Page 26 of Magpie
“Please understand me, Maggie—”
“No, you do not get to call me Maggie,” I snarl, rounding on her and slapping a hand over my heart. “You stole her from me. You erased her from this world. She is dead because ofyou.” I glare at her, anger, hatred, and soul-ending anguish pouring off me in waves. She has the good sense to flinch.
I let out a disgruntled cry, scrubbing my hands over my eyes and spinning away from her to pace the store. A brief glance out the window tells me morning is still a long way off; I can’t afford to storm out of here. Not unless I want to give him another chance to come for me, to taunt me.
“Do you think you’re the only one he used?” she hisses back at me, crossing her arms in defiance. “I was with him forcenturies, Maggie.” She stresses my name, making me glare at her as Icontinue to pace like a caged beast. “You have no idea the things he made me do for him. The way he made me his pet.”
“He made me kill for him, Irina,” I shout, coming to stand directly in front of her, resisting the urge to slap her. Barely. Her hard exterior falters, and she closes her eyes, dropping her arms to her sides. She cannot meet my gaze as I whisper, “He might have made you his pet, but he turned me into death. If you’re looking for sympathy from me, look elsewhere.”
Letting out a ragged laugh, Irina opens her eyes and holds my gaze. I let the full force of my darkness out at her, and she stands firm against it. I want to hate her more for it, but I can’t help but feel a tiny bit of approval at her defiance. Turning from me, she walks behind a counter, leaning down and pulling out a shimmering bottle and two glasses.
“I’m not exactly in the mood to drink potions from a witch,” I say, narrowing my eyes at her.
She pours herself a drink, tossing it back before gagging, a shiver running through her. “Tequila,” she says, pouring a second round, scooting one glass across the counter to me. “I am not defending my actions, nor am I asking for forgiveness. I do not deserve it from you.”
Silence stretches between us. Reluctantly, I walk forward and accept the drink, shooting the warm liquor back in one swallow. Slamming the cup back on the counter, I level a look at her. “Why didn’t you just kill him?” I ask.
She pours us another drink, looking down at the liquid swirling in her cup. “You may find it hard to believe, but he was good once.”
I scoff.
“I suppose a part of me wanted to believe that if I waited long enough, the boy I loved would come back to me. He may have become a monster, but to this day he owns every piece of my heart. I can run from him, but I could never kill him.”
“Then you’re no less to blame than he is,” I snap, grimacing at her shame-filled gaze. I shoot back the tequila, wishing the burn could melt the frigid cold encasing me.
“I never thought he would use you the way he did. You have to believe me in that,” Irina says, trying to placate me with her pleading eyes. “I thought simply having you would be enough.”
“Oh, bullshit,” I shout, her sorrow wasted on me. There isn’t an ounce of sympathy left in my body. Not for her. “You gave a murderer a weapon, and you’re trying to tell me you’re shocked that he used it?”
She opens her mouth to argue more, and for the life of me I cannot stomach another pleading word from her wobbling lips.
“Save it,” I say. “I’m not here to absolve you of your guilt. You’re right: you don’t deserve my forgiveness. It doesn’t make you any less guilty just because you fell in love with a wolf in sheep’s clothing.”
She flinches at my words, but doesn’t argue. Instead, her eyes turn dark, the barest hint of anger tinging them. She reaches across the counter, gently placing her hand on top of mine.
“He may be a wolf, but can you really say you didn’t see behind the wool and decide to stay anyway? Tell me, Maggie, how long did it take before you willingly let go of your life? A few days? A week? Two at most? Yes, he’s a monster—and what does it say about you that youstayed?”
I yank my hand back, aghast. The power churning in her big doe eyes reminds me so suddenly of Alister that I take a staggering step back. Shaking my head in disgust, I turn and race toward the door. I’m suffocating in her presence; in the way it reminds me so much of him. I can’t stand being here any longer.
“Where are you going?” she calls after me, the crackling light of her aura trying to eat away at my darkness.
“I’m taking my chance with the wolf,” I say, pulling the door open and walking into the night.
I’m halfway down the stairs when she calls, “Maggie, wait.”
I don’t know why I stop. Maybe there is some power in her voice that stills me. Or maybe it’s because, after all this time, I am still looking for a wayout.
Letting out a ragged sigh, I dip my head, and then turn to look at Irina. She’s illuminated in the glittering light of her store, the night seemingly unable to touch her. Still, her wide eyes dart about, and I notice she hasn’t stepped a single toe over the line of salt in front of her door. I also notice she’s holding a piece of paper in her trembling hands.
Taking slow, measured steps, I cross the distance between us and stop, fully wreathed in shadows on the porch. She is a shining star, and even that light cannot invade my darkness.
“Here,” she says, the barest tip of her fingers crossing the threshold of the salt barrier as she holds the crumpled paper toward me. An offering or a curse, I’m not sure. But I reach forward and take the paper from her hand, and she quickly snatches her outstretched arm back inside the barrier of her home.
Glancing down at the paper, I see a hurriedly scribbled address, and a name: Ronan. “What’s this?” I ask, quirking a brow at her as I fold the paper and stuff it into my pocket.
“He’s someone who can help you. Someone who can give you what you actually need. Tell him the Bird of Fortune sent you to retrieve the final key.” She steps back into her store. “Goodbye, Magpie.”
She closes the door, sealing the peaceful glow of her aura behind those robin’s egg–blue walls. I stare at the door for a long time before I turn and walk into the night.
