A Murder of Magpies (18 page)

Bernadette scooted in behind me before I slammed the door to my room. Oliver screamed
from the racket, and Chris called for Heidi’s help. I picked up my shirt and vest
from earlier. The only other time I wore the outfit was to Drake’s funeral. Chris
bought me the one suit off the rack that didn’t need alterations. Dragging out my
packed duffle bag from the closet, I unzipped it to reveal two extra sets of clothes
and checked my wallet. Thirty-two dollars, my Minnesota driver’s license, an emergency
contact card still listing Drake. Bernadette flopped onto the bag and lowered her
nose to her paws.

“Sorry, Dog,” I told her. “This is a solo mission.”

From my nightstand, I retrieved a few more items. The iPod I’d stolen off some kid
at my last school, my self-annotated anthology of Tennessee Williams.

“Ward, open your door!” Chris called from the hall.

I unlocked it and resumed throwing in the shirts from my dresser. He let himself into
my room, nudged my duffle bag, and I snapped, “Make it quick.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” He grabbed my arm. I set my jaw and shirked his
hold on me. “You need to get a grip and take care of your hand before you do anything.
If you leave, Heidi won’t let you come back.”

“Whatever happened to second chances?” I grumbled.

“You’re on your second chance,” he warned. “Think hard before you make up your mind.”

He shut my door, didn’t know I flipped him off on the way out before I slid to the
floor, drawing my knees to my chest. My boots were ugly as sin. Shit kickers, Drake
christened them. They belonged to him before they became mine. He quit wearing them
around the time he stopped performing.

I reached into my nightstand. A stack of photos caught my fingers. Vayda and I took
them with an old Polaroid camera I found at Fire Sales. Lousy quality and no chance
to delete the goofy ones. We lay on my bed and held the camera above to photograph
us. So many times in her room, she sat behind me, one of her arms wrapping around
my chest as she blanketed me with her hair. Sometimes I’d take one of the guitars
Drake hadn’t pawned for rent to her house, and I’d play while she sang. Sometimes
we sang together, old folk songs from the southern mountains, whatever made our voices
sound good together. We’d talked about nothing and everything and kissed for more
than an hour straight.

Was all that negated now?

The moments meant something at the time, but knowing, at any second, she listened
to my thoughts and plotted what to say based upon those thoughts…How much of her was
real and not what she thought I wanted her to be?

I flopped on the bed, rolled onto my side, and smelled traces of her on my pillow.
Holding the fabric to my face, I inhaled. My gut ached. She made me laugh. Laughing
hard didn’t come naturally to me. Or without a price.

I wanted more than a notch in my belt.

I didn’t scare easily.

That girl was a tinderbox. A bundle of kindling ready to ignite if given the right
spark. Knowing how incendiary she could be was both horrifying and riveting.

Plodding downstairs, Heidi and Chris trailed me without getting up from the couch,
silent, as I absconded from the kitchen with the phone. I went outside to the garage
and sat atop the metal sawhorse, startled by my reflection in a sheet of polished
copper. My face might’ve been distorted from the waves in the metal, but God, I had
broken eyes.

No wind, no sleet. Only forest, snow on the ground, and moonlight. I opened my wallet
and pulled out the gray business card, dialing the number handwritten on the back.

“Who is this?” a man’s southern drawl asked through a yawn.

“Emory? It’s Ward. Can we talk?”

Vayda

“The story is Jonah flipped his shit and got his ass locked in the psych ward.”

“Only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.”

“I give Vayda three days before she winds up rooming with him.”

“Bitch is whacked. You hear what happened with her and Chloe?”

My head felt firebombed by the chatter. Barely nine in the morning, and this was how
it’d be for the rest of the day. The comments behind my back, the pointing, would
be better off as knives. They’d hurt less. Three nights ago, Marty beat Jonah. It
wasn’t right or fair that he roamed free on bond while my brother stayed awake for
thirty-minute sprints before he was exhausted.

“Chin up, Magpie,” Dad urged while he poured coffee this morning. “You’re going to
school. Cardinal rule: The only way to make life normal is to live and not let the
whispers control you.”

I’d live all right. Under a rock.

Deep within the library stacks, I found a secluded table and rifled through my backpack
undisturbed. I had one of Jonah’s books and Ward’s music for me, some songs he’d been
showing me how to strum on a guitar. I didn’t switch on the music. All I wanted was
quiet. Ward’s quiet.

