The Short Life of Sparrows (13 page)

I take refuge under the comfort of my blankets, folding my arms over them as I think on it. At least I know his kissing her means
something
—
something more than what it usually means around here
. While Nightbloods and Seers are left to their random whoring, one man has the self-respect to take his time—to kiss a girl goodnight instead of expecting more. After wallowing through the sludge that was May Cressle’s journal, the slow and gentle interactions between Daphne and Isaiah are welcome and refreshing.

I don’t care what our coven would say or do about an Ordinary and one of our own. If anyone deserves a genuine suitor, it’s someone as kind and sincere as Daphne. It’s a secret I’ll gladly help to hide. In time, perhaps everybody will get used to an Ordinary living here, and it won’t be such a big deal if he stays. A solitary life is something I’ve accepted for myself. I can’t picture a future with any man. But maybe Daphne can be the exception to the isolation the rest of us seem prone to settle with, and maybe—just maybe—I have more control over my future than I thought.

As I close my eyes, relaxing my body’s weight into my mattress, I hear a rattling of metal in the keyhole before the creaking of my door. The candlelight dances on my walls, and I yawn as if she’s actually woken me.

“Don’t do that,” Lil says, a tartness in the remark. She places a teacup next to the bed and puts the key into her apron pocket. I know I’m caught, because Lil is still dressed like she’s been up waiting. “You’re not going to offend my good sense with manufactured yawns. You haven’t been finishing the tea by your door the last few nights. At first I thought you were locking your door to stage one of your melodramatic protests. But I went to dust your windowsills earlier today, since you're always forgetting them. One window was left unlatched, and it was much less dusty than usual. And the bushes below that window look like they've taken quite a hammering. As if someone might be stepping all over them. Are you seeing someone? Because it’s beneath you to dive out of your window headfirst to do so.”

I yawn, a true and sleepy yawn this time. “Gross. I am 
not 
seeing any Nightbloods. I’m not partial to disease or pregnancy at the moment.”

She puts her hands to her hips, clearly not satisfied with my answer. “Isaiah?”

“What about him?”

“Don’t be smart with me, Calli. Not about this. You might not like the notion of telling me the entire truth, but you better think through it before you toss an outright lie into my lap.”

“I’m not jumping the Ordinary, okay?” I rub at my eyes, wishing Lil would save this lecture for morning. “I’ve been with Daphne. Sometimes we meet up at night. Mildred gets too much anxiety about Daphne doing anything—like she’s still eleven and should be sitting in her room playing dolls.”

She checks my windows, muttering and grimacing as she tries to push the one that sticks into its lock. “Are you staying out of the river?”

“Yes.”

“Will you remember your coat or at the very least a shawl the next time you go somewhere? And use the front door? I only expect you to squeeze yourself through those windows in the event of a fire.”

I throw my hands up in submission. “Yes. I will remember my coat. And I’ll stop crawling out the window.”

“Calli?”

“Hmm?” Rolling onto my side, I’m feeling my eyelids flutter even though I’m trying to listen.

She sits down on my bed, her hand combing through my hair. I hear the hesitation, and I feel it as her hand stops at my forehead. “If you do begin to have strong feelings for someone—anybody—you’ll talk to me about it before acting on it, won’t you?”

I’m about to say something about how I wouldn’t dream of burdening Lil with cross-eyed babies to spoon-feed, but her eyebrows will fall out and get patchy if she doesn’t start resting them. “Yes, Lil. If I suddenly get the urge to ruin my life, you will be the first to know about it.”

Curling up in the warmth of my blankets, I let her keep stroking my hair. No matter how old I get, it’s still comforting to know that Lil will take care of me—and even though she might scold me more often than not, I feel fortunate that she cares enough about me to do so.

16

ISAIAH

T
he birds are prattling, their animated calls to each other coming through the drafty cracks in the walls. I’ve been awake anyway, replaying what happened with Daphne. It should’ve been private—and not swiftly ended. Did it really require Calli peeping out of her window at that exact moment? I’m tying my boots, when my fingers curl around the secured laces. The knock is scarcely audible. “Come in.”

