Page 21 of Magpie
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.
She flits about the place, spilling vials of salt by the door and under the windows, muttering words in a long-dead language. I can’t help but feel like a caged animal, pacing back and forth, my feet chanting their own ritual on the hardwood floors. I stop my frantic trek, watching as she kneels and holds crystals to her lips, whispering to each one before nestling it in the salt.
I glance out the window, at the now darkened streets, and whisper, “That won’t keep him out.” Even the quiet words seem too loud, like they will call him to me.
She finishes speaking to a foggy lilac stone in her hands. Setting it assuredly in the patch of salt by her feet, she stands, wiping the excess salt from her palms. “He will not come here,” she says, catching my gaze, her eyes endless pools burdened with the weight of agelessness. “Not tonight. You are safe.”
Turning away from her, from the night trying to creep through the window, I close my eyes. Pulling in a deep inhale, I let the soothing scent of the store wash over me, trying to let it ease my panicked nerves, to fill me with a sense of calm and peace. ButI’m jerky and taut, jumping at the slightest noise, the smallest shift in a shadow. My eyes flick toward the night sky through the window. No amount of salt or stone will make me feel safe.
With slow, quiet steps, she moves by me, walking to the table with the crystal ball on it. Seating herself behind the orb, she locks eyes with me, motioning to the seat opposite her.
I cross my arms and glare at her. “I’m not having my fortune read by another one of his creations.”
“I am offering you nothing more than a seat. And I am not his creation,” she answers, her voice tinged with annoyance at the accusation. Dropping her hand, she focuses on the orb in front of her, only glancing at me once.
“I don’t want a seat,” I snap, storming forward and slamming my hands on the table. “I want an escape. A real one, like you got.”
She opens her mouth as if to fire an insult back at me, but quickly gulps back the words. The aura crawling off me is beginning to infect the lightness of the store, and she isn’t immune to it. Sitting back in her chair, she folds her arms over her chest, eyeing me.
Without answering, she opens a small drawer in the table, pulling out a deck of cards. Her eyes are elsewhere, not focusing on this world as she deftly shuffles the deck. Her fingers move, ready to flip the first card over, when I slap the deck out of her hand. Her gasp is covered by the sound of the cards fluttering to the ground, spreading like new snow over the floor. Her look of shock changes to a scowl as she holds my steady gaze.
“That was unnecessary. I am not trying to trick you. I told you that you are safe here. I am not on his side.”
Looking over my shoulder, I watch the night sky trying to force its way through the front door, trying to invade the warmth and light of the store. It calls out to me.Hecalls out to me. I shiver, turning from the sight of it.
“As long as he is out there, I am not safe, no matter whose side you’re on,” I mutter, before reluctantly taking a seat in front of her. This scene feels all too familiar.
Without the deck of cards in front of her, she seems unsure of what to do with her hands, tapping her fingers across the table in an unsteady rhythm. We watch each other, two predators sizing up their opponents. I ooze darkness, spilling it into her calm, glittering presence. Her light flows from her like water, drinking up the aura around me, cleansing it. It is only too obvious that I don’t belong in this space as our essences battle each other. A younger me would have fled, but I sit up firmly, determined not to run from this.
“How long have you been gone?” she asks, standing and moving to the shelf behind her. Striking a match, she lights a stick of incense, taking perhaps longer than necessary. Anything to keep her eyes off me, I think.
“Almost a year,” I whisper, chewing on a nail, bouncing my leg incessantly. I’m too anxious, nervous energy coursing through me, and it is taking all of my self-control to not jump up and start frantically pacing.
“I’m impressed,” she says, like I should be thrilled at the praise. I scowl in response. “You must have been very resourceful to keep him away for that long.”
“Fuck,” I gasp, looking at the sudden stinging pain in my finger. I chewed too hard. Blood seeps from the wound along the side of my nail, dripping a single drop onto the faded tablecloth. It spreads out across the material, like so much red thread, tying me down. “This was a mistake,” I snap, standing and turning from her. I shouldn’t have come here at all; I should be running. She doesn’t have the answer I need, the knowledge of how to escape him, because he is inevitable. I am only wasting my time remaining locked behind doors that can do nothing to keep him from eventually claiming me.
“Don’t run from this, Maggie,” she says.
My name, my real name, stops me in my tracks, sounding halfway between a blessing and a curse coming from her mouth. Sitting back down, I catch her gaze.
“How did you get away from him?” I ask, breaking the silence between us. “You’ve been gone for longer than I have. You built this store, you built alife,so hiding from him is possible. Tell me how you left him and stayed gone.”
“You would not want to go down that road,” she says, unable to meet my gaze, something like shame in her eyes.
“If you can’t help me, then just say so. I don’t have time to waste on riddles,” I snap, glancing again at the darkness outside, my foot tapping out a nervous beat. What if this is a trap? What if all that salt and stone isn’t to keep him out, but to keep me in? I scrub at my tired eyes, trying to calm my nerves. Trying to quell the growing disquiet in my mind.
“I did not say I can’t help, just that you won’t want to leave him the way I did.” She stands, walking to a shelf holding various archaic items, including a carved wooden chest. Pulling the chest from the shelf, she turns and sets it on the table. I gasp when she pulls at a string around her neck, revealing a key hidden under her dress. It’s made of black iron, with a bright white dove in flight on it.
Unlocking the chest, she lifts the lid and pulls out an aging, faded book. Its cover is cracked and peeling, and I get the intense feeling that I don’t want to know what animal the leather is made from. She sets the book on the table in front of us and begins flipping through the pages.
“You’re Irina,” I say. She pauses as she scans the page, barely giving me a passing glance before nodding and returning to her search. “You were the first one he created, when he built that house.”
