by Kate Blair
It was a huge circular arcade, lit by the glow of hundreds of games. Floor after floor rose above me, each reached by a tangled system of staircases painted in UV, swirling around a central foyer. Flashing LEDs cast multicolored light onto dark walls.
The magpie perched on a handrail, right at the top.
It was way better than the arcade I’d just left. This was my idea of heaven. But could I afford it? I peered at the nearest game to see how much it cost.
There was a boy on the screen. The graphics were top notch, hardly pixelated at all. It was in demo mode, and he walked toward a model village on a bright, sunny day. There were no coin slots, but words flashed in the upper right corner of the screen: PRESS START. So there had to be credits in the machine already. Nice.
My hands slipped into place on the old-school control panel. I hit the red start button, and squeezed the joystick tightly, wondering if this was a scrolling platformer.
Instead of the game starting, the pixels jolted down the screen, as if the image were crumbling into bright dust. Scraps of light fell, a fragment at a time, leaving black at the top of the monitor. And, impossibly, they tumbled out of the frame and flowed over the controller.
The light danced onto my fingertips, settling over the back of my hands. I was too shocked to move, too shocked to breathe, watching the light pour out: all different colors, on my wrists, then my arms, making them shine. The pixels spread until my skin was alight and the monitor was black. The screen rippled like the surface of an oil slick.
The lights on my arms tightened and pulled me into the darkness.
I WOKE ON the floor of the magpie’s library, in my own body. I jumped to my feet and ran for the door.
I knew where to find Ollie. I hoped I wasn’t too late.
THE GIRL’S MOTES sparkled in the air, yet I felt no joy at the beautiful part of her she had left.
She had been so angry with me.
I told you, The Whisper said. You should not have shown her Isabel’s story. You should have listened to me.
“I … thought she might understand.”
I am the only one who understands. Gather what she has left. We need to keep her safe.
“She does not wish to stay in my collection. She was afraid.”
She is but a mortal, and what do they know? How many lives have you seen flare and fade, brief as a rush light? Remember how you almost perished? Would you wish such an end upon her?
A shudder went through my wings. I would have died without The Whisper. It saved me when the pain of the sweating sickness grew too much on that awful day hundreds of years ago, when my father and Isabel found my stolen treasures and left me to die. The Whisper had kept its promise. The moment I made the deal it pushed out the disease, pushed out the agony of my neck, my shoulders, the weakness of my body. It filled the cracks in me, settling under my skin like dark armor. I stretched, my arms moving easily. They opened and spread, feathered and dark.
I flapped my new wings and rose away from the still figure on my bed. I rose through the stone, up through the ceiling. I rode the updrafts of the city.
My house shrank, merged with the higgledy-piggledy rooftops. I wheeled around, watching the world below. Between the buildings, the streets of London twisted and zig-zagged, people crowding along the narrow passageways, on foot and on horses.
I saw the people, saw their clothes and their faces: dirty and clean, desperate and proud. I saw the trails they left, like blood in water, staining the air as they walked. Some left joy in their wake, some left excitement, or threads of hope. But a few of the trails reeked of hurt like a bruise in the air, a spot that it hurt to touch. Their pain drew me to them, and I felt a desire to pull their sparkling souls from the fog each of them walked in. I wanted to hold that treasure, clear and dazzling, free of the dirt and mess of everyday life. I wanted to keep it safe.
I flew to find my siblings, to save them from their pain. I went first to Elizabeth and James. Yet the clouds they walked within were not stained with hurt. Elizabeth was immersed in care for her children and paid no mind to the bird upon her windowsill. James strode past me within the corridors of my father’s northern manor, confidence radiating from him. Edmund and Eleanor’s trails were not joyful, yet not painful. They were too busy to notice a solitary magpie.
I was too late for Alice. She had already died, giving birth to a son. I’d left Isabel to last, afraid she would ignore me too, but grief and loneliness lay upon her very soul, dark as a tempest.
The Whisper told me what to do. Told me how to make a reliquary, one more secure than my blankets. It taught me how to use my gift to carve a space within the air, a quiet place where Isabel could follow, where we could tarry together.
I stretched, pulled and twisted at the warp and weft of the world, in the same way I had moved the wall hangings and the floor reeds, the same way I had clutched hold of Lettie. The Whisper lent me strength, filling the gaps in my gift, pushing it further, stretching the bounds of nature to make my sanctuary: a home for souls, a place safe from the burdens of life.
My sister was much amazed. I sought to comfort her. Remembering the perfumes she loved, I offered her the only thing I had: myself, my own soul, formed in the shape of a vial. I hoped that she would see me, would know me, and would love me.
When she went back into the world, Isabel left a little of herself with me, and I clutched it tight. It was a true holy relic. It made me stronger, and I waited for her to return, for her to stay, for us to be together.
But she never came back. She married her merchant. They raised Alice’s child and more of their own. The years passed, and although I appeared to my siblings many times, none came with me again. Instead, one by one, they followed Alice to the grave. Isabel went to her rest last of all, leaving only the scrap of her that I held tightly.
