Odin's Murder (12 page)

“The door wasn’t locked and no one was home,” his sister says. “I just wanted to see what was going on and where Sonja went. You have to admit, Jules, it’s weird that she never showed up. And she hasn’t posted anything on-line either, not since the first day of camp.”

He sits own at his desk chair. “Did you find anything?”

“Yeah. Her mom, or whoever, has an entire room dedicated to crows.” Memory smirks as his eyebrows rise to his gelled hair. “Paintings and wall paper and little trinkets all over the place. Ethan has pictures.”

“Yeah, I hope they come out right. Let me check them out and send them to everyone. My camera’s being funky.” I say.

“Why were you following us, anyway?” Memory asks.

“Because I knew you were up to something. Good thing, too, or you two would probably still be in there.” I turn to her brother. “And thank you, man. That was good work with the guard.”

“Did you find anything else?” Julian asks. He’s still pissed.

“I went in Sonja’s room while Ethan took the pictures. She has definitely gone somewhere else. No laptop on the desk, the bed was made but the pillows were gone, and her bathroom had no personal products in it anywhere,” Memory says, sharing a glance with Faye.

“Okay,” I say. “So the house is weird. And since we’ve had this crow project it seems like all we can see is black birds. But let’s just cool down a minute. Maybe it’s just us thinking about them. Like wanting a certain kind of car and suddenly seeing it on the road everywhere. Or wishing for a pair of shoes and everyone has them but you.”

Memory and Julian are the ones exchanging looks now, and there’s a weird tension in the air. Faye unwinds the sweater from her waist, pushes her arms through the sleeves, looking at no one.

“Couldn’t this be a coincidence? Maybe Dr. Anders wanted Sonja in our group knowing her interest in crows.” I expect Julian to agree with me but when I look to him for support I see him give her the slightest nod. “What?”

“Julian and I have something we should probably tell you both,” she says.

That tight feeling twists in my stomach again, as I wait for her to speak.

12.

Marks

I spin my little silver mood ring around on my finger, stalling, and then take a deep breath. “There’s something you should know. About my brother and me. We’ve never told anyone. I didn’t think I needed to bring it up before, but now...”

A foot comes down on mine, light pressure on my toes.  Julian says, “Just tell them, Mems.”

“You know those stories of twins having a connection? Like psychically?” I look at my brother, who is staring back, face calm, the strong one for once. “Julian and I share dreams.”

“Dreams, like what you hope to accomplish someday or what you have at night when you sleep?” Faye asks.

I shake my head. “The things at night.”

“Those nightmares?” she asks.

Julian and I both nod. “Right. Those,” he says. “Since we were kids we’ve had these cross-over dreams. Me in her head or her in mine.”

Ethan is silent, looking from Julian to me with raised eyebrows. He folds his arms over his chest, leans his back against the wall.

“We can prove it,” I say, hoping my face isn’t red.

Julian nods, reaches for his laptop bag, slides out the spiral notebook from the flap pocket. He ignores my less than subtle head shake, and says, “Show them last March.”

“Oh.” I swallow down my relief. “That one was kind of neat.” I rummage in my purse for the little sketchbook, rifling through the pages to a quick drawing of a black bird, sitting on the wrist of a woman. A heavy ring wraps one of her fingers, with a gem in a setting shaped like an eye. She holds a feather.

Julian reads aloud. “March fourth. We aren’t the crow this time, we are behind the weird woman, watching as she plucks a feather out of the sky. She has a ring with a yellow stone. She calls the bird to her, but the feather belongs to another crow, not that one.”

“I take it you don’t discuss them until you document them?” Ethan asks. He is still, staring at my drawing, and I look away before he raises his eyes.

“Yeah.” Julian says. “It’s the only way to prove that we’re not making it up.”

“Every night?” Faye asks again.

“No,” I say. “Just occasionally, but the theme is always the same.”

Faye leans forward, wraps her sweater tighter. “Birds.”

“Yeah. Crows. Ravens. They’re black and sometimes I am the bird and other times I’m watching the bird. Or birds. There can be more than one, sometimes a whole flock or whatever.”

“A murder,” Ethan says. “A flock of crows is called a murder.”

Julian rolls his eyes. “Thanks, Einstein. Everyone knows that. So, yeah, Memory has been obsessed with crows since birth.”

