Page 38 of Magpie
By the end of it, I stand staring at a bowl of bubbling silver, my reflection perfect atop the surface. Not that I can study my face, not really. The exact pigments and shapes of my features slide from my mind like wax from a burning candle.
“What now?” I ask, pulling my gaze from the reflection that refuses to show me who I am, and training it on Ronan. He has bags under his eyes that weren’t there before, and his color is muted, as though this cost him a great deal more than just the effort to stay awake all night. Walking away from the table, hestumbles into a large leather chair, leaning over on his knees and breathing heavily.
“Now, we wait for Lyric,” he says, before sitting back and closing his eyes, like he will fall asleep at any moment.
“How long will she take?” I can barely keep the bite of panic out of my voice as I resist the urge to start nervously pacing. He told me I haddaysleft before I would be powerless to return to Alister, to my key. If Lyric takes too long, if she can’t get whatever ingredients he needs to finish this spell…I sway on my feet before gripping myself tightly and giving my head a firm shake. I will not think of the alternative. I will not focus on how close I am to falling into Alister’s grip.
Because if I think about it at all, I’m going to start screaming.
With bone-weary movements, Ronan pulls his pocket watch out and flicks it open, having to blink several times to focus on it. “She should be here any min—”
“Here’s your shit,” Lyric says, bursting into the room.
Ronan instantly scowls, snapping the watch shut and standing up to his full height. I get the distinct feeling he doesn’t like appearing weak in front of her. Lyric doesn’t even give him a passing glance as she strolls to the table and pulls a satchel from her shoulder, her movements stiff and awkward. It’s then that I notice she can’t use one of her arms. Ronan must notice it at the same time I do, because he storms forward.
“What the fuck happened to your arm?” he snaps, reaching out and taking it in his hands, gingerly, his motions slow and gentle, so at odds with his harsh voice. Even so, Lyric winces at his examination and pulls her arm away. It flops limply at her side.
“She wouldn’t give the bone freely. Payment was required, so I did what needed to be done.” She offers no other explanation, but I see a dark look passing over Ronan’s face. He looks like he wants to say more to her, but he flicks his eyes to me before turning and beginning to pull items out of the satchel.
“Er, do you need to rest?” I ask, and he gives me a harsh look.
“I have gone decades without sleep. A single sleepless night isn’t going to kill me,” he snaps, and I notice Lyric rolling her eyes, but I also see her grimace as she tries to reposition her arm. Both of them are too stubborn for their own good, apparently. If they want to suffer in silence, I’m certainly not going to argue too hard. The sooner we finish the spell, the better. I don’t exactly have time to waste.
I watch as Ronan pulls several items from the satchel. A spool with what looks like a long strand of hair curled around it and a long, sharp needle piercing it. A luna moth trapped inside a glass bell jar, its soft green wings fluttering rapidly against the glass as it tries desperately to get free. My stomach sours, a great sadness filling me at the sight of the winged creature denied the skies.
Ronan pulls out a series of teeth, throwing them into the bubbling silver basin one at a time. The last item he retrieves is a bone that looks burnt, soot and char marring the surface. The end of it is broken and jagged, and at the sight, Ronan snaps his eyes to Lyric.
“Lyric, what did you—” he starts, but she raises her uninjured hand and cuts him off.
“I told you; I paid what was due.” Her eyes are hard as she speaks, everything except her limp arm rigid in defiance.
“We’ll speak of this later,” he growls, but I think I hear an undercurrent of worry in his voice. He turns back to the bubbling silver, lifting his eyes to mine. “We get one shot at this. Just one.”
Panic reaches up and tries to seize control of me, but I force it back, taking several steps toward the stone table. Ronan is arranging the items in a semicircle around the basin, whispering to each of them in turn before setting them down. I watch as he unspools the thread, or hair—I would rather not know which—and begins wrapping it around the bone, glancing at Lyric onemore time with a sharp look of accusation. I don’t turn to see her response, focused wholly on what he’s doing.
After he wraps the bone, he gently lifts the bell jar, and I think he is about to let the luna moth go. Until he stabs it through the wings with the needle.
“What the fuck?” I snap, taking a step back, horrified. My mouth hangs open as the moth continues to flap its wings, undeterred by the thread piercing them.
“Everything comes at a cost, Maggie. You said you were willing to put an end to Alister,” Ronan chides, and I glare at him, taking my eyes off the moth’s beating wings. “This is part of the cost. Now, take the bone in your hand. Be careful not to dislodge the thread. If you sever the connection, there will be no finding your way back.”
“My way back from what?” I ask, reaching forward and gently grasping the bone. The moment I do, I gasp. Energy crackles and courses through me, the sense nearly overwhelming. I thought it would make me drop the bone, but I realize it is fused to my hand, as though they are one and the same.
I look up in shock, locking eyes with Ronan as he says, “Back from the edge of a nightmare.”
Then he plunges my hand into the boiling silver.
First there is shifting darkness, and then a softly blooming glow, chasing away the shadows with its gentle green radiance. I squint against the flickering light at first, until I see it is in fact the luna moth, tied to the bone that is solidly stuck in my hand.I hold the bone aloft, rising the moth above my head to cast light on my surroundings.
“Hello?” I call into the gloom. My voice echoes around me, a vast, cavernous noise. There is no answer in the echoing dark, only the ghostly mimics of my greeting. I shiver at the ghoulish way my voice wails and wanes in the void.
Turning, I continue to hold the moth aloft, but it begins to fly forcefully in the other direction. I glance up, watching it as I slowly turn until I am facing the direction the moth is flying. Taking one step forward, then another, another, I watch as the moth continues to point the path I am supposed to go. Together, we walk into the darkness.
I go between watching the moth and looking at the shrouded path in front of me. I’m walking on a forest floor covered in dried and crumbling autumn leaves. I expect to be tripped by a tree root at any moment. But the moth does not lead me on a path that tries to impede me, and I’m able to freely walk deeper into the nothingness.
It’s muggy, surprisingly so considering the autumn leaves beneath my feet; I had expected a chilly bite to the air. I pause, my raised hand lowering for just a moment.
I feel muggy.