I never forgot my family. Never lost my longing to be with them. I offered my story to the children of my siblings, their grandchildren, and their great-grandchildren. I shaped myself to match that which they loved. I offered them sanctuary, as I had to Isabel. I offered them escape.
Among my brothers and sisters’ descendants, I found those who had need of me: a boy, pursued by wolves; a girl, awaiting her trip to the gallows for taking a few coins from a rich man’s pocket. I found those with no way out. They too left relics for me, parts of themselves I could clutch tightly; that I could offer to the others that visited my sanctuary.
Some returned many times. I was able to collect all that they were. I was able to keep them with me, away from the pain of life. Over the centuries, my nest swelled, feathered with glittering souls who lit up the dark space. It grew beautiful, beguiling.
My work went not without notice. The stories began: tales of magpies as harbingers of death, as bad luck. The rhyme was written, the rhyme that would haunt me, would follow me, whispered by those I tried to save.
One for sorrow.
Yet in spite of all my souls, I was alone.
No matter how many of my family I reached, how often they followed me, naught could ease my loneliness. They settled within my collection, as beautiful and separate as jewels. I could but admire them from the outside.
Silva looked a little like my sister, in spite of the generations between them. She understood the importance of family. She had been trying to keep her kin with her, just like me. I wish I could have collected her grandfather, but although I appeared to him many times, he had never followed me.
What is a brief span upon the Earth compared to the eternity you can offer?
“She will not return. She was so angry.”
And if she does? Was I not right about showing her Isabel’s story?
“I … yes, you were right.”
Would you enjoy watching her grow old and weak? Would you like to see her suffer and die?
“No!”
So, you will l
isten to me?
I paused for a long moment, before nodding. Silva did not deserve to suffer, as I had before The Whisper saved me. The Whisper was right. The Whisper was always right.
If Silva came to my library again, I would keep her.
Chapter Fourteen
AS I STEPPED back into Hayling Library, my soul ripped away, leaving most of me behind the magpie’s door.
I stumbled into the nearest shelves. I grabbed hold of them so tight the metal cut into my hands. I tried to focus, tried to fight the feeling that I’d lost too much, this time. That the spark, the essence, the core of me had almost gone.
It took a while to muster enough of myself to straighten up. To stumble out of the aisle. The ache consumed me, a raw exhaustion through my blood. I’d almost reached the entrance when a voice came from behind me.
“You went back in? What’s wrong with you?”
I turned. Chloe stood there, a disbelieving look on her face.
It took me a second to find my voice. “I know where Ollie is.”
Her face froze. “Oh no.”
“His book is unfinished.”
“Where’s his door?”
“The arcade at the funfair,” I said.
“Let’s go.” She hurried toward the exit. I struggled to keep up.
In the car park, Chloe gestured to her Mum’s blue Volkswagen. I got in the passenger seat and Chloe accelerated away from the curb.
“How did you know?”
“Didn’t take a genius. Mum said you’d gone to search the village, so I came here and asked the librarian. She hadn’t seen you leave. Are you stupid?”
“I didn’t know where his door was. I had to read his book.”
Chloe’s knuckles were white on the wheel. “Going back in there wasn’t about finding Ollie. It was about your addiction. You’re using the library to escape your problems. You have to quit.” Chloe took the corner onto the Seafront too fast.
“I’m not going back in. We’re heading up to Bedford soon, anyway.”
“I went up north to live with Dad for a bit, because of stuff at school. But after a couple of months, the door appeared near his flat.”
I sank back in the seat. “It … it followed you?”
“Of course. It’s a magic trap, Silva. It’s not going to stop until it steals your soul.”
I wasn’t sure what the speed limit was along the Seafront, but we were smashing it. The rollercoaster grew in the windscreen as we approached the funfair. I jolted against my seatbelt as Chloe hit the brakes at the main entrance. The car behind honked.
“Go. I’ll dump this in the car park and join you.”I jumped out. The car wheels screeched as Chloe pulled away. I sprinted through the gates, between the still rides, past the frozen bumper cars, and into the warmth of the arcade.
I could see it through Ollie’s eyes now. Shooting the baddie, fighting the ninja, driving the car; it was another world to escape into, like books.
I weaved my way around the clatter of the penny pushers, past the bored-looking girl in the booth, through the pinball games and shooting ranges. At the back of the arcade were the basketball games where Ollie had followed the magpie.
My throat was tight. What if he’d gone back in? Was I already too late? I took a deep breath and peered into the narrow gap behind the games.
Among the tangle of the electrical cords lay Ollie’s figure. Utterly still.
Chapter Fifteen
“OLLIE!”
I tripped over the wires, fell on my hands and knees and crawled to my brother. I shook him. No response. Bile filled my throat. No. I couldn’t be too late. No.
I shook him again, and he flopped onto his back. “Ollie, please!”
His chest was moving. Up, and down.
“Ollie!”
His eyelids flickered and opened. “Silva.”
“What’s going on?” A voice behind me. Peering into the gap was the girl from the change booth, hair pulled into a tight ponytail on top of her pale face. “You’re not allowed back here.” Her gaze slid to my brother. “Is he okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Might’ve got electrocuted. I’ll get help. Don’t touch him.” She was gone before I could stop her.
