The Short Life of Sparrows (16 page)

I’m preoccupied with the rising temperature of my body as Daphne slips words into my ear about wishing we could’ve danced.

“Beatrice just has big, bouncing breasts,” Calli snipes. She drums her fingers on the table. “The Nightbloods can’t even see her equally big rabbit teeth, because their eyes are too attached to her overexposed bosom. I hope Rowe smothers under the weight of her bust. The tasteless, desperate—”

Telling Calli that she sounds bitterly green of this Beatrice would go over like cold water on hot oil. I don’t bother with it. The list of Rowe’s revolting qualities is a subject that I think Daphne and I have both tired of, and Calli mainly talks to get her own opinion anyway. I sneak a quiet kiss, pressing my lips to Daphne’s cheek. Her lilac scented perfume wafts from her hair. If I were better, I’d tell her she’s just tempting me with improper thoughts by wearing it.

“Are either of you listening to me at all?” Calli cuts in. “If I need to leave you two alone, please say so. Heavens. Everyone around here is like a stray cat in heat lately.”

I sit up straighter, realizing our concentrated whispers neared an actual kiss. I know Daphne doesn’t mind if we do, but I’m also sure that it isn’t the best idea—even if it’s only in front of Calli. I’ve tried to be on guard for any extra eyes or Nightbloods lurking around, for both our sakes.

Daphne exhales. “No,” she says, pulling back from me. “Please tell us more about how terrible the Nightbloods all are. I don’t hear Rowe’s name enough times in one day.”

“Don’t get short with me,” Calli says, tossing a bracelet at Daphne. “Thanks for letting me borrow it. You’re right, though. He’s not worth being angry over. Next dance I’m going to dance every single song with somebody other than him. Maybe then he’ll move on already.” She stands, stretching. “I think I’ll leave you two to whatever this is about to turn into.” She shakes her hair out, yawning.

“You don’t have to go,” Daphne offers.

“Ignoring him will probably just make him jealous,” I pose, lifting an eyebrow. “Unless you were hoping for that?”

Daphne leans into my hair. “She is, isn’t she?” We both bite back a laugh.

Calli throws me a stinging look as she opens the door. “I’m not that desperate and lonely. Daphne, I’m really leaving now. And the music is dying down, in case you can’t hear over your whispering. Unless you want your brother to notice that you haven’t made it home, I’d make this kissing session short.”

The door shakes in the warped doorframe after Calli fights to pull it shut. I turn into her, and I can feel the adrenaline in my chest. My lips are far too eager. Daphne’s lashes sweep together for a moment as she presses her mouth tightly to mine. I’m not thinking anymore. The taste of her mint lemonade is on my lips, and her hair tickles my chin.

“Isaiah?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to dance with me? I’ve been hoping we’d get to.”  Her optimistic expectations skip across her features, and I feel like an instant disappointment.

“I can’t dance like the rest of you. I’m made of rusty hinges and slow feet.”

Her fingers move along my palm. “I don’t care. I just want a normal night with a handsome guy who keeps looking at me when he thinks I’m distracted.”

“I’m only here for the summer,” I say, unable to tell her sweet lies about what we can make of this.

She tugs me to my feet. “I know. I don’t kid myself. I know what this is. But I really like you. And there’s no reason why we should spend the rest of your time here, acting as if we don’t want to do this.”

My breathing stops altogether as she brings my hands to her waist. Her forehead lifts. “I’ll make the steps slow. You just follow my feet wherever they go. And loosen up a bit. You’re too tight in the shoulders and chest. Relax.” She rolls my shoulders back with her hands. “There. Better. Dancing is all about confidence. And anticipating your partner’s next movements—like kissing.”

I note the pink flush on her cheekbones, but her eyes don’t flinch as she says it. With a snap of her fingers, the fire dies down to a muted flicker. “So you know a little magic huh?” I smile.

She breathes out an anxious chuckle. “Yes. My mother and I hardly use it. Lil and Calli would feel betrayed if they knew, you know? They’d feel more alone than they already do, if they realized it. It’s not a big deal. I mostly use it for tiny things like this. Or to clean the paint from my mom’s hair if I know Lucas is coming to visit. He gets worked up when he sees her in a compromised state. And it’s embarrassing sometimes to have to clean her, like she’s our child—instead of the other way around.”