“It’s not an obsession, Jules.”

He grabs my wrist and flips it over. “Explain that.”

“It’s a tattoo.” I snatch my arm back, covering the ink with my hand. “One of several.”

“What does it say?” Faye asks.

I offer her my arm. “Alis Volat Propriis.”

“She flies with her own wings.”

We all turn as one to face Ethan. Julian says it first. “You know Latin?”

“I had to take a language in school, like everyone else.” He shrugs. “The teacher was hot. But big deal. You have dreams about crows and a vague tattoo. I’d hardly call that a conspiracy theory or a cosmic disturbance.”

“Call it what you like, but there has to be a reason Sonja lives in a monument to the same thing that has haunted me for years.” The mood ring is pale green at the moment. I turn it to the inside of my hand, and curl my fingers into my palm.

“What about you?” Ethan eyeballs Julian, like he’s looking for tattoos, or signs of a disease.

“We’re twins. If she’s obsessed, I have little choice.” My brother shrugs his shoulders.

“He dreams about them, too,” I say, defensive.

“Okay, so maybe the program knew you were into this and the same with Sonja. I mean that’s kind of cool right? That they would try to encourage your interests,” Faye says. Her voice is artificial and sweet. “My writing sample in the application had a rune translation that mentioned crows.”

“Dr. Anders told me he assigned the subject to the group after he saw a drawing in my portfolio. But he didn’t mention Julian at all. Or you, or Sonja.” I say.

“This has to mean something,” Faye insists. “All of us together on this project. There’s a connection somehow.”

Ethan exhales a long, dubious sigh. “It’s all just a coincidence.”

“I want it to be, but I don’t think so.” I glance at Julian.

“Memory’s dreams have been getting worse. Scarier,” my brother tells Ethan, but when he turns to the next page in his journal, I slap it closed with an open palm.

“Look,” Ethan sets his elbows on his knees, leans toward me. “We all have weird habits. You have creepy bird dreams. Faye messes around with those stone runes and plants. I collect stuff. Sure, the fact you both dream the same thing is totally weird, but it’s not like you were separated at birth and ended up marrying another set of brother and sister twins or something.”

I can’t decide if he’s being dismissive or supportive, but he’s not meeting my gaze.

“They follow me,” Faye voice breaks the lull.

“What?” I ask. My roommate looks little, huge eyes staring down at the blanket on my brother’s bed.

“The crows. Like, all the time. No matter where I am, what country, what climate, every time I go outside they’re there. Five of them. Perched on branches or on the roof, haunting me.”

“The same ones?” Julian asks. “Do they do anything? Are they aggressive? Make any particular noise?”

She draws her knees up to her chest, boot heels snagging her skirt, and leans away from his quick-fired questions. “They aren’t malignant or anything, they’re just there, watching. They caw and let me know they’re around, like they’re keeping me company, waiting for something.”

“Always five?”

“Yes. I know it doesn’t make sense, and I don’t expect you to believe me.” A shiver runs up her arms, and she burrows deeper into her sweater. “My first step-mother called them my imaginary friends.”

“I’ve seen them. They do follow you.”

We all look at Ethan again. Before anyone else responds, I ask, “What do you mean? When?”

“In my photos. At first I thought it was a fluke, but they’re always there. Even when I don’t realize it.” Ethan pulls out his camera, flicks his thumb over the little screen. “See?”

We peer at the image. Faye is standing in the shadow of the chapel, a disgruntled scowl on her face, and sure enough, in the tree behind her, perch the crows.

“I only see four,” Julian says.

Faye makes an odd noise in her throat, points to a fifth, hidden in the tree.

“I didn’t notice them when I was framing the shot, but they didn’t like the flash when it went off,” Ethan says.

“They’re real,” Faye whispers. “I’m not crazy.”

“That’s why we keep track of our dreams,” Julian tells her, his voice gentle. “So we know we aren’t.”

She’s shaking, staring at the photo. I press my toe on my brother’s this time, because he’s looking at her like she’s glass, about to shatter. He glances at me, then back to her. I turn to Ethan. “What do you collect?”

“What?”

“You said you collect things.”

“Oh.” Ethan’s shoulders tense, defensive hackles back in place. “Just things. You know, crap I find around.”

