Page 33 of Magpie
All I want to do is fall into bed, preferably with him, but he leads me from our room, and I don’t stop him.
“I know you have been working yourself to the bone,” he says, glancing sadly at me. “You may think I don’t notice, but I do. I see every ounce of energy and pain you pour into this home, into these keys. I want you to be able to stop, to rest, to finally be done creating.”
My mouth falls open, my eyes wide in shock. I’ve been the one insisting that we stop creating keys for decades now, trying to get Alister to believe that we have more than enough. He has always refused, hell bent on growing our numbers, on the need for more strength. With each new key, every new creation, he grows more powerful. And with all those keys, I lose sight of him a little more, of the boy who saved me. Lose sight of myself.
He beams down at me, at my bewildered expression, as he pushes open the door to his study. My heart is fluttering, the first tug of a smile pulling at my lips. Is this real? I try not to hope, but I can’t help the giddy feeling that is bubbling inside of me.
“I’ve found a way for us to be done,” he says, a feverish glow in his eyes.
Done. I finally get to be done.
“Do you really mean it, Alister?” I whisper, as he sits me down in a leatherback chair. My hands are trembling in my lap, and I hold them tight to try to keep them steady. Tears of relief spring to my eyes. I hastily wipe them away.
“Of course, my dove,” he croons as he flips through the pages of a book in front of him. He whispers to it, enticing it to respond to him. His eyes glow in the dim light, a deadly energy flowing off him. I try to get a better look from where I’m sitting, wanting to see what spell he is waking up, but before I can, he says, “Each key you create gives us more life, more time, more power.”
He’s speaking to me, but he is focused entirely on the spell book. I frown, looking down at my lap. He knows how much I hate plucking people out of their lives, erasing their existence just to tie their time to ours. He swore to me he only chose willing participants, but part of me questions just how forthright he is being with them. Do they truly know what they’re trading away when they join us?
When my suspicions first grew, I tried to question the newer members of our group. It turned out to be an entirely useless effort. Even after they shook the dream state that accompanied the transformation, there was still nothing to be learned from them. Each key fed into Alister’s heart gives him the person wholly. Their life before, and their time left on this world. He consumes it all, erasing it from history. They only remember their time waking in this house, another one of our creations.
When I first discovered the spell for the ritual, the ceremony that would allow him to fuel us through wicked acts and endless pools of pleasure, I thought I was done at last with creating new keys. He will not allow me to participate in the ritual, refusing to let a single other person touch me, but that does not stop me from feeling the carnal thrum of power thatmoves through the House like a spirit. It is intoxicating, and overwhelming, and I have had to all but chain myself to a wall to keep from joining the throng.
Alister does not want me to, so I do not.
He was the one to discover the variant to the spell, a slight twist in the wording and the whispered prayers to the greater magics of this realm. He was the one to realize that fear, and pain, and the promise of death are far more powerful than the freedom of pleasure. It is a powerful spell, and can only be enacted once a year, when the veil between realms is at its thinnest.
I was horrified the first time I saw him transform our creations from creatures of wonder and beauty into things of nightmares. He promised me it was just another performance, just another farce to display to the masses. But I saw the way the patrons left our house; I saw the look of darkness that clouded their eyes. I wanted to protest, to demand he stop, to beg him to be satisfied. But I knew. Deep down in the dark recesses of my heart, Iknewthat I was not enough for him. I would never be enough for him. So, I allowed myself the space he would grant me, growing accustomed to the small box he put me in inside his house. Inside his heart. And I died a little more every day of my immortal life.
I long ago stopped hoping that his hunger will ever be sated, knowing it will only lead to heartache. Yet as I sit here, looking into the eyes of the man I have loved my whole life, I cannot help that blooming ember of want, of need, of purehopethat I am at last enough.
“I have finally found it—the thing that can give you rest.” He says it like a lover whispering to his bride as he scoops up the book and carries it to me. With that all-consuming hunger in his eyes, he sets the book in my lap. I give him a brilliant smile, barely keeping myself from jumping into his arms, so overcomewith happiness that I am willing to do whatever he asks if it means we can finally be content in each other’s arms. Then I look down at the book.
The Death Key.
I look up at him, confused. I did all of this to let us live, to flee from the inevitability of the grave. Why would he want me to create a death key?
He sees the uncertainty on my face, and kneels in front of me, taking my hands in his as I study the page again. My fingers trace the lines of a black iron key with a bird in flight on the handle. The black-and-white feathers are so realistic I can almost imagine it taking flight and fleeing from the confines of the page.
“This can be the last key you ever have to make, my dove,” he says, his voice alight with excitement.
“What does it do, Alister?” I ask, an uneasy feeling growing in the pit of my stomach as I continue to trace my eyes over the key’s jagged edges and harsh lines.
“It will give us all the time we ever need,” he says, perfectly sidestepping the question. Taking my face in his hands, he tilts my head until our eyes connect. He begins to draw me forward to kiss me, a common distraction tactic of his. He knows I will be lost in the seductive call of his warmth.
Jerking back, I pull away, locking eyes with him as I say, louder this time, “What does it do?”
He snaps his mouth shut, his eyes hardening in an instant as I refuse to flinch beneath his gaze. An uncomfortable silence blooms between us. He grips my face hard, trying to pull me to him once more, but I do not move an inch. My heart is beating faster with each passing second that he doesn’t answer me.
His hands fall to his sides, curling into fists, his voice clipped as he says, “It creates death.”
I am up and out of the chair before I can think, the book spilling to the ground. Alister scrambles to pick it up, holding it gently, the way I wish he would hold me.
“Irina, listen to me. This is the solution. This is the answer to everything. We can take the remaining life from anyone we wish, feeding their years into ours. The world will become an endless buffet for us to feast upon. We can even stop performing, stop the rituals. We won’t need them to fuel us.”
“Because we would be killing people, Alister!” I shout, taking a shaky step back. I’m holding myself tight, shaking my head as I stare wide-eyed at him. I’m waiting for him to tell me this is all some cruel joke. I’m waiting to wake up from this nightmare. But he continues to hold the book, his hard eyes finding mine. I flash him a look of disgust before I whirl around and storm to the door.
“Irina, stop,” he shouts, stopping me in my tracks, my hand gripping the doorhandle tightly. I’m breathing heavily, shaking all over with rage and betrayal. I was so foolish to think he had changed. So foolish to think he would ever be content with me. I have given him a taste of immortality, and he has become addicted to it. I do not turn around; I can’t stand to see the monster I created out of the boy I love.
He is behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me to him. I close my eyes, tears spilling down my cheeks at the gnawing need to have him hold me. I tilt my head back, resting it against his chest. I try to remember Alister as he once was: the boy who begged for my life, who fought for me when we were just strangers. I know that version of him is gone. It is truly dead; I just can’t seem to bury it.
