A Murder of Magpies

by Sarah Bromley

  “She would have gotten control again. She taught me how to use mine, how to hold the reins tight.”

  So she groomed Jonah but not me. Why?

  “I still hear you,” he said. “Maybe Mom didn’t teach you because you never wanted to learn more Mind Games. What a waste.”

  I stood and made my way to the base of the creaky stairs, observing my brother lying on the floor with only heat and the faint red glow from the fire surrounding him. “Not showing off Mind Games isn’t a waste, Jonah, not if it keeps our family safe. You used to know that. You’re exactly like Mom, and that means you’re going to get someone killed.”

  Chapter Six

  Vayda

  “How’s the weather on Planet Chloe?” I asked, closing my locker as she approached me. She wore pink glitter devil horns with matching platform heels to go with her school uniform. Leave it to Chloe to make Halloween cutesy. She scrutinized other students, a tight smile as people gaped at her standing with me, but she handed me several glittery ghost stickers. New cardinal rule: Be nice to everyone, even the class pariah.

  “I brought you this,” she said. “For your scrapbook. Right now it’s weirdo-recluse-in-the-woods stuff, which is dead-on but scary.”

  I murmured my thanks, sliding the stickers through the slot in my locker. Perhaps I’d leave a token for the next student to take my locker.

  “My mom hosted her book club last night and the subject of Heidi Brettenhoff came up,” she announced.

  My brow knotted. “That name matters why?”

  “Heidi is Ward’s sister. After Heidi came up, you did. Because you’ve been seen with Ward. Now I’ve heard rumors that Jonah and Ward are buddy-buddy, but you’re not getting any ideas, are you? Ward shouldn’t even be on your radar.”

  Chloe’s checklist today: cute costume, perfect hair, and the complete guide to insulting classmates. Queen of the motor-mouth brigade, Kate Halvorsen delighted in sniping about whose baby was as ugly as a Muppet. Hardly a mystery where Chloe inherited her penchant for gossip.

  She pulled me into the bathroom while she slathered on a coat of before-school lipstick and said, “Vayda, you’re a bookworm with potential because you’re sort of pretty. But you wear too much eyeliner. It makes you look like a cat.”

  “I like my eyeliner.”

  Her mouth wrinkled. “I guess if you think you can pull off whatever look you’re going for…Anyway, about Ward. If you’re thinking about him, stop. He’s trash. You don’t want to be seen with him. Birds of a feather and all. Look at the guy.”

  This was the Chloe I recognized.

  “Ward isn’t trash,” I argued. “Besides, why do you even care what I do? You don’t want to be seen with me or my brother.”

  She jutted her chin. “Fine. Point made.”

  “Hey, you’re the student ambassador,” I added. “What happened to being charitable?”

  “Shove it, weirdo.” She cracked a wry grin. “I’ll go out there and hold my head high while I elevate you off the low rung of the social totem pole. I have that kind of pull.”

  She had no idea what kind of pull my brother had on her.

  Passing several nuns who waved at Chloe and me while whispering behind their Bibles, we made our way down the windowless halls of St. Anthony’s, entering the wing where the walls were painted deep red. The color of Christ’s blood. All the rooms in this wing were wider: gymnasium, band room, cafeteria. For as much as I hated the claustrophobic classrooms and tight hallways, the spacious ones were worse. They held more people, more emotions, and no matter where I stood, I couldn’t be sure I saw everyone. Someone could always be hiding.

  Yet I forced myself to go with Chloe to the cafeteria where Ward and Jonah parked at an isolated table in the back. Ward saw me coming and made a move to leave, but I tucked my hand into my sleeve and touched his shoulder before he could escape. “Stay, gadjo. I want your company.”

  The storm cleared from his face. I might’ve even seen a hint of a smile.

  As Chloe took the seat next to Jonah, I settled in beside Ward, careful to keep several inches between us. Amid sprinkles from a Donut World breakfast, an Othello game was set up on the table. The board was one-sided in Jonah’s favor.

  “You best be waving that white flag, boy.” He grinned, mischief dancing in the energy around him. “I never lose.”

