlike any I had heard before. Your greatness was dwindling, decaying in a life you were being sucked into.” He rubs his thumb across my cheek, wiping away a silent tear as it trails down my face.

I have no idea why I’m crying, but all at once I stand and pull away from him.

The cold is instantaneous outside of his touch, and I rub my arms, shivering.

I’m shaking my head, my eyes darting around the unfamiliar park.

I get the sudden urge to flee, the thought shooting through the demanding fog of his presence, and I turn to him without thinking and whisper, “I think I’m supposed to go… ”

I don’t know why I speak the words, other than the blaring alarm bell in my head that is getting louder the longer this strange mage is not touching me.

“You’re not going anywhere, Magpie,” he says, his words a binding promise that drifts across the vastness of the night and shackles me where I stand.

“I don’t know if I can live like this,” I say, barely keeping my voice from trembling. Again, it is like someone else is speaking for me. Someone who is trying to keep me from walking down this shrouded path with the devilish stranger and his crescent-moon smile.

“You gave me your life, Magpie. You no longer have a say in what I do with it.”

I balk, taking another step away from him.

His eyes are harsh for a heartbeat before a languid smile graces his lips, and he crosses the distance between us in quick steps.

I have no time to prepare before he descends on me, pulling me to him and filling me with that satisfying warmth.

His touch chases away my fears, my doubts, and the alarm bells die as I melt into him.

“Stay with me, and I will give you everything you ever dreamed of, every wicked desire of your heart,” he whispers, his fingers twining in my hair, tilting my face to his.

“Do not struggle against me. Give yourself entirely to me, and I will give you every temptation of your soul. Only I can grant you those things. Only I can warm you. Do you want to be back in the cold?”

I cannot remember anything tangible before waking up in that bed, but I can remember a feeling of sadness, of being trapped.

The dying thoughts of before try once more to push a memory to the forefront of my mind: the quietest flashes of laughter, of warmth and love.

I frown at the forgotten space of my mind.

I do not want to think of before, of the life that is so desperately trying to pull at my memory.

I want this life, the twisting tale of seduction and power he is offering me.

At what cost?

I throw that thought away, blocking it and every tugging sense of unease that is trying to claim me, trying to pull me from the only thing that can numb me and soothe me at the same time. Standing on my tiptoes, I wrap my arms around his neck, pressing myself firmly against him.

“What are you?” I breathe.

“I am your savior,” he answers, leaning down until our foreheads are pressed together. “I am your protector.” He tugs me closer, his lips brushing against mine. They are icy cold, and I shiver at the featherlight pressure. “I am your master, and you will obey my every command.”

He presses his lips to mine, and I am lost in the oblivion of his touch.