Page 36 of Magpie
After what I did.
“Come back to me, pretty bird. Where did you go?” he asks, and I realize he is standing in front of me, looking like he asked a question I haven’t answered. I feel it then: his hand resting on my cheek—an anchoring gesture. It fills me with warmth, a warmth that feels so much more comforting than any Alister has given me. Still, I hold back, pulling away from his touch and turning back to the bookshelf. I pick a book at random, looking down but not seeing the page.
“Magpie, what’s wrong?” Sean asks, tugging the book out of my hands and turning me to look at him.
I don’t know why I speak, why I feel like I can be honest with him in ways I never can with Alister, but I am unable to stop myself as the words bubble up. “I think I’m tainted,” I say, voicing the unsettling worry that has soaked into me since the lesson in the park. “I think I did something bad, but I don’t know how. I think I…I think I took something that wasn’t mine to take.” I’m having a difficult time wording my feelings, because now that I am facing them, and speaking them out loud…I’m having a hard time remembering what exactly I did.
Sean smiles at me, a look of understanding on his face. I’m accustomed to the feverish hunger in Alister’s gaze, so the kindness warming Sean’s eyes leaves me reeling.
“It’s okay, Magpie. You’re experiencing what we all have.” He takes my face in his hands, making me meet his gaze. He has to stoop down low to be on eye level with me, and I’m caught by the staggering height of him. “Alister is taking from you what he needs to fuel the house, to fuel us.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. With each passing moment I can remember less and less of what happened in the park, why I am afraid to return. I thought when I finally left the hazy feeling of my old life behind, my memories would stop straining from my mind like water through a sieve.
Sean turns and pulls a book off the shelf, opening it and flipping through the pages. “Imagine it like this. Alister is the flame, and we are all kindling.” He rips a page from the book, walking toward a glowing lantern. Taking the glass dome off, he holds the page to the fire. I watch, transfixed, as the flame greedily laps up the page. “We feed into Alister, and in turn become like the fire. The more we pour into the flame, the higher it grows, the more powerful it becomes. But when the kindling is gone, it doesn’t exist anymore.”
He moves to the fireplace, carrying the burning page with him. He tosses it onto the pile of charred logs. I watch as the page curls and burns, bits of papery ash drifting up on the small plumes of smoke.
“I still don’t understand,” I say, coming to stand beside him, feeling foolish for not grasping what he’s trying to say.
He turns to me, cupping his hand under my chin and twisting my face until I am looking at him. I feel heat pooling inside of me, trying to break through the grief-stricken cage around my mind. He does not pull me into him, does not press his body against mine like I expect him to. Instead, he smiles gently, rubbing his thumb softly across my skin as he anchors me to this world, to this moment, refusing to leave me adrift in that sea of confusion.
“I am saying that Alister requires something from all of us to feed the fire of this house. Whatever he required of you, it is his now, burned into his essence. Like that page is no longer a part of the story, what he required from you is no longer yours. He took it and consumed it. I am sayingyoudidn’t do anything.Hedid.”
I pull away from his hand, turning and studying the ashy remains of the page, the story that will never again be told.
“Thank you,” I whisper, not entirely sure what I’m thanking him for, before turning and walking out of the room, away fromhis burning presence. I don’t know why I leave him behind, but I think it has something to do with how badly I don’t want to.
I sit on one of the many plush couches that line the center of the room I have been told is named the Den, the vast, maze-like space beyond the maroon door. The thumping bass beat from the red dance floor fills the whole Den, and I let it infect me. Alister stayed in his study all day, until he found me curled up in bed and commanded me to follow him to the ritual. I welcomed it, desperate for the promise of warmth and release.
Alister kissed me deeply and left me standing in the middle of a sitting room, disappearing into the throng of people. He will be busy the whole evening, drinking in the power and energy that rolls off the very walls of this place. He will gorge himself on it. My stomach sours at the thought, and I suddenly find myself entirely apathetic about the whole thing. I no longer care to feel, or be warm. I just want to be left alone.
I just want to sleep.
But Alister would not want that. He wants me to take part in the ritual—needs me to. So I force myself to stay, sitting down, determined to say yes to the first person who asks to pull me alone into one of those stone rooms.
And yet, after hours inside the Den, I find myself sulking on the couch, having refused every breathy offer to show me endless pleasure. The crowd is beginning to dwindle, most partners having already been selected, and I know I need to stop hesitating and just pick someone already.
“Aren’t you a lonely little girl,” a velvety voice drips into my ears.
A man stretches out onto the couch across from me, but not so far away that his leg doesn’t touch mine. His stark white hair falls into his pale face and milky white eyes. He looks every bit like a spirit that would haunt these halls, except for the fact that he’s wearing tight leather pants and a mesh tank top. I feel myself bristling at the cocky smile on his face, but I talk myself out of instantly getting up and moving away. He is as good a partner as any.
I paint a smile on my face, determined to get this over with. “Care to keep me company?”
I don’t need to ask twice.
The walk to the room of doors takes far less time than I would have liked. As eager as I am to have this ritual well and truly behind me, I’m less thrilled at the idea of spending a night with Ghost, the name I give this creation. He picks a door at random, pulling us into another stone room lit with flickering blue candlelight, and shuts the door behind us.
He’s luminous in the deep blue, truly glowing like a ghostly spirit. Even his eyes are alight as they catch and hold mine. The seductive call of the ritual tries to reach out to me, tries to pull me eagerly into his arms. But I’m in no mood to be swayed by it, so it slides off me, and I am left cold even as Ghost gathers me into his embrace. His lips are chilly as they meet mine, and I feel nothing at all when he pushes his tongue into my mouth.
I decide then and there that I don’t care if Alister is angry. I want no part of this ritual.
I shove against Ghost. He takes a stumbling step back from me, shock and confusion clear in his expression. “What are you doing?” he asks, moving back toward me, but stopping when I retreat.
I hug myself, shaking my head. “I changed my mind.”
He pauses for a moment, blinking at me, like he cannot understand the simple words of my refusal. “Just give it a try, Magpie,” he says, his voice dripping with that same self-righteous confidence that coats his entire demeanor as he saunters toward me.
“You heard her. Get out.”
