by Jen Pretty
One for sorrow
Black Crow Chronicles
Jen Pretty
sooner or later even the fastest runners have to stand and fight
—Steven king
chapter one
I pulled my hoodie up to cover my long hair and strode through the darkened streets. Murkwood Cemetery was a few blocks away. It was my favourite in the city because it was dark and big enough I could hide from view over a small hill, giving me all the privacy I needed.
Sometimes teenagers would drink among the gravestones, but they never saw me in my dark clothes.
The skin prickled on my neck, and I spun around. I surveyed the street but didn’t see anyone behind me. A cat meowed from an alley. I huffed a laugh at myself for being so jumpy. I should be used to the dark by now, but it still gave me the creeps. It was ridiculous, considering.
The dew had already fallen as I walked across the grass between the gravestones. Water collected on my boots and flicked off my toes with each step. My fingers ran over the tops of the granite monuments, marking the places where those long-passed were laid to eternal rest. Well, eternal was a bit false.
Something familiar stirred inside me and beckoned me towards a back corner of the old graveyard. The grave I wanted came into view, lit up like the fourth of July on a moonlit night. Sparks danced around the space where a family had laid a body to rest decades ago, summoning me to join.
I stepped forward, the pressure inside me growing towards an overwhelming crescendo. My boots met the edge of the glowing rectangle a moment before my knees met the wet grass. The flames swirled and consumed me, flowing into a circle of blue sparks, encircling the grave of a man named Edward Mass.
I took out my pocketknife and slit my forearm.
As the first drop of blood slid off my skin and into the grass, the blue glitter sunk into the earth. A moment later I was sitting in the grass with an elderly man.
Except the man was shadowy and hollow, like the wraith he was.
“Hey, Edward. How’s it going?” I asked, settling into the grass. All the fire that had collected in my body had drained away, and I felt relaxed and giddy.
“I’m so alone,” he whispered.
I looked around and realized the grave beside his, with the name Margaret Mass, had a date of birth but no date of death. The poor lady was still kicking somewhere.
“I’m sure she will be along soon.” I calculated her age; she would be one hundred and one years old this year. I hoped I didn’t live that long
“Have you seen my wife?” he asked. Some spirits were coherent; others just blathered about random things, so I was glad this sad fellow at least made sense.
“I haven’t seen her, Ed.”
He started to fade, his image weakening.
“Been nice talking to ya,” I said. A smile creased his face, bringing a flash of life to his weary eyes.
I squeezed my arm, dripping more blood into the grass and Ed faded away to nothing.
I rose and dusted off my pants, my butt damp from the dew, but I’d sat in worse. It was unbelievable how many people let their dog’s poop in graveyards. Disrespectful.
I wiped my knife on my pants and folded it up, tucking it away in my pocket. The thin cut had stopped bleeding and crusted over. I would wash it when I got home. The small slice, though slow to heal, wouldn’t leave a scar no matter how many times I sliced in the same place.
Handy for someone like me.
I turned towards the street, the moon guiding my footsteps between the tombstones. Up ahead I thought I saw movement in a shadow again. The hairs rose on the back of my neck, and I halted.
A figure stepped out into the streetlight. I was a few hundred feet from the sidewalk, but as I stood still, so did the figure. I assumed it was a man, based on his height and the width of his shoulders. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, pulled low to hide his features in shadows, and a long trench coat. When he didn’t move, I started to walk parallel to the street, trying to get around him.
“Shit,” I whispered, tripping over a flat grave marker. I looked back, but the man had disappeared. Scanning the area, there was no sign of him.
I hustled back to the sidewalk and towards my apartment, looking over my shoulder every few steps. Had he seen what I did in the graveyard? He couldn’t have. I was way in the back — freaking weirdo.
✽ ✽ ✽
Back in my apartment, I flicked on the TV and flopped down on my futon. I lived in a tiny bachelor apartment a few blocks from work. The news on TV was still reporting on the dead girl whose body had washed up on the bank of the river last week. They hadn’t identified her yet.
I flipped to a sitcom and lay down, pulling my blanket over myself. The sound of the baby crying in apartment 6D came through the thin walls, and I turned up the TV a bit louder to compensate.
By the time the show was over, the baby was sleeping, and my eyes were getting heavy. I flicked off my lamp and fell asleep.
✽ ✽ ✽
Squeezing my eyes shut, I blocked out the heat from the grill as I flipped a burger patty the next day. I could do this in my sleep. My hand automatically scooped and turned effortlessly as the grease sizzled. To my right, an order of onion rings danced in a deep fryer — my specialty.
“Move your ass, Selena, I got more orders coming,” Angela said. She stabbed four more slips of paper to the wall above the window between my little kitchen and the dining area.
“Shit,” I whispered, pulling the rings out of the grease and shaking the excess off before dumping them in the paper-lined basket.
I plopped three burgers on the prepared buns and plated them with the fries held in the warmer. All the plates went into the window, and I hit the bell to let Angela know they were ready. Every shift was the same: the spitting grease, the sizzles, the bell, but predictable was perfect for me. I knew where everything was and where everything went. The kitchen was my oasis.