  My brother hadn’t won a game of Othello by honest means in years. Board games with telepaths weren’t fun.

  “I surrender,” Ward admitted and cleared away the pieces. His hand brushed mine while packing away the Othello board. Static dashed from my fingertips to my elbow. He froze, staring hard at our hands, lips parting.

  Jonah glanced between Ward and me before nudging Chloe. “Come on. I wanna show you something.”

  “What is it?” she asked skeptically.

  “You’re so sweet, thinking you’ve got something to be afraid of. I don’t bite. Not hard. You should know that by now.”

  An energetic sheen that tasted of sugar surrounded Chloe. A few students gaped as she walked out of the cafeteria with my brother, hand-in-hand, and I doubted she cared. Maybe she was truly happier if she wasn’t so worried about what everyone else thought. If she only stopped to wonder why she wasn’t afraid anymore.

  Alone, Ward swiveled to face me. “Why are you so quiet?”

  “My mom liked to say that if a secret’s revealed it’s the fault of the person who confided it,” I answered.

  “You have secrets?”

  As of right then, I wanted more than ever to tell him mine.

  That would be foolish. Dad worked too hard to protect Jonah and me. My hands twirled the hair pooled in my lap. Ward ducked his shoulders and smiled when I lifted my head.

  “What happened when you walked me home?” he asked.

  “You won’t understand. There are a lot complications and—”

  “Try me. I don’t scare easily.”

  His hands covered mine, fingers coiling around my wrists. His body mirrored mine, leg tucked up on the bench while the other hung limp. I dispatched my feelers to grab onto his energy, to find any trace of a lie. He wasn’t afraid of the challenge of being with me.

  He should have been.

  He should have been terrified, and he wasn’t, and I didn’t know what to make of that.

  “Chloe doesn’t care that Jonah’s Romani,” he piped up.

  “Chloe has other things working her mind,” I said. “You won’t leave me alone.”

  “Never.”

  I sighed. “You’re a jackass, gadjo.”

  “I’ve been called worse, gypsy girl.”

  The skin on my neck pulled tight. The playfulness was gone, replaced by something cross. He knew I didn’t like that word. He wouldn’t forget now. I jabbed my finger into his chest where his uniform shirt was open to reveal a Califone one beneath. “You ever call me a gypsy again, and I’ll curse you so your breath blows cold.”

  Ward enveloped my pointing finger with his scarred hand. His voice lowered. “Then I’ll beg you to take it away.”

  “Your breath or the curse?”

  He coughed and leaned in closer to me. “You figure out that one. If you go about cursing people, you’re bringing them into your life instead of getting rid of them. I don’t think you want to get rid of me at all.”

  I had no words. I had silence. His thoughts, his emotions, none of them skated into me despite the tightness of his hand on mine. He was a human barrier against all the scattered insanity around me.

  Did I want to get rid of him? No. Because he made everything quiet.

  I broke away, climbed off the bench, and slipped my backpack over my shoulder. Regarding his expectant face, I murmured, “You can stay.”

  ***

  In the language arts wing, the blue walls were like the gloaming, that time between sunset and nightfall, when hidden secrets showed yet re
mained unseen for what they were. Those windowless halls were an artificial dusk, and though the church grounds were consecrated, a black pall leached along the wood floor.

  My pulse rose; my breath quickened. I couldn’t see it, but even through my barrier and Ward’s shield, I felt something malicious. My mouth grew metallic, sick. Around me, girls chattered at their lockers while my hands crackled with their radio static. Overpowering all was a sticky psychic tar.

  I stopped, spinning in a circle in search of the source. At their classroom doors, Sister Mary Elena and Sister Hillary Lauren blessed the students entering their rooms. Though Sister Hillary Lauren got a certain giggle when lecturing Walt Whitman’s “Song of Myself,” neither she nor Sister Mary Elena created the vile energy slinking down the floorboards. Yet their pallid faces with rosy, apple cheeks weren’t visages of flesh and blood but dolls’ heads, painted and lifeless, sewed upon stuffed bodies. The vomitus sludge overwhelmed all, spilling down the floor over my feet.