Ollie tried to sit, struggling to find somewhere to put his hands in the mess of wires. I held out a hand. He took it, but couldn’t pull himself up. I ended up hauling him to his feet. He stumbled out into the main arcade, then collapsed on his knees.
I dropped down next to him. “Ollie, oh Ollie.”
“I think I passed out.”
“The other arcade weakened you.”
He slumped his weight against me and ended up in my lap, my arms around him. My little brother wasn’t a moody brat. He was in pain. I should have realized.
His sobs from the story still echoed through my mind. He’d sounded like he did when he was little, when he fell in the playground. When he’d stumble over to me, arms out, knees bloody and cheeks wet with tears and snot. I used to catch him, hold him while he calmed down.
My sweet brother was still here, but he was suffocating in sadness. I wanted so much to tell him everything was going to be okay, but I’d heard enough about depression to know there was a good chance Ollie had it.
“We need to get you home,” I said.
“Okay.” His voice was tinny, tinged with an electric buzz. His skin was too smooth, like it was computer generated. Why didn’t I notice any of this before?
I typed a quick message to Mum. Found Ollie at the arcade at the funfair.
My phone vibrated almost immediately. Is he okay?
I had to think before I typed. He’s not hurt.
Thank God. Coming now.
“There you are.” Chloe’s voice cut through the clamor of the arcade. “How is he?”
“Weak,” I said. “I think he’s lost more to the magpie’s trap than we have.”
“The magpie’s trap?” Ollie managed. “Is that what that is?” He waved a hand at the gap.
The wall was blank, but Ollie could obviously still see the door. His arcade stood there, waiting for him, and only him. Chloe and I explained the basics. I didn’t mention entering his story. I needed to talk to him about that alone.
“I knew it was draining me. I tried to get more sleep, but it didn’t help.”
“Sleep won’t help. It’s permanent,” Chloe said.
I glared at her. He didn’t need her pessimism now.
“I’ll always feel like this?”
“Yes,” Chloe said.
“I don’t know,” I said at the same time.
Chloe folded her arms. “You don’t help anyone when you try to avoid reality.”
“Just … just shut up,” I said. “You don’t know everything about this.”
“I know more than you.”
I clenched my teeth. “Let’s just get out of here, okay?”
It took a while to get Ollie to his feet, and we supported him as we made our slow way toward the entrance of the arcade.
“Oliver!” Mum pushed through the doors, running over.
People paused in playing their games, watching us.
“Mum …” In spite of everything, Ollie sounded embarrassed.
She threw her arms around him. “Oh, Ollie! I was so worried.”
“I’m okay.” Ollie’s voice was muffled in Mum’s shoulder.
She pulled back, held him at arm’s length, looking him over. “What happened?”
“He dropped a coin and it rolled behind the machine,” I said quickly. “He went after it, but he passed out. Perhaps he hadn’t had enough water or something.”
Ollie nodded. “I skipped breakfast.”
“You had bacon and eggs,” Mum said.
Over the clanging and beeping of the arca
de came the keen of a siren, growing louder. The main doors opened, and the girl from the booth strode over. Behind her were two paramedics. “I told you not to move him,” she said.
“I don’t think he needs …”
Mum stepped forward. “He passed out. And he hasn’t been himself, lately.”
The woman in reflective yellow and green was at Ollie’s side with a brisk rustle. “Any medical issues that could have caused this?”
I shuffled back to Chloe as the paramedics grilled Mum on Ollie’s medical history.
“What if they ask more questions about Ollie? How are we going to explain this?”
“We don’t. No one will believe us.”
“You didn’t tell anyone?”
“Just my best friend. She told the whole school I was mad.” The lights of a fruit machine reflected in Chloe’s glistening eyes. “They called me Crazy Chloe and … and worse things. I had to get out of there. I moved in with Dad for a bit.”
A wave of guilt hit me. I’d assumed Chloe was responsible for the “bullying incident,” not that she was the victim. “You had to deal with this all on your own?”
Her bottom lip trembled for a second. She bit down on it.
“Well, for better or worse, you’re not alone now.” I put my hand on her shoulder.
She didn’t move for a long time, then she lifted her own hand up to mine and grasped it, tightly. We stood together, watching the paramedics. One of them checked Ollie’s pulse.
“How is he?” Mum asked.
“Since he lost consciousness it may be best to get him checked out in hospital.”
Mum nodded. “Whatever he needs.”
The paramedics headed out to the ambulance and came back pushing a metal stretcher. They helped Ollie onto it and wheeled him away, his face peering at us over the red blanket.
Chapter Sixteen
“I HATE THE smell here,” Ollie said as soon as Mum left his bedside to ring Janet.
“I know,” I said.
There was no space on the children’s ward, so they’d put Ollie in a room full of old people. They said they’d be keeping him overnight for observation. The back of his bed was raised to a sitting position. The irregular beep of machines came from other beds, and the nurse’s shoes padded softly around the ward as she took medications to the patients.