A crumpled paper snuck out of my backpack and plummeted to the floor. I picked up
the note, which I searched over in hope of some hit of Ward’s energy, his electricity.
It wasn’t easy to find, and what I felt as I unfolded it for the seven hundredth time
was a muddled mess:

V, Still…thinkingupsetconfusedspookedlonelysilent.

Still you. Still me. Still we?

—WMR

The paper was smeared and wrinkled as though trashed and retrieved more than once
before stuffed in my locker. At least it was some attempt to communicate. Even though
we shared several classes, I hadn’t seen him. He probably ditched school. The genteel
thing would’ve been to ask if I wanted to come, too.

An abrupt blackness gripped behind my ears, raised every hair, and the force whipped
my head over my shoulder. Sister Tremblay stood at the end of a row of books, not
moving, with her sights fixed on me.

“It’s not polite to stare,” I grumbled.

“I’m curious how your brother’s faring.” Her voice was low, nectar-rich. “It’s strange
he would be taken by surprise. He always struck me as the type who enjoys control.”

My hands buzzed as her darkness slid into my palms. No one else was in this part of
the library, and there was no way for me to flee without going through her.

“It must be difficult not to have Jonah protecting you.” She floated down the aisle
and spread out her fingers on my tabletop. “It makes you more vulnerable, doesn’t
it? No wonder your father goes to such great length to secure your safety.”

I gripped Jonah’s book. “What do you want?”

She reached inside her robes for a handkerchief to dab her nose. “I believed Jonah
was the wilder of you two. He’s talented, strong, and willing. But you’re out of control.
It would be a shame if you lost your hold, fragile as it is. It wouldn’t take much
to send you over the edge.”

“I’m fine,” I argued.

“I’m sure that’s what your mother thought as well.”

I clutched Jonah’s book tighter. With a wave of her hand, Sister Tremblay glided back
down the aisle of books. The light above me buzzed.

A moment later, the fluorescent bulb broke and darkness veiled me.

***

It took a while, but I was finally hungry. I carried my paper sack into the cafeteria,
bought some milk, and as I put the change into my pocket, I smacked right into Marty.

How could he be allowed in school after what happened? Despite the bruising on his
face and knuckles and the healing gash on his forehead where my brother got him, he
wore the same smug mask as usual. So much damage to Jonah, so little injury to him.
It wasn’t fair. The only reason he wasn’t hurt worse was he’d hit Jonah first. His
fingers reached for my cheek.

“Touch me and I’ll scream,” I hissed.

“All the good girls scream my name, and you’re still a good girl, right?”

I batted away his hand. “Leave me alone.”

Trying to step around him, I halted as his hand gripped my upper arm and pulled me
close enough against him to rub the flesh under his shirt.

“You’re in such a rush to go.” He dropped his voice and moved his mouth close enough
to my ear so that I felt the steam of his breath. “But if you think you can run away
from what I know about your brother, think again.”

My throat ached, mouth dry. He’d been drunk. That didn’t mean he forgot what happened
that night. I needed to talk to Jonah, find out exactly what went down in Fire Sales.

Marty released my arm and ran his hand over my hip before pushing me away. I yelled
for him to stop, not caring if people gawked. Every step I took away from him, my
shoulders tightened, waiting for him to say something. I couldn’t take that risk.

I put down my head and claimed my seat at my usual table, so empty today. No Chloe.
No Jonah. No Ward. Just some chive bread and me. At two in the morning, I’d begun
baking. Dad woke and was awestruck by my flour-speckled apron and the counter overrun
with poppy-seed muffins and fresh bread. The only question he managed was whether
we needed a bigger breadbox.

Chloe unwrapped a pack of red licorice from her lunch and sneered at me. She was polished
and well-planned from the headband that matched her plaid skirt to the diamond studs
shimmering on her ears. Her mission was clear: stop at every table in the cafeteria.

“…wanted to know if I’d get on my knees for Marty.” Her voice carried over the usual
cafeteria noise. “Only a girl who knows about that kind of thing herself would think
to say it.”

My stomach grew queasy as she tittered. The energy coming off her was tense and edgy,
not cheerful. To me, she felt like her teeth wanted to crack. She glanced my way and
curled her lips, the girl she was talking with gaping at me.

