Page 16 of Magpie

W e walk the empty city streets, a shadowy pair hidden in the night. I nod silent greetings at the few midnight wanderers we pass, and he chuckles at me.

“Why does everyone keep acting like they can’t see me?” I ask, frowning at the man who looked directly at me and didn’t so much as flinch when I waved at him.

“No one can see you like I do,” he muses, and we lapse back into silence. His arm never leaves my side, holding me close to him, pinning me.

Trying to mirror his jovial manner, I squirm against his grip and say, “Why are you holding me so tightly? Afraid that I might fly away at any moment?”

I grin up at him. He does not laugh in response, and the look he gives me has my own smile slipping from my face.

“Never joke about leaving me. It is a reality that I will never allow to come to be. Is that understood?”

“I’m sorry, I was only—”

“Do you understand me?” he growls, gripping my chin and forcing my head back.

Painfully. I wince, my eyes growing wide at the threat clearly written across his face.

I want to pull back, to break away from him and run deep into the night.

But that penetrating fog is still wrapped around my mind, making me only too desperate to be held by him.

I nod vehemently. “Yes. I will never leave you.”

“Good girl,” he croons, the approval in his voice sending a fresh wave of heat through me. I sigh, luxuriating in the feel of it.

He drops my chin, pinning me to his side once more, and I let him pull me along.

He leads us up a bridge over a canal, finally dropping his arm from around me.

I’m unsure on my feet without him, but still I find myself drawn to the water.

Stepping to the edge of the bridge, I lean against the railing and watch the stars dancing on the obsidian surface below.

The starlight flickers in the rippling waves, winking in and out of the churning water.

Standing beside me, he takes my hand, his fingers curling around mine.

I lean over and rest my head against his arm.

I’m exhausted and wired all at the same time.

Questions keep trying to rise to my mind, but the fog fights them, refusing to take me out of the moment.

The few that do force their way through die on my tongue; I’m too afraid to voice them and earn his anger again.

Still, I don’t find any harm in asking, “Where are we?” This city feels strange, different, unfamiliar, even though I have a hard time picturing any others. Try as I might to remember another city, I am greeted only with the vague feeling of loss.

“Ireland,” he answers, pulling me from my thoughts.

Gasping, I lift my head up and look at him, a wide smile spreading across my face, my heart fluttering. “I’ve always wanted to come here,” I say excitedly. “In fact, I even applied to…” I trail off, the words failing me, the thought running from my mind as soon as I speak it.

He peers down at me, unbothered by my disjointed thoughts. Frowning, I turn back to the water, trying to follow the elusive memory, but I find only murkiness.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was saying.”

Leaning over, he kisses the top of my head, filling me with more blissful warmth and growing apathy. I find it entirely too easy to not care about the void that is my mind. Why should I worry? He is my master; he will command my every move.

No!

The voice screams so loudly in my mind that I cry out, pressing a hand to my forehead at the blinding flash of pain that accompanies it. He grips my wrist, pulling my hand from my head, and turns my face to his, snaring me wholly in his hypnotic gaze.

“Magpie, focus on me.” His voice drifts out and pushes the world away from me.

He is the only thing in existence. “You are here now, and you are with me. That is all that matters. Do not turn back to the life you ran from, the life that does not deserve you. Stay in my arms, and I will keep it from clawing you back.”

I know in my heart that it’s right. How could anything he says be wrong? That voice calls to me through the fog, but it is becoming a distant sound. Still, something in that warning cry has me pausing, pulling back, even just a little.

We study each other for a long moment. He is waiting, his eyes expectant, as I trace his features.

Without thinking, I reach up and pluck the ace of spades from his hat.

Turning it over in my hand, I see a shining silver skull on the back of the black card.

Beneath the skull, in a flowing silver script, is the word Irina , with a heart scribbled next to it.

Pulling my hand from his, I trace the heart with my finger.

He gently pulls the card from my hand, but I find I can’t make myself meet his eyes. The euphoric feeling is fleeting, replaced by an unsteady sense of dread, like I am teetering on a tightrope. I do not want him to see the warring emotions in my mind, do not want to raise that ire in him again.

My mind is at odds with itself. One side of me is calm, finding it easy to fall into the complacency the fog affords me.

That side longs for his arms, fully ready to submit myself if it means I can live forever in that warmth.

The other, quieter part of my mind screams at me to turn.

To run. I am having a harder and harder time ignoring the looming panic that shouts at me from that void.

“I don’t even know your name,” I say, breaking the heavy silence between us.

“Alister,” he says, as if that simple answer is all I need.

I close my eyes, shaking my head, the panic getting louder.

This isn’t right. He isn’t right.

“I am so confused,” I say, turning from him, beginning to tremble, the cold settling in outside of his touch.

“I don’t know who I am. That can’t be right, or good.

Something is very wrong with me, and the more I ignore it, the worse it will get.

The only thing that feels real, that feels right, is the voice telling me to run. ”

He wraps his arms around me, attempting to cease my babbling.

