Page 45 of Magpie
At least, that’s what he keeps telling me.
“Ginger is called into another room, and he begs to take the child. He loves holding the baby, loves any second he can spend with her. He’s turning, bouncing the baby on his hip, as he walks the length of the room.” I laugh, a simple, joyous sound, as the babe in his arms begins to giggle.
The laugh is cut short, becoming a strangled scream as I move to slap a hand over my mouth.
Alister holds me firm, his grip vise-like as he hisses, “Don’t stop, Magpie. Tell me what is happening.”
My lips might move, my voice might speak, but I am entirely unaware. I am focused only on the scene in front of me. On the toy train the man trips over, on the sharp edge of the fireplace mantel. I hear, I see, Ifeelwhen his head cracks into the side of it. The pain is blinding, nearly knocking me back, but Alister continues to hold me tight, anchoring me to the nightmare.
I am no longer in my body. I’m in his. I try to hold on, try to cradle the child to me as I fall, but the splitting pain in my head sends me reeling. As I crash to the floor, the child spills out of my arms. I hit the ground hard, falling on top of a small bundle, and I lose a true sense of understanding for several dark moments. People cry out, but above it all I hear Ginger’s screams. I am rolled over, that bundle pulled out from under me. I must have fallen on it. It’s hard to see through the blood and the disorientation, but when I focus, I wish I hadn’t. Because Ginger is there, holding an unmoving bundle in her arms, and I know it to be her child.
My grandchild, the only one I will ever get to cherish, lifeless in her mother’s arms.
I am screaming, begging for Alister to help me, to pull me from this scene, but I am left entirely alone in the nightmare. The family is in chaos, screams and cries filling my mind. Ginger won’t stop crying, gut-wrenching wails, and I know that even when she eventually stops, that sound will forever live in her soul. Marring it, ripping it, ruining it. I pray for death, pray for a release from the horror of this reality.
Death does not answer me.
The scene before me fades, my eyes fluttering open. I’m seated once more on Alister’s bed, my dress bunched around the tops of my thighs. My ears are ringing, even though there is no cacophony of wails and cries surrounding me in the gentle quiet of Alister’s room. My cheeks are wet, rivulets of tears runningfrom my wide eyes. I’m staring at my hands, held tightly in Alister’s grip, my mouth hanging open in its own silent scream.
I’m frozen, in a complete state of shock. I felt the child die. Ifelther soul leave her body. My mind is reeling, trying to tell me what I experienced can’t possibly be real. Because…because it felt like Imadethat happen.
Alister tugs my hands, pulling me toward him, wrapping me in his warm embrace. The heat of it doesn’t reach me. I am a limp ragdoll in his arms, and the way he isn’t fazed by my catatonic state lets me know this is not the first time I have reacted like this.
“Did…” I swallow hard against the dryness in my mouth, the tightness in my throat. “Did I make that happen?”
How many people have I killed?
Alister lifts my face to his, kissing me deeply. Again, that warmth spreads through me at his touch. Again, I don’t feel a single sparking ember of it.
“Of course not, my darling,” he says, stroking my face. He cradles me in his lap, and I can’t help but imagine the man cradling the child in his arms. I begin to shiver, curling in on myself. “You were merely there to witness the journey, nothing more.” His hand combs through my hair, a soothing gesture that does nothing to help me.
“I don’t know if I can do that again,” I gasp, feeling a sob catching in my throat. “I don’t want to be a witness on those journeys. They’re not mine.” As I speak the words, I know they’re true.
Alister’s firm hand grips my chin, yanking my head up forcefully and snaring me in his hard gaze. “You’re right, Magpie. They don’t belong to you. They aremine. Now give them to me.”
He forces his lips onto mine, and for the first time since waking up in this house, I am revolted by him. I don’t crave histaste, his touch, his warmth. None of it is helping me now, and I’m beginning to wonder if it ever did.
I feel something yanked out of me, pulled so powerfully that a sharp cry escapes my lips. Alister shoves me away from him, and I scramble back, only too happy to have space between us. He’s already standing, his back to me as he storms from the room. I know he will shut himself away in his study and disappear into his work. I am forgotten entirely, my usefulness spent. For now.
I pick myself up, standing on shaking legs. I stay standing in the middle of his room for a long while, my wide eyes staring at nothing, seeing only the piece of paper that Sean burned to cinders as true understanding dawns on me.
I am not a burst of energy added to Alister’s flame. I am not joining in the power, in the endless warmth and light.
I am nothing but kindling, and I’m not sure how much longer I can stand to burn.
Iwatch him as I sit in our bed, my knees curled up to my chest, my chin resting on top of them. He’s fuming, anger radiating off him from our most recent fight, and I can feel it only too well as the minutes tick by and his ire grows. I remain still. He’s a storm, moving about the room in a whirlwind of misplaced aggression and power, sending books flying off the shelves in his wake. I don’t even flinch when a crystal ball soars across the room, shattering into the wall next to my head. I’m far too used to his tantrums by now, and I frown at the realization.
I don’t need to glance out the window to see the sky is fully dark. The night is another thing I am far too familiar with. I miss the sun, the warmth it provides. I hug myself tighter, following Alister with my eyes as he yanks on his jacket, nearly ripping a sleeve off with the force of his effort. It’s almost showtime, on Samhain no less. Everyone will be expected to perform. Alister bars me from the other rituals, the ones that would have others tasting me. I am for him and him alone, ashe constantly reminds me. Yet even I am expected to partake in this ritual.
The last time I looked out the window, a line was already forming outside the door to the Victorian farmhouse we’re occupying. After years of jumping between big cities, I find the small town strange. Alister prefers the bustle of a city, with an endless buffet of souls to lure into our web. When I moved the House to this town, he questioned me, demanding to know why I placed us so far away from a large population. I didn’t answer him, because I wasn’t sure if I could go through with my plan. If I could doom another.
I’m certain now.
“You should be getting ready. You’ll be late,” he says, his voice cold and dismissive as he pulls on a pair of white gloves, not even sparing me a glance. I used to be the only thing he looked at, the only person he needed to survive. But that was a lifetime ago, and now there is a chasm of creations and resentment between us, and I know there is no bridge that will ever let me cross back to him.
“I can’t do this anymore, Alister,” I whisper, hoping, foolishly, that my words will be enough.
He stops adjusting his gloves, pausing for a brief moment before hurriedly continuing, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket, straightening his collar. “Now is not the time for another one of your episodes,” he snaps, an utter dismissal.