After she finished her promenade from table to table, she sat across from me. “May
I join you?”

“Is it safe?” I asked. The girl was a social piranha. I knew what happened if she
smelled blood. “I’ve seen you ear-hustling everyone on your way over here. You tell
them what a bitch I am?”

“Oh, they know.” She giggled. “Everyone does. People listen to me, Vayda.”

“Golly, Chloe, you’re so humble. Why don’t I call you ‘Jonah?’”

Her self-satisfied giggle ceased, replaced by a rabbit-like twitchiness. “Don’t say
his name.”

She gripped her lunch bag, and her hands trembled.

“He listens, Vayda.” She drew her hands to her mouth, eyes too wide. “He’s always
listening. I’ve been getting chills and can’t stop thinking that I need to make things
right with you. Why the hell would I want to do that? After what you said,
I’m
supposed to apologize to
you
.”

She whimpered, mouth pinched with pain. A distinct heat saturated her energy. Jonah
had to be awake right now. That or his abilities rotated out of control like an askew
gyroscope.

Defiantly, I said loud enough for Jonah to listen across the trail linking him to
Chloe, “If you don’t want to apologize, then don’t.”

“I can’t help it.” She gave a shrill cackle, and her hand smacked the table as she
fought it. “I’m sorry. I said it. Can’t take it back.”

Something was very wrong with her. Twisted.

Jonah, do you even know what you did to her mind?
I shot the thought to him and hoped he netted it.

He was silent.

***

After the final bell, I rummaged through my bag for the Chevy’s keys. Dad had me drop
him at his shop this morning and said he’d catch a bus to the hospital. Electricity
zinged
up my back, and I pivoted to face Ward. Violet streaked the hollows in his pale skin.
Evidently, his insomnia won again. Maybe it was wrong to hope he was “off” without
me, the way I felt without him.

“You weren’t in class,” I remarked.

He tugged his backpack higher onto his shoulder. “Heidi took me to a dentist. Not
as if Drake ever took me.”

“But your smile’s so pretty.”

“Pretty horrendous.” He paged through Vonnegut’s
Slaughterhouse-Five.
“Did you find my note?”

I dug out the smudged paper from my pocket. “You often string together random words
and expect girls to understand them?” His cheeks reddened, and my fingertips ran over
his, a test. Static churned between us. It was noisier now that he knew. “How are
we, Ward?”

His voice was exact. “On life support but hanging on. Vayda, I—” He huffed and blew
the auburn hair from his face. “I need to know where this goes.”

“You’ve been working a lot at Fire Sales, helping out
Dati
,” I said. “Thanks.”

“I’m learning a lot from him.”

We avoided looking at each other for fifteen seconds that felt like an hour. He glued
his back to his locker, and he couldn’t retreat but shifted, unsure if he wanted me
any closer. If only he’d let me relax him. I could calm down myself. Why not help
him? I’d made my Mind Games my enemy for years, but did it have to be that way? I
wanted to fix things. I wanted to fix myself. If they were what broke, maybe in some
insane way, Jonah was right and that I had to use them before I ruined everything
with them.

My right palm filled with cool energy as I reached for his hand, pushing my fingers
between his. He opened his mouth to protest when a valve in my hand opened and flooded
him with a blast of cold over hot over numb. He yanked away his hand, breathless.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“I’m sorry!” I winced. “I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t be sorry. It felt like feathers. It wasn’t bad. Actually, it was nice. Really
nice.”

The uncertainty ebbing from him mingled with alertness. Arousal.

“Come on, Vayda.” He snatched up my backpack and led me toward the exit.

Outside, salt crystals melted the ice as slush puddled in the parking lot. Icicles
hung from St. Anthony’s gutters, ready to fall and pierce. All the trees were bare
and black, sorrowful, and did nothing to hold back the wind sinking into my joints.

Ward kicked a chunk of ice before asking, “What the hell’s going on? Emory told me
to keep an eye on you, and the way he said it, he wasn’t asking because you’d be upset
about Jonah. He’s acting like he thinks someone’s going to hurt you. You guys are
so jumpy, and the broken window at Fire Sales, the spray paint, what’s going on? What
are you hiding? No matter what you think, I’m not stupid.”