  Again, I whipped around. Where was it? Ward placed his arm around my shoulders. “What’s wrong, Vayda? You okay?”

  Sweat beaded above my upper lip, and I wiped it on my sleeve. “I have to go. Come with me.”

  Ward kept pace behind me, unquestioning as we pivoted from the language arts rooms. A rush of vertigo threatened to drop me to my knees. Instead of escaping the ooze of bad energy, I fell further into it. Ward steadied me, and as much as I wanted to wave him off and swear I was okay, I couldn’t. The darkness circled up my legs. It brushed up beneath my skirt, and then it snaked around my waist and chest. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure. I couldn’t pull it off because nothing was there.

  “Vayda?” a girl’s voice asked.

  I didn’t answer, but I knew Ward talked to Chloe. I was too focused on the sickness spreading over me. Ward’s arm slid from my shoulder, and then his hand fastened with mine. “Chloe, get Jonah. Something’s wrong.”

  Something was very wrong.

  Something tainted was on church grounds, and if I told Ward or anyone other than my brother—who didn’t have the purest of souls himself—what I sensed, I’d sound insane. The end of the hall beckoned my gaze where the walls arched over a pair of wood doors, the original church exit that separated the school from the sanctuary and Monsignor’s office.

  The doors were ajar, and I was certain the hem of a long, black skirt floated past the opening.

  “Sister Tremblay,” I whispered.

  The doors shut.

  The foulness lingered, the way over-ripened tomatoes still clung to their vines, pretty and glistening far away, stinking with rot up close.

  “Vayda, hey!”

  Marty Pifkin jogged toward me. He wore a dark blue, V-neck sweater embroidered with the St. Anthony’s shield. I clutched Ward’s hand harder, brought him closer so the length of my arm ran down the front of his body. I wanted silence.

  Marty’s eyes flicked from my face to Ward’s then low to our joined hands. He motioned across the hall to his friend, Danny Milagro. As he waited for Danny, he made no secret of sizing up Ward’s combat boots and loosened necktie, but then he smiled at me. “I wanted to thank you for your help with the physics homework. Too bad Jonah didn’t get what was going on.”

  My body went rigid. Ward seemed to notice, stayed close, and rested his hand on the small of my back. He was observing, letting me handle Marty. This was something Jonah would never allow.

  “Marty, that was a while ago,” I said. “Apologize to Jonah, not me.”

  He shifted from one foot to the other, arms crossed over his wide chest. The different athletics’ coaches had courted him as they had Jonah, but the only sport Marty was involved in was wrestling. More trouble with my brother could hurt his place on the team, if Monsignor actually followed the rules in the school handbook, and the mention of my brother’s name made Marty’s nose wrinkle.

  “I’d rather be talking to you, Vayda.”

  “Marty, don’t,” I warned.

  “Are you guys a thing? Really? That guy?” He backed off a step and addressed Ward. “Danny says you’re the new go-to guy to get anything harder than a nickel or dime.”

  Puzzled for a moment, Ward’s jaw then set and his nostrils flared. I sensed his pulse accelerate. “Get out of my face, man.”

  “Relax.”

  “I said go away. Get your fix somewhere else. I’m not the guy to get it from.”

  Marty scratched at his spiky, brown hair and chuckled. “No, but I see you’re the one Vayda’s finally getting it from, eh?”

  A dam of pent-up anger cracked. I let go of Ward’s hand to grip Marty’s sweater, pulling him down close enough to slap his cheek with a loud smack. His head whipped to the side. The din of my classmates’ chatter hushed. Everyone stared, all too eager to see what would happen next, and when Marty shook off the hit, his hazel eyes darted along the walls at the crowd before settling back on me.

  “Go away, Marty,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even.

  He rubbed the reddening welt left by my palm. “I warn you, Vayda—”

  “I wouldn’t finish that threat.”

  Jonah glowered behind Marty. A smoky haze of rage radiated from him, so concentrated his energy burned. By then, the noise drew more spectators. I looked back for any nuns to break up the crowd, but there weren’t any.

  Danny circled Jonah, but Marty stayed him with his hand. “We’re out of here.”

