Page 35 of Magpie
She raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t move, laughter bubbling in her eyes as she asks, “Is that a command?”
He lowers his outstretched hand, a look of flaming annoyance crossing his face before he pinches the bridge of his nose and whispers a series of curses. I get the feeling this interaction is not uncommon between the two of them, especially when I see the smirk gracing her lips. He lowers his hand from his face and storms forward. Lyric holds his harsh gaze as he stalks toward her. Grabbing her jacket collar, he tugs her toward him, and my eyes go wide as I get the feeling he is about to kiss her. Should I go?
Instead, he shoves the note in the front pocket of the leather jacket that I am beginning to think is his exact size. He grips her shoulders, turns her around, and shoves her toward the door. “Kaldin will help you if you have any questions. Nowgo.”
“Yes,master,” she calls over her shoulder, turning and blowing him a kiss, which has him growling at her, his hands infists at his sides. I hear her laughter echoing down the hallway, and Ronan slams the door shut to cut it off with an annoyed sigh.
“What did you send her to get?” I ask.
“The things we will need to create your self-destruct button.”
My eyes grow wide. “I…my…what?” My words refuse to come out properly.
Ronan gives me a cold, dark look. “You plan to end Alister, is that correct?”
“Yes.” I do not hesitate for a second before answering. He cannot be allowed to remain.
“You need to be aware that you will not just be ending him. You will be ending every life attached to his. That includes yours, Maggie.” I don’t question how he knows my name; I am too wrapped up in the reality of his words. “Is that something you’re willing to do?”
Is it?
I have been running from Alister so I could get my life back, but I suppose I signed that life away the day I gave him my key. Now my sole purpose is to make sure he can’t do this to anyone else.
Swallowing hard, I nod, just once.
There’s no sympathetic look from Ronan, no false pity in his eyes, and I respect him a little more for it. He walks over to a wall made up entirely of a bookshelf. He runs his hands over the spines before pulling out a book bound in dark green leather. Opening to the middle, he pulls out an iron key, and my breath hitches. He places it in a small, barely visible keyhole in a notch in the ornately carved wood of the shelves. There is a great grinding, like a massive lock clicking open, and the bookcase splits in two. The twin halves slide slowly open, revealing the entrance to a stone room.
Gray stone. Blue flames. Arms that feel like home wrapped around me.
With a grunt, I force the memory away as Ronan steps over the threshold of the hidden room, not turning to see if I’ll follow. After a beat, I do, though I stop at the entrance, not quite willing to step into a room that reminds me far too much of many nights, and many rituals. But the room before me is not a shadowy bedroom; rather, it appears to be a workstation of sorts. There is a large stone table, every inch etched with runes and symbols of great power. A fire crackles away in the corner, though it’s emitting a strange green smoke. Crystals, orbs, vials, and beakers take up every inch of a shelf along one wall. There’s even a massive mural depicting the night sky, highlighting constellations that I know, but many more that I don’t.
Ronan is rolling his sleeves up, confirming my suspicions that the tattoos that cover every inch of his hands continue up his arms. I wonder how far they go. He motions me forward to the stone table. Coming to stand on the opposite side, I notice there is a basin carved into it, like a perfect bowl. He pulls out his pocket watch again and, glancing over, I see there is no clock face. Rather, swirling stars and planets tick across the surface, several watch hands going in opposite directions.
“How much time do I have left?” I ask, unable to keep the question to myself anymore.
He looks up at me, and I see the first crease of sadness around his eyes. I have to look away from it as he whispers, “Not nearly as much as you need.”
I level a look at him, narrowing my eyes as he snaps his watch shut.
“The call of your key will not go unanswered. It won’t allow you to ignore it for long. You’re already craving it, correct?”
I can’t help it; I rub at my chest, at the gnawing cold that seeps from my heart and the desperateneedthat leaches from it like blood from a wound. I nod.
“Then I suspect you have two days, three at most, before the pull becomes undeniable. Even I won’t be able to stop you from leaving this house and returning to it.”
“You mean returning to him,” I whisper, my voice hollow, the air punched out of my lungs. Two days, three if I’m lucky, which I never am.
“No, Maggie, I meanit. The power, the lure of it, has never been his. It has always been the voice of Death calling to you.”
He says “Death” like the name of an old friend, like it is someone he’s met many times before. He doesn’t sound afraid in the slightest. The weight of the rapidly depleting sands in my hourglass presses down on me, trying to crush me, but I don’t let it. I don’t have thetimeto let it.
“You stole life, Maggie, and Death doesn’t like her things being taken.” Ronan’s voice is grim. “She’s going to get them back. She always does.”
I’m in a library, trailing my fingers over the books. I had intended to pick up a volume, to read and distract myself from the visceral image of the girl hanging from the seatbelt, from the cries of the boy screaming at her to wake up. But it is useless. No matter how many times I try to focus on the words, all I can see is the girl’s one unseeing eye. Instead, I find myself pacing the perimeter of the library, desperately wishing Alister would come save me from this torment.
“Hello again, pretty bird.”
The voice startles me. I yelp, spinning around and finding Sean standing in the open doorway. He’s dressed now, much like Alister, in a three-piece suit, though his is a muted gray, where Alister always prefers black. His tie is the exact deep shade of red as his eyes. He smiles as I continue to stare open-mouthed at him, memories of our night together rising in my mind when he calls me “pretty bird,” but I frown. I don’t deserve to feel good, not after today.
