A Murder of Magpies (8 page)

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 remained 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.

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?

Seeing his destruction was like watching Mom again.

Ward nonchalantly approached us. “I’m ditching class. Join me?”

I’d skipped school a few times, mostly to sit with my brother until he calmed enough
to get his act together, yet Ward was so blasé about it. Jonah couldn’t afford to
be caught cutting class. He was on fragile ground with Monsignor, and someone would
talk about the fight this morning. Hell, maybe we
should
disappear. Chloe bobbed between all three of us before finally, not without cringing,
nodded that she’d come.

We grabbed our coats, and a minute later, the double doors to the school flew open
as we drew near. They weren’t automatic. Ward paused, brow furrowed. “That was weird.”

I elbowed Jonah. Not the right time for Mind Games, not that he cared.