Page 20 of Magpie
“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.Heisn’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 whoIam. 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 justbehind 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 andlet 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 instantlyaddicted. 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.”