“God, people don’t realize their leftovers could feed starving children in Africa,” Georgia muttered. She set a stack of plates beside the sinks on the opposite side of the kitchen. “You.” She pointed at me as I put lettuce on buns for the hamburgers I was cooking. “You have to come out with us tonight. We’re going to the new club on 5th Street. It's supposed to be amazing.”
I groaned.
“Come on! I want to see the new DJ; Vanessa said he was hot.”
“Vanessa says everyone is hot.” I checked the new orders and put on two more baskets of onion rings. I was running low on onion rings. Busy night.
“Yes, but she’s always right. She has great taste in men.”
I laughed and plated more burgers and fries. “How about this, I’ll come but just for a few hours? I have to work tomorrow morning again.”
“You won’t regret it,” she said as she dashed off to gather more dishes.
Pretty sure I would regret it, I shook my head and focused on my work. I flipped burgers and plated orders until closing time, not a single moment of rest until the last customer left and the doors were locked.
“You should come to my place, I have something you can wear,” Georgia said. She hopped up to sit on the counter while I scraped the grease trap and closed up the kitchen for the night.
“All right, but nothing too short. I want to be able to sit down without flashing my underwear. And no high heels.” My hair kept falling in my face. I should have kept the stupid itchy hair net on till I finished.
“Hey, Selena. Here are your tips.” Angela put a handful of coins in the window and walked away. I looked from the money to Georgia who was biting her lip to keep from laughing.
“You’re buying the first round,” I said,
and she burst out, her laughter echoing through the empty restaurant.
When the kitchen was clean enough, I flicked off the lights and locked the door behind us. We strolled down the street towards Georgia's apartment arm in arm. She only lived three blocks away. We passed my apartment building, and my legs tried to carry me to my bed. Georgia’s firm grip on my arm dragged me the rest of the way to her place.
Her building had an elevator that worked; the one in my building had not worked a day since I moved in two years ago. Luckily, I didn’t have much stuff. Georgia, on the other hand, packed her apartment with knick-knacks, furniture, and kitchen appliances. I usually baked in her kitchen since mine only had a coffee maker and the one pot I used for everything. Georgia was a hoarder, but a lovable one. She and I became fast friends on my first day of work in the diner.
“Here, try this on,” she said, throwing something sequined at me. I thought it was a shirt, but as I held it up, I realized it was a dress. Or at least trying to be a dress. Maybe for a doll.
“It’s way too short,” I complained.
“Just try it, it stretches,” she muttered as she climbed back out of her overstuffed closet. There was no way she found anything in there.
I stepped into the bathroom and out of my French fry scented work clothes. I pulled the tiny dress on, looked in the mirror and sighed. She would say it’s perfect, so I accepted my fate.
“The dress is fine. I'll have a quick shower,” I called through the door as I turned on the hot water. Music started up from the living room.
I showered and blow-dried my long dyed brown hair. The colour was fading making it look almost strawberry blond. I would have to dye it again soon, or the natural colour would come through. Stark white hair made me stand out, and that was a dangerous thing to do -- standing out. My adoptive mother would have a cow if she saw me in this bright glittery dress. It did not blend in.
I stepped out of the bathroom, and there was a pair of foot-killing, three-inch heels sitting against the wall. I could have argued, but Georgia was really much better at the clothes and shoes. In Georgia I trust. I slipped them on and clicked my way across the laminate floor to the kitchen where I found Georgia ready to hit the club.
“Oh my God, you look so hot! I don’t know why you always wear boring clothes. If I had your body, I would never wear clothes,” she gushed, grabbing my hand and spinning me around.
“Why am I friends with you?” I asked, laughing at her antics.
“Because I’m the only one who would talk to you, Loner. Now let’s go. We have men to drool over.”
She hooked her arm in mine, and we walked out to the cab that was waiting at the curb for us.
The club was packed. Georgia grabbed my hand as soon as we walked in and dragged me to the bar. If she hadn’t, the writhing masses would have swallowed me, and I’d have never found my way out. The music pounded in my chest like a second heartbeat, but the DJ was great. We hadn’t set eyes on him yet, but his music was the best I heard in the city.
As we waited for our drinks, I couldn’t sit, thanks to the ultra-short dress I was wearing. I knew I would regret this. Georgia pulled me and my martini to the side of the room where the rest of her friends were standing around a high table.
“Georgia!” Vanessa called out, running small little steps on 6-inch heels to throw her arms around Georgia.
She grabbed me next and pulled me into a group hug, bouncing.
“Did you guys see the DJ?” She pointed towards the front of the nightclub.
“No, we just got here,” Georgia yelled back.
Vanessa screamed and dragged us both away. I waved over my shoulder to the gang who were watching us and laughing. Vanessa was a hurricane, and God help you if you were in her path. She pulled us to the side wall so we could get a look at this gorgeous guy.