Wisps of brown hair twist over her cheeks, and she pushes her hips back to the door, the handle clicking closed. “I hope it’s okay that I’m here. I mean, I made sure nobody saw me come this way.” Pink spreads over Daphne’s neckline, and I’m much too aware of how she’s biting apprehensively at her lower lip.
Like I’m going to tell her to go
.

“Would you like to sit down?” Getting up from the stool, I place it at a decent distance from my bed. I don’t want her to get the wrong impression from me. Even though she came here alone and unannounced, I’m not expecting anything untoward from it. I take a seat on the mattress, but she doesn’t move.

“I can’t stay. Someone will notice if I don’t make this quick.” Her fingers drum at the splitting planks that make for a poor excuse of a door. “Last night—the kiss. If it was only meant to happen once, I won’t take it personally. Really. But if your intention was for it to happen again, I’d like our first kiss to be a real one. Not a hurried peck, because my cousin was watching us from her window.”

Unable to control the grin that curls on my face, I lock eyes with her. “Yeah, Calli is about as stealthy as a clap of thunder.”

She doesn’t laugh, and immediately I feel terrible for leaving her standing there to guess what I’m thinking. And for making any more of this about Calli. “Please. Sit. I’d like it if you stayed for a few minutes.”

Maybe because I’ve reimagined the kiss into something that doesn’t include such a failure of timing, or maybe because I need her to forget it—I’m moving toward her with a nervousness that both excites and rushes my pulse. She almost makes it to the stool, but I don’t wait for anymore talk of what should have been. I’m already there with my hands on her face, pressing my lips to hers. Her shoulders melt against my arms, and so does her mouth under the coaxing movement of mine. I could do this all day—inhaling her as her fingers grip to my sleeve.

Pulling back a little, I watch her guarded expression fall. I can smell the floral perfume on her. She smells so good that I have to picture ugly things like the Coven Mistresses in their shifts to get rid of the warming thoughts I have of Daphne.  My thumb taps at her chin, and I take in the beaming grin that tugs at her dimples. She clears her throat. “Our second kiss is the one I’m choosing to remember.”

Some men ooze polished words as if they have too many in their possession, but words have never poured out of me. If I was quicker I’d tell her how nice she looks in her pale blue dress. But I’ve stood here gaping at her with my hand still on her face. The temporary heroics that lead me to charge for a kiss have passed. I’m better off not saying anything anyway. What if I admitted that having a beautiful, sweet girl want me to kiss her is what makes this place tolerable? That having someone bring me dessert in the afternoon is by far the most genuine kindness anyone has ever shown me.
It’s far too soon for it. There’s a fine line between vulnerable and needy, and I’m one declaration away from being a kicked puppy that’s been offered a bone. “I really like you.” Not clever or original, but it’s safe and direct.

“I like you too,” she says, threading her fingers through mine.

“Maybe we could meet somewhere tonight? It’d be nice if we could talk some more.” Her smile dips down at her feet, and I’m afraid she’s inferred more than I meant by it. I really do want the chance to sit and talk with her, to get to know more about her. My curiosity has been building with every day I’ve had sight of her. Unlike Calli—even the other Seers near her age—Daphne hardly demands to be the center of attention. She’s subtle, cautious, and careful.

A hard rap sounds three times on the door. Daphne lurches backward, turning in a circle for a more appropriate place to be.
There isn’t one
. I shove my hand through my hair, gripping it as I try to think of anything that explains her presence.

“Isaiah? Are you decent in there?” Lil’s voice already has a suspicious tone. “I saw your lantern was on, so I brought your breakfast.”

Daphne settles on the stool as I go to open the door. Her posture is as tight as a rod—as if she’s been charged to be at the bedside of someone who’s comatose. When I pull the door open, I don’t bother to block Lil’s view. It’d only suggest the worst.

“Daphne,” Lil remarks. Her eyes dart between the two of us, and then Lil hurries to close the door.

“Nothing happened,” Daphne blurts out. “Really, Lil.”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry. I know I broke the rules. Daphne’s right though. Nothing happened here.”

Lil pushes the steaming plate of eggs into my hands, her mouth a twitching line. “Oh, we’re not even going to discuss how you’ve broken the rules. If any of the Nightbloods knew about this—okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Daphne, you’re going to get up and walk out with me—like you were with me the entire time. And you’re both going to hope that nobody saw me walking down here by myself.”