“No,” I say in a strangled grunt, shoving away from him. All at once I am terrified. The voice that broke through the barrier is shouting at me to get out, to run, run, run .

I turn and bolt away from him. Fleeing, with no idea why.

“Magpie, stop,” he says, his commanding voice carrying across the short distance between us.

It catches and holds me, and I find myself coming to a stumbling stop at the bottom of the bridge.

Heaving in uneven gasps of air, I grip my chest, where my heart is aching, burning the further I get away from him.

His shoes make soft clicks as he moves toward me, the only sound in the night, getting closer with every step.

He stops just behind me, but I don’t turn to him, pulling in ragged breaths and looking straight ahead at the unfamiliar town.

I can’t help but wonder if any town will ever look familiar again.

“Look at me,” he whispers.

The part of me screaming to run is silenced by the sound of his voice, pushed down under that fog, drowned in it.

Turning, I meet his eyes, desperate for relief from the aching in my chest and the gnawing cold outside of his embrace.

He opens his arms to me, and I step cautiously forward, moving closer but not leaning into him.

He drops his arms, a flash of annoyance passing through his eyes as he snarls, “I told you the first few days would be hard.”

“The first few days of what?” I snap, my voice breaking, portraying the barest hint of my frayed nerves. “You keep answering, but I am only left with more questions. What am I doing here? What happened to me?”

In one swift motion he pulls me toward him, leaning down and silencing my questions with his mouth.

His kiss runs the questions from my mind, reinforcing the fog, filling every hole and crack that allowed the panic to seep through.

My shoulders drop, the tension leaving my body as he draws me closer.

I let out a whimper as he breaks the kiss, but he does not pull away from me, his forehead pressed to mine.

“I promise it will all make sense, Magpie, but only if you trust me and let go ,” he whispers, his voice spellbinding. “You cannot give in to that old life. It will ruin you.” He caresses my cheek, his fingers leaving a hot trail. “Can you trust me?”

Frowning, I look into his eager eyes. I do not want to feel this panic, this unease anymore. I want to let it go.

I nod at him, and he smiles, drawing my face to his and pressing his lips to mine.

I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to plunge his tongue into my mouth.

It is my first real taste of him, and I am instantly addicted.

Throwing my arms around him, I press my body against his solid frame, but he is already pulling back.

He laughs at the desperate sound I make, but he holds me at a distance, observing me.

“There is no need to whimper for me, Magpie. We have eternity together. You don’t need to savor all of me in one night.”

My cheeks heat at his words, but I let him take my arm again and lead me off.

We don’t talk after that, choosing silence as we make our way back to the brownstone.

The night sky is turning a dusty blue, tinges of deep maroon and orange threatening to break through the horizon.

Dawn is coming. Part of me wants to watch the sunrise, to ask him to watch it with me, but I can’t stand asking any more questions tonight.

Still, I can’t help but turn and look up to the sky as he holds open the door to the house.

“Magpie,” he calls, a gentle reprimand clear in his voice as I continue to stand away from him. Turning my back on the sun, I reach out and take his extended hand.

The house seems less confusing than it did before.

It almost feels familiar now, like I grew up here and have walked this path a hundred times.

We don’t return to the room I woke up in; instead he sets me before the door with the bird on it.

I tap the spread-out feathers of the creature, not quite ready to end the evening with him. Not quite ready to be cold again.

“What is this?” I ask, tracing the lines of the bird.

“It is a magpie,” he says, chuckling deeply at my wide-eyed expression when I hear the name.

He leans forward, tucking a bit of my hair behind my ear, trailing a knuckle down my cheek.

“I have always been fascinated with this creature. The stories tell of a bird that brings bad luck. Legend says if one perches on your roof, it is predicting imminent death.”

I frown, turning back to the handle. His hands grip my shoulders and pull me against him, his mouth against my ear.

“Which do you think is true power: the ability to predict death, or to have complete control over it?”

A shiver runs through me, turning my blood cold, my eyes unable to leave the bird on my door. I don’t answer him. He pulls his hands away, and I feel him turning to leave.

Spinning around, I snatch his wrist, stopping his retreat. “Please, don’t leave.”

He glances down at my hand gripping his wrist with frightened desperation. Smiling, his bright teeth flashing in the dim light of the hallway, he plucks my hand away. “Rest now, Magpie.”

With that he leaves me, shaking and alone in the hallway.

I stand there, hoping he will come back, hoping he will kiss away the doubt and fear that try to creep up. But he does not return, and I am left surrounded by cold in his absence. Taking a steadying breath, I enter my room.

My eyelids droop the moment I cross the threshold, barely staying open long enough for me to take in my surroundings, other than the large bed I tumble into.

I am half convinced this is all a dream, and when I wake up, I will be back home.

Frowning, I try to imagine home, but all I can see is an old farmhouse in a field, a line of people stretching out of the front door.

Sighing, I let the thought go as I pull the covers over my head.

I fall into a deep sleep, the sound of fluttering wings filling my mind.