“And what do you trade to do it?” My question sounds judgmental instead of curious, and sudden regret punches my stomach for saying it. I stumble, but I catch myself as I follow the direction of her feet.

“Things like milkweeds or beetles,” she shrugs. Her hips shift back and forth to the fading drums. “Beetles are so ugly anyway,” she continues, as if I need more convincing. “Our phony vow against chanting is hard enough to play at all of the time. Thank goodness Lucas insists on spelling our house into a presentable state. I don’t mind bringing in the water every day and faking that we live like Lil and Calli do—for their sake. But I’m not one for weeding. I draw the line at ruining my dresses because I’m kneeling in the dirt.”

“Ah,” I say. “Well, I wouldn’t tell Calli. I think even dead beetles would upset her, even though she’d probably curse at one for coming in the house.”

Daphne tips her head to the side as she shakes her head. “Yes. She’s got this fragile innocence about her that she doesn’t even seem to realize she has. Lucky for her that she misses most of what goes on around here. She likes to think she corrupts me, but I’m okay with that. Let her enjoy her obliviousness as long as possible.”

“What do you mean—about what goes on around here?”

“Nothing,” she mutters. “Our coven has this odd tendency not to explain its ways. Girls here grow into the truth in their own time. Let her figure it all out when she’s really ready for it.” Her head rests on me, as if she’s been overcome with a clinging weariness that she can’t challenge. I pull her closer, not out of desire this time, but because I can sense the sadness in her.

It’s the kind of sadness that finds me most nights when I’m alone. Some people drink it away. Others tell themselves lies to hide from it. Not her. And not me. We both know that our kisses and dancing won’t last forever—that life isn’t about what’s fair or deserved. I touch my nose to her hair, breathing her in anyway. My hands take to the fabric just above her hips. Trouble. That’s exactly what this is. And I want it just the same.

21

CALLI

I
leave when they don’t say anything.
Nice
. Isaiah and Daphne are attached at the mouth as soon as they think my back is to them. Horny people act about as bright as rusty nails. My hairpins scrape against my skin, and my feet bear the heat and inflammation of dancing in shoes that are pretty but too narrow and thin. There isn’t anybody to be dressed up for anyway, so I unwind my hair and shell off my shoes.

“I hope they know what they’re doing,” I say to myself, nauseated by their nuzzling as I left them. Shoving my hair pins into the folds of my dress, I worry that they aren’t aware enough of who could happen by. I’m happy they’re both beyond their silly glances at a distance, but I feel a protectiveness to hide them from anyone who could punish them for it. Running my fingers over my grateful scalp, I shake my spiraled tresses until they fall in soft waves down my back.

I stop just before the trees end, checking to see if Lil is still among those in the Willow Circle. So long as Lil is visiting, I don’t necessarily have to be home. She sits with the Coven Mistresses, all of them laughing and nursing their spiced cider. The bonfire blazes, spreading soft yellow light over the mostly abandoned tables. All of the younger Nightbloods are missing, and only three younger Seers dance in the open space. They’re probably all otherwise involved.
Ugh
.

Restless but not in any mood to be the only one my age stuck with the elderly, I turn for the river. My feet could use the comfort of the rushing stream, and the quiet is what my strained nerves need. The cool ground frames my swollen arches, the wet grass like a soothing balm against the certain blisters I’m getting. I hold to a bush to keep my balance as I step down the steep and crooked drop. Above the roar of the colorless water, I hear a scream.

Pulling my hair to the side, I still as the river tugs the hem of my skirt. Shouting mixes with the river splashing over the large rocks. I note where I’ve left my shoes so I can come back for them. A flash brighter than lightning paints the trees on the opposite bank in a shadowy red light. The night sky is clear—it’s not lightning. Somebody is doing magic, and they’ve chosen the other side of the river so the Elders and Coven Mistresses won’t be privy to it. My curiosity trumps my wariness at seeing what the Nightbloods are doing.

The speed of the stream slows me down as I fight to get to the other side. I’m not quick enough to catch my fall, and my front teeth knock together as my hands slam the ground. I gasp at the shock of the water as it soaks me through. Gripping a half-buried piece of log, I lift myself back up and step out onto the other bank. My dress sticks in between my legs as I crisscross my way up the hill. Lil will insist I make my next dress when she sees how I’ve muddied the violet trim of this one. Taking my hair in my hands, I wring it out.