Daphne nods, not looking at me as she walks for the door. Lil puts her hand flat to keep the door closed, hesitating to say something. “Isaiah?”

“Yes, Lil?”

“This ends. Right here. Right now.” Lil’s eyes harden, her gaze meeting with mine and then with Daphne’s. “I mean it. You two are playing a very thoughtless, risky game. The very idea of you two together is something the coven would never understand. I’m not to see you two alone here again.”

“Of course,” I agree. “It was a mistake.”

A stricken look pierces Daphne’s face briefly, but then she nods with an indifferent stare, as if it was ludicrous that we’d kiss in the first place. Lil follows her out. I turn the plate in my hands before setting it on the stool. Sitting on the bed, I pinch at my eyes. “Dammit.”  When I’m sure they’re out of earshot, I kick the stool. Scrambled egg covers the dirt floor. I curse again, knowing what a mess I’ve made.

17

CALLI

O
h. Another dream in a room I don’t recognize. Wonderful. There’s nothing like falling asleep to wake instantly in a location I can’t point to on a map---a scene I can’t label with a date or day---a happening that is a piece of a stranger’s existence years from my own death. I’m already loathing my bed for sending me here. It’s as if I’ve lain down in quicksand only to be sucked into time and dumped into another place.

A beautiful, high clock ticks away in the corner. The gold pendulum swings with lazy ease and rhythm. It’s a welcome sound, feeling some sense of time. Two forty-five, the clock hands say. I turn around, realizing there’s nobody here.

I wait for whomever and whatever is about to play out for me. The room is warm, tidy, and quaint though. I study the walls—a collection of sketched faces and one large portrait—a family posed in a noble, solemn arrangement. Three grown children crowd around their aging parents in the picture, all standing with stoic postures. Two of the three sons rest their hands on their parents’ shoulders.

Wandering aimlessly across the room, I find a crooked pile of books next to a bowl of sweets. A worn book lies cracked open and upside down on the side table. My curiosity gets the better of me. I know what scripture is, but I’ve never seen it in person. Our people are nearly allergic to churches and verse outside of our own grimoires. Lil would probably burn and salt this hardbound book if I ever brought it in our home. We’ve all been called servants of a devil we don’t know, one too many times by Ordinaries who like to study philosophy.

I try to lift the thick book with cream colored pages, but my hand goes right through the stack of books. I’m no more than a ghost here. An observer, I remind myself. The pitter patter of excited feet startles me. With chunky little hands and pink cheeks, the girl is no more than four. I’m left to jump backward as she runs for the table. She puts her hand in the crystal bowl, retrieving a red and white candy wrapped in paper. The whiskered man from the portrait waddles into the room after her, rubbing at what seems to be an arthritic joint in his arm.

“Can I have one, please?” she asks, holding out the partially unwrapped sweet.

He nods, yawning as he sinks into the rocking chair. The mahogany chair squeaks as it rolls back and forth on the floorboards. She plops down on the floor, kicking her legs up behind her as she crunches her candy in her mouth. I giggle, watching the determined and impatient way she insists on enjoying it.

My hands trail over and through a gold-leafed vase on a shelf, admiring the intricate detail of the vines that twist along the base of it. It’s such a peaceful scene, and I’m grateful for it. The smell of peppermint fills my nose. That’s when I realize I’m experiencing this small girl’s contentment—her simple and pure happiness just to be.

“Come sit with Grandfather,” he says, patting the arm of the chair. 

She gets up from the floor, twisting the empty wrapper in her tiny fingers. The old man counts, “One, two, three, oomph,” as he lifts her up on his knee. “You’re getting too heavy,” he grunts as he pretends not to be able to rock the chair. She laughs, scrunching her eyes and nose.

But then the chair begins to roll forward and back again. I think, if only every dream could be this way—so modest—so safe.  I feel lulled and drowsy by the constant movement of the chair, even though I’m not sitting in it. Watching them, I’m envious of the girl. It’s a foreign and beautiful thing to me—to watch a father-like figure spend any time with his granddaughter. I start to wonder what my own grandfather looked like. Did he at least have a name I’d be fond of? If I had been born to an Ordinary, could I have had this sense of normalcy and family?