  Jonah’s teeth bared, his fists clenched as Marty pushed past him and jabbed him hard in the ribs. A flare from my brother’s temper was another blast of hot air. The heel of his palm popped the back of Marty’s head. “Speak to my sister again, and I’ll tear you in half.”

  Marty scoffed. “Bet she likes it when you talk rough. Maybe that’s why you Silvers don’t let anyone else in, ’cause you’re riding each other.”

  “That’s it!” Jonah swung around. Shouting in Romani, he cussed out Marty and thrust his fist into Marty’s gut. Marty staggered back and crashed into the lockers with an echoing bang.

  “Jonah, come on!” I grabbed my brother’s arm, trying to pull him away. The dizziness from before still hadn’t worn off, and the frenzied rush of the other students’ excitement mixed with my panic until the walls and floor tilted. I needed rest and quiet and calm, but there was only noise in my head, static in my hands, everything in me too wild. The fluorescent lights blinked.

  “Vayda, look out!”

  Chloe’s voice cut through as she yanked me away from my brother and Ward, tucking me inside the crowd where the madness of countless thoughts and instincts thrashed against my barriers.

  Marty charged with his head down and rammed Jonah, lifting him up off the floor and slamming him into the lockers. Fists and black hair, neckties swinging and shoes squeaking on the floor, they locked with each other, and behind them, Danny pounded on my brother’s back. Ward weaved into the middle and shouted for them to stop. Jonah pivoted away, shaking out his hands, dissipating the energy collecting in his palms. His power searched for a vent through which to escape. It nudged me, but I was already too full. Marty leapt onto his back.

  Don’t, Jonah! I shouted in his head. Don’t touch him!

  Too late. He reached back, enough that his fingers grazed Marty. Yet as effortlessly as passing a basketball, Marty hurtled over his head and soared until he thudded against the floor, skidding down the wood until he came to rest against the arched doors. A couple of girls screamed, but most of the hall fell into glassy silence.

  My brother’s hair hung loose as he panted, unbridled. Chloe whimpered, “Oh my God,” over and over while I found my way inside my brother’s mind. What have you done?

  He said nothing. His temper wandered an invisible trail. So hot, I needed cold. I needed to shut out everything. The lights blinked off and on. Danny stumbled back from Ward and scurried to Marty, who groaned as he made his first movements to get up.

&nb
sp; The bell signaling the start of school resounded. As the crowd dispersed, Jonah leaned against a locker and clutched his head. Blood ringed his nostril. Chloe separated from me and dug through her purse for some tissues. Instead of checking on my brother, I paced along the lockers, my fingers bouncing off each of the combination locks.

  We couldn’t run again.

  I stood across from Jonah, cracking my knuckles to diffuse the energy cascading through me, any sparks smothered under my fingers. Ward came over, pressed his back to the locker, and lowered until he was my height.

  “Remind me never to really piss you off. I’m delicate and you’d leave a mark.”

  I snorted and kept my hands where he couldn’t see them. “You sure you want to hang around?”

  “I’ve met my fair share of Marty Pifkins, and they’re all the same,” he answered. “I haven’t met any Vayda Silvers before though.”

  He wasn’t ready to know that Vayda Silver wasn’t all who I said she was. Still, I gave him a tempered smile from behind my hair.

  Jonah’s nose had stopped bleeding, and he shuffled toward the trashcan, muttering, “I’m so finished.”

  I expected him to rejoin Chloe, Ward, and me, but he shuffled down the hall. If he thought he could grumble about how much trouble he was in and walk away, he had another thing coming. I stalked after him, a plume of steam scalding my palm as I grabbed his shoulder, and I yelped. Jonah winced as he pivoted.

  I’m sorry, Sis. I’d never hurt you.

  That was a lie.

  I rubbed an unseen blister on my hand left by his heat. He could have hurt Marty when he threw him. Maybe that was his intention. My feelers scrounged his mind, searching for remorse, but they returned empty.

  “You don’t care,” I said.

  “He had it coming. That gadjo insulted you and threatened you,” he growled. “What do you expect me to do?”

  So you threw him down a crowded hallway with your Mind Games? That’s your answer?