The crimson light bursts again, and I take a step back so I stay hidden within the trees. I shield my eyes under my elbow, trying to adjust to the blinding glare. They’re in a large circle, cackling and yelling through cupped hands. I shrink further when I realize who is doing the chanting. Rowe stands in the middle of them, his arm straight out from his chest. The top of his shirt is drenched in sweat as he arches his fist like a claw. His teeth seize together, and he watches his target with unyielding rage. The other Nightblood stands—no, he dangles fifteen feet from the ground, shrieking. He kicks his legs, holding his own throat. Rowe takes his other hand, squeezing it together. The suspended man gulps and flails, unable to breathe as Rowe chants below him.

“Come on,” a voice says behind me. “You can’t see the show so well from back here.”

I jerk, revolving to the person who stands behind me. “Oh Lucas.” I hold to my chest, trying to appear as if I’d never be intimidated by the devil himself. “Don’t do that. I had no idea you were there.”

Lucas plants his smooth hand on the bare part of my shoulder. “Sorry,” he says, “I thought you knew I was behind you. What are you thinking, being out this far in the dark—by yourself? And your clothes are dripping. Where’s Daphne?”

“I…”
Think of a quick, believable story, Calli
. “Oh, she’s fine. We broke into Mildred’s wine cupboard. But I slipped down by the river, and she’s gone to bed with a headache.”

He sighs. “Let me know the next time you’re going to leave the Willow Circle, so I can go with you. Neither of you should be wandering around this late. There are too many Nightbloods hungry for company. And who knows what kind of intentions that Ordinary has. I saw you talking to him earlier. I wish you’d be more careful. You shouldn’t be so trusting.”

With the warmth of his hand still pressed on my shoulder, I feel corralled and only too happy to change the conversation. “What is Rowe doing to him?”

A wild smile flickers on his lips as he admires the display in front of us. “Call it rogue justice. Murdoch had a hearing yesterday over changing your Caster. Xander is always asking to play Caster to the prettiest Seers. Maybe this will persuade Xander from taking it lightly again.”

“Caster?”

“You’re eighteen now,” he says, nudging the side of my arm with his. “All grown up. You might as well hear it from me. But you keep it between us, okay? … Each Nightblood is responsible for keeping track of certain Seers’ dreams. Rowe here has been in charge of yours. He started out as your Caster, but then Xander petitioned to take over. The majority of the Elders voted against Xander, but not before Murdoch threw his glass. Something about how none of the young Nightbloods do their duty for the right reasons.”

My eyes dart away, and I’d jump in the river again if it would wash this filthy feeling away.
No wonder I’ve been seeing Rowe after my nightmares
. “What kind of a sick game is that? Watching our nightmares? To invade our sleep when the nightmares end?”

The black veins running down from Lucas’ ear bulge. He turns into me, nailing my gaze with his. “I don’t know what you mean. It’s certainly not a game. It’s a sacred Nightblood tradition—to not let our Seers bear the torment of their nightmares alone. At least, that’s what a Caster should be. Murdoch is right. None of them do it for the right reasons anymore. And you should stay away from Rowe. Whatever kindness you’ve shown him, it’s gone to his head.”

“Me?” I roll my lips inward, glancing back at how Xander spins over his own weight in the air. Wincing, I shift my chin toward the ground.
I cannot watch this
. The cheers intensify as Xander yelps. “Lucas, this has nothing to do with me. And I’ve done nothing to encourage Rowe.”

“That’s not how Rowe sees it, apparently. He’s usually keen to fight with his fists. Tonight he went straight to lifting Xander off his heels. Over you.” He tilts his face so I have to look at him again. His shrewd expression fixes to mine. “Are you sleeping with him? You are, aren’t you?” His hand buckles down, sealing around my elbow. “Calli, you have to stay away from him. He’s dangerous.” My arm instantly smarts, and I wriggle out of his grip again.

“Rowe? No. Just no.” I pull away from his hand, disgusted that Lucas would ever think I’d be so dumb. “I know you’re only trying to look out for me, but give me a little more credit.” I rub my arm, trying to erase the tenderness from it.

“Are you sure he’s being clawed and strangled over me?” I push, horrified as Rowe spins Xander in unforgiving circles. Rowe elevates Xander further up in the air. Xander’s shirt tears from his chest. Raw scratches zigzag down the white flesh of his back. Raking his other hand downward again, Rowe’s jaw is set even as Xander’s cheeks and neck begin to bleed.