Page 27 of Magpie
Smoke curls from the lit cigarette in my hand, the acrid scent mixing with the stale air of the dank bar. After leaving Irina well and truly behind me, I found my resolve to walk the midnight streets alone waning, rushing into the first open place I stumbled by. Luckily, my darkness and rage fit right in at this dingy establishment. The bartender didn’t give me so much as a second glance, pouring me a drink and letting me buy his pack of cigarettes off him without a word.
My hands are shaking as I hold the cigarette to my lips, taking a deep inhale. I’ve got my journal open in front of me. Originally, I had just intended to shove the bit of paper Irina gave me into the envelope in the back. But then I saw his beautiful, sloping handwriting, and I wasn’t able to resist. I never let myself look at these pages; never allow myself a moment to relive the memories of my time with Sean.
Did you know you make the sweetest noise when you sleep? You sound every bit like a mewling kitten.
I scowl as I read the description of me.
Don’t give me that look. Yes, I know you’re going to frown when you read that.
A laugh gets caught in my throat, strangled by the sob that tries to erupt as I smile at the page. I blink against the wetness brimming my eyes as I drag another long inhale of the cigarette into my mouth. A few errant tears spill over, rolling down my cheeks. Cursing, I brush them away, tapping on my empty glass when the bartender passes by. He fills it, paying no mind to the sheen of moisture in my eyes.
When the bartender wanders off again, I look down at the journal, at his words, and whisper, “I miss you so much.”
I know.
I hear his voice perfectly, as though he’s standing next to me. It’s just as rich and warm as I remember. My heart breaks all over again, because I know he won’t be there, but I cannot stop myself turning in my seat and searching the shadows. My eyes land on a few bar patrons, sitting as far apart as they are able, and no one else. Choking on a sob, I swallow the drink in one gulp, motioning for another refill from the bartender. Stamping out the used cigarette, I pull a fresh one out of the pack, placing it between my lips as I fumble with the lighter.
A gloved hand comes into view, pulling the cigarette from my lips.
I’m frozen in place, watching as a second hand appears from the opposite side, his arms caging me in as he snaps the cigarette in half, letting the pieces fall onto the bar. He leans over, placing his hands on my shoulders, gripping them hard. I feel him lean over, nuzzling the back of my neck as he inhales deeply.
As he drinks in my fear.
I haven’t moved an inch, but my heart is racing like I’m running a marathon. I want to turn, to look at the door, or a window, any escape I might have, but I’m frozen in place. His fingers drum on my shoulder, beating an incessant rhythm, before he moves his hands. They rise, circling my throat, squeezing and tilting my head as far back as it will go.
He stares down at me, his normally coiffed hair falling into his eyes. He does not look angry, but rather disappointed. My hand begins to creep out along the bar in front of me, achingly slow to not draw his attention.
“I do hope you gave Irina my love,” he says, removing one hand from my neck and beginning to stroke my cheek in slow,gentle motions. “Are you satisfied now that there is no way to outrun me? Are you finally ready to come home?”
My hand creeps further, until I feel the highball glass under my fingertips.
“Aren’t you so tired—”
I don’t waste a moment. I raise the glass and smash it down on the bar as hard as I can. The noise startles Alister and he releases me, jumping back. I grip a jagged piece of glass in my hand as I spin around and scream, “Get your fucking handsoff me!”
Someone lets out a startled yelp, and another bar patron swears loudly before muttering something about stupid junkies. Looking wildly around, I wait for him to rush forward and grab me, but I know in my heart he won’t. He’s doing this on purpose, letting the fear build so he has something to gorge himself on when I finally return.
“Are you alright, ma’am? Did the glass cut you?” the bartender asks, holding out a grimy towel. Opening my hand, I drop the shard, ignoring as blood drips onto the mess of glass and whiskey on the ground. Glancing at the bar, my eyes catch on the split cigarette.
I give the bartender some halfhearted excuse; I’m not even paying attention to my own words as I slide a pile of cash toward him before rushing from the bar. I burst through the doors, running into the night. The seeping wound on my hand leaves a trail of blood behind, a ruby-red road to lead him directly to me.
Fingers run through my hair, gently working out the tangles, as I slowly become aware. My eyes, blurry from sleep, don’t immediately understand what they are seeing. A dark room, lit by low-burning candles with dancing blue flames, illuminating the stone walls.
Stone. I don’t remember the house having any stone.
There is a weight around my middle, and after a moment I realize it is an arm, but the warmth it fills me with is unfamiliar.
This isn’t Alister.
I squirm, and the arm tightens around my middle, pulling me against the broad, firm chest of a stranger. I begin to panic, opening my mouth to cry out for Alister—
“Did you sleep well, pretty bird?”
Don’t take your eyes off me.
Memories crash back into me. The spiraling staircase, the maroon door, churning bodies, a wicked mouth between my legs—but mostly I rememberhim.
I twist in his arms, and he loosens his grip enough to let me. I cross my arms in front of myself, suddenly aware I amcompletely naked. “You ruined my dress,” I say, locking eyes with Skull, who is grinning at me, the look entirely feline.