“Like what?” Julian turns his head to Ethan, but he’s still watching Faye from the corner of his eye.

Ethan scowls, his jaw even tighter than a minute before. I’m surprised when he stands, shoves his hand in the front pocket of his pants, then holds his palm out. “See, nothing big.”

We all look at what he’s offering—a small silvery marble. Faye smiles a little and Julian goes back to his computer. I pluck the marble from his hand. I’ve seen this, or one of these before. “Marbles?”

“Shiny stuff. Little things. I just like them. And they like coming home with me.”

“Shiny?” asks Faye.

“Yeah,” he seems a little embarrassed, taking the glass out of my fingers without touching my skin, stashing it back in his pocket. “Metallic or glass or silver or whatever.” He fishes something out from his other pocket and tosses it into Faye’s lap.

“My earring! I was looking all over for that. You stole it?” She grins up at him.

“Sorry.” He doesn’t really look it.

“Klepto,” I snort. I wonder what else he has hidden away, and if I’m missing anything.

Julian pushes his glasses up his nose. “You do realize crows habitually collect and hoard shiny objects.”

“Everyone knows that,” Ethan says, with a shrug. “So?”

My brother sees an opening and won’t let go. “So, basically, you act like a giant, scavenging bird. Or just a petty thief.”

Silence presses down from the ceiling, and I’m a little concerned that my twin has pushed this volatile boy too hard, but Ethan leans his head back against the wall, stares up at the ceiling, a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.

“When I was little, it was cool, y’know, to have a bit of treasure in my pocket. Made me feel secure. Like I was one of the rich kids.” But then his smile disappears, and he sits up straight again, tense, like he’s revealed too much.

Faye toys with her earring. “But this is bigger than that. There’s something else here, and you’re a part of it, too.”

“Don’t start with that again. It’s coincidence. And I’m not a part of anything—how would this place know I have a habit of picking up junk?” He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, like he’s putting distance between us, the spectator watching the freaks.

But the images in my head are flipping fast, movie stills on old-fashioned film, reeling back to the first day here, and a black photo album, the first page open to a seven-pointed star with a strange shadow cast over the points.

I stand, move to the bed, sit down next to Ethan, and lean close. He goes still.

“Liar,” I whisper into his ear, loud enough for the others to hear. I snatch his portfolio album from his open bag. He moves to take it back, but then sets his fists back into his lap, and looks away. I flip the cover to the first image, and trace the silhouette that is not so abstract, now that I know to look.

“It’s the shadow of a bird,” Faye whispers.

I turn two more pages, to the ones he wouldn’t let us see. A winter tree, backlit and skeletal, is covered in fat spring buds, but no, they’re hundreds of blackbirds perching in the branches.

“You lying
bastard,
” Julian says. He grabs the portfolio, flips the page, and shows Faye and me a two pic spread of crows on a telephone wire. I stand, look over his shoulder as he turns the next page, a face front-on portrait of a raven, its shadow on the wall at a perfect ninety degrees, beak to tail in full profile. The next is another close up of the same bird, one beady blue eye reflecting the sky. “Crows. It’s nothing but crows.” My brother throws the portfolio down where I was just sitting.

Ethan leaps up, the portfolio hugged to his chest like a rescued baby, and looms over my brother. He’s not much taller, but he’s huge, filling the room with his sudden anger. “What’s your problem?”

Jules doesn’t back down. He points to the album, arm at odd angles, like a stuffed straw scarecrow. “You sat here, trying to tell us this is all a coincidence, acting all cool as shit, like you’re some kind of normal in us weirdoes, when you, you—” He’s so furious he’s shaking. “You’re just like us.”

Ethan takes a step back. “No, man, I’m not. I have a few pictures of crows, that’s all. Anders must have placed me in with you guys for that, nothing more.”

Faye whispers an odd syllable into the tension, a bird’s croak, and both boys glance down at her. I grab Julian’s arm, and place my palm on the larger boy’s chest. I’ve never seen my brother this angry, but Ethan could break him in two.

“Why did you hide them, then?” Julian demands of him. “Why didn’t you want us to see?”

“Because I don’t share my shit with the world, okay?” Ethan grabs my wrist, and presses my hand down to my side, and my face heats with the memory of our kiss. He flashes me an electric glance, grabs the camera bag and leaves, slamming the door behind him.