We all went on tiptoes to see past the crowd. The music was so loud, I almost didn't notice the tingle in my fingertips, but when my eyes caught on the man in the booth, I clenched my fists and locked the tingle down before it got out of control. The DJ looked like a drool-worthy 20-something. His hair was blue and cut in an edgy style that lots of guys were doing now — shaved on the sides and longer on top. He was tall and lithe, with a strong jaw that could have put him on the cover of any magazine, but he wasn’t a person.
He was a vampire.
chapter two
I slunk back against the wall and took deep breaths while Georgia and Vanessa were still ogling the dead guy. Controlling the magic that tried to lash out was easy most of the time, but around dead stuff, it had a mind of its own. I threw back the last of my martini, hissed at the burn of alcohol and moved back to the bar for a refill.
“Did you see him?” Vanessa gushed as she and Georgia caught up to me.
“Yeah, he’s great!” I yelled over the music. The bartender was a young guy with lots of piercings. He gave me a wink as he set a second martini on the bar for me and I shot him a grin.
Vanessa and Georgia disappeared, probably to the bathroom, so I took my drink and slipped through the crowd to where the guys were standing.
The group had been friends long before I came along. They went to the same school and still hung out on Friday nights and played in a recreational baseball team together. It was what I wished for. Roots.
They never made me feel like an outsider intentionally, but their history together was so long, I felt that way anyway.
When Georgia and Vanessa returned, we all danced for a few hours. I kept my back to the DJ so my magic wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want it to. I was hot and sweaty by the time midnight rolled around, partly because the club was hot, but also from focusing so hard on not exploding. I felt it the moment the DJ left. My magic finally calmed under my skin. The music was on a loop now, but no one really noticed since they were all drunk.
“I’m going to go,” I yelled to the group after checking the time.
“NO! Stay!” Vanessa screamed.
I smiled and shook my head and then tapped my wrist like there was a watch on it.
Vanessa’s pout rivalled any four-year-old’s around the world, but Georgia hugged me and said goodnight. I waved to the rest of the group and pressed my way out into the cool night air.
“You shouldn’t walk alone,” the bouncer said as I walked down the steps and passed the cab waiting at the curb.
“I’m just going to call a cab,” I said, lifting my cell so he could see it.
“Be careful.”
I thanked him over my shoulder. As I turned back, I ran straight into a hard chest.
“Whoa, you OK?” a male voice asked.
I jumped back, realizing it was the DJ from the nightclub — the vampire — when my magic sprang to life.
“Yes, I’m fine. Just in a hurry, sorry,” I said, stepping past him and hustling up the street.
“Wait, didn’t I see you at the club tonight?” The man asked, following me.
Shit
“Sorry, you must be thinking of someone else. Gotta go.” I picked up the pace, and he didn’t continue to follow. Thank God.
I wiped the sweat from the back of my neck as I called an Uber. The street was quiet now. Everyone was either in the club or had wandered off to find a less crowded place to celebrate Friday night.
When the Uber rolled up, I climbed in and gave him my address across town. Riverside was a small city, but big enough that public transit was a joke. The driver sang along to reggae music under his breath while a plastic hula girl on his dash danced enthusiastically. The car smelled like pot, but he seemed coherent. I probably wouldn’t die in a fiery crash.
The streets were quiet at midnight, even on a Friday. The moon looked down from its place among the stars, glinting off the river as we rolled along its bank towards my apartment. I closed my eyes as we passed the graveyard, and didn’t open them again until the car stopped in front of my building. I stepped out, pulling my keys from my pocket before slipping off the high heels in anticipat
ion of climbing the stairs to my apartment.
The sound of late-night TV was leaking out of an open window in a lower level apartment. I didn’t really know my neighbours except for David, who lived on the top floor. He was the super, so he came and went whenever anything broke. Otherwise, there were mostly professionals living in the building.
The silence rang in my ears, making me feel nervous even inside my locked apartment, so I clicked on the TV and changed into some fleece pants and a tank top. I checked the locks on the door and the window before curling up on the futon to watch some TV until I drifted off to sleep.
The next morning, I woke up to my alarm screaming and the sound of a morning news report.
“Police say they found the body of a woman on the banks of Trent River this morning. The cause of death is still under investigation.”
I located the remote in amongst my blankets and clicked off the TV. I had an hour to get ready for work and no time to ponder the sudden surge of dead bodies washing up on the banks of the river this month. This was the first time I had heard of two turning up on the same day, but there were five already this month.
I showered quickly and found some clean clothes piled haphazardly on top of my dresser. I grabbed an apple from the fridge and was tying up my boots when my cell phone rang.
“Hey, Dorothy,” I said as I switched the call to ‘speaker’ and set it on the table to continue tying my boots.
“Hey, yourself. I hope you’re being careful. Did you hear the news?”
“Yes, I heard it. I'm very careful.” No need to worry her. I called her Dorothy, but she was the closest I had to a mother. She was one of the nuns who helped raise me at the orphanage and the only one who knew about my little magic problem. She never told me how she knew about magic, but she taught me to restrain it and hide it away so no one would discover my secret. Magic was not something ordinary people knew about, but there were some who knew, and they were the ones I needed to hide from.
