The Short Life of Sparrows (4 page)

I give him a slight jab in the arm with the back of my hand. “Prowling eyes are a pretty poor compliment,” I say, challenging him. “You Nightbloods could learn a few fundamental lessons in decorum, you know? Be a little more subtle about your most basic urges.”

He laughs a hearty, unbridled laugh. “I guess you don’t know me very well, do you? Manners? I don’t think I have any of those. And subtle glances are for men afraid to own what it is they want. Does it make someone more of a gentleman if he still thinks it, but manages to hide it?”

“I think so. It at least makes a man better than a puffed, panting rooster.”

“You’re a pretty decent dancer,” he replies, a hint of amusement in the remark. “How did I do? Is that compliment enough? No? How about I’m intrigued that you chose to wear something yellow instead of the usual black or brown? You might as well have walked over to the Coven Mistresses and Elders and told them to skip backwards off a cliff. It’s gutsy.”

“I’m just here to dance and enjoy my Awakening,” I shoot back. “I have no interest in Nightbloods beyond dancing with them.”

“Oh?”

“Nightbloods sow far too many seeds. There’s a great chance that if I managed to meet a Nightblood I didn’t despise, he’d probably turn out to be my half-brother. I don’t want to contribute to a cycle of cross-eyed brats who grow up to find abandonment attractive.”

He laughs harder. “Well,” he says, emphasizing the word, “
I’m
not your brother.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.” The lines in his forehead budge. “I might have looked into it.”

My face flushes, and I regain straight posture. “Well, don’t even say my father’s name. Whoever he is, he’s not worth the mention. I don’t know how I got to talking about such indecent things. Let’s stick to dancing. If you’re after anything else other than dancing tonight, we can part ways now. See the pretty one with blond hair and pouty lips? Alissa. She certainly isn’t opposed to much. I’m not interested, but there are plenty of simple Seers who don’t mind lying on their backs.”

He grins as he bites his lower lip. “You’re very presumptuous. Borderline self-righteous. How do you know that’s what I’m after? Besides, witless girls make for a boring lay. You mention this Alissa with such personal disgust. I take it there’s been at least one Nightblood you’ve liked before. Who’s the guy who shattered your imaginary, fairytale ideals? You do realize there’s no such thing as a noble knight now that you’re all grown up, right?”

“You’re disgusting,” I say. “Do you Nightbloods think about anything else besides bedding someone?”

He arches his chin as he bends me backward again. My neck is left exposed to his asinine smirk as he pauses before returning me to an upright position. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

Our dancing becomes an aggressive give and take. I allow him to show off, but I also make sure I appear very unimpressed by any of it. Like water spilling over rocks in a riverbed, his body follows without any guessing as to my next turn. But then his jaw brushes the side of my forehead, and he stills my wrist in place against him, slowing our turns. The moon is nearly to its place in the sky, and I’m surprised to find that I’d rather keep arguing with him than face what’s next.

“Are you scared?” he whispers, the softness of his words tickling my face. I refuse to swallow the thickening lump in my throat as he steps back with narrowed eyes.

“Of you—or your wandering stare?” I scoff. “Because I might be afraid of the second.”

“No,” he snickers. “Of whatever your Awakening is going to be.”

“Not really,” I lie. The flutes and drums drone and get lower. “I begged Lil not to let them play anything slow tonight.” I sigh, peeking over Rowe’s shoulder. “You’ve got to take the dancing down a notch. I just know Lil told them to play something soft to remind me to behave. You’re all hands and hips.”

He squeezes my arm, his light hair falling over his sly expression. “How about we prove our own point tonight?”

“And what would that be?”

His mouth lingers at my cheek. “Well,” he says in a solid tone, “actually two points. First—Ordinaries should never dance with Seers. They don't know what they're doing. And two, slow songs are far more dangerous than fast ones.”

My heart rattles against my ribs as he reels me against him. He binds my fingers in between his. My thoughts wind—and I concentrate on anything other than the blue eyes devouring mine. The strained ridges of his chest are obvious through the top of his white shirt. My thighs inevitably encounter his as he makes no effort to widen the space between us.

Bunching his jacket in my grip, I almost want him to tip me back again—to kiss me with the lips that keep getting so perilously close to mine.
The sneaky bastard has to be chanting a spell in his head, or I wouldn’t let him take such liberties
. I’m sure of it when I see the veins on his neck bulging in black. It’s just the hint that I need. “Stop it,” I warn him.

“Stop what?” he asks, cupping the base of my back with his palm.

“You know,” I say, pushing away. “You’re chanting something.” I gasp, like I haven’t taken a complete breath of air all night. “Ask somebody else to dance.”

His lips touch to my cheek. “Happy Birthday, Calli.” He grins wider before he steps further from me. I rush to the wine and liquor table, looking to pour myself a glass of whatever is heaviest. Sniffing the crystal bottles, my nose scrunches at the burning scent.

“Oh, heaven’s holy army,” Lil curses, taking the jar from me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m an adult now,” I say, searching the table for a goblet that hasn’t been used.

“One day older doesn’t make you ten years wiser,” Lil snaps, pouring lemon water for me. “You’ll thank me later. No use in you crying because you’re a drunken mess. And I don’t know why you’d pick him, of all the men to dance with. You’re not thinking at all.”

“It’s coming,” I stammer, attempting to keep my water glass steady as I drink from it. “I know it’s almost time. My toes and fingers feel like they’re boiling. I’m not ready for it, Lil.”

“Oh child.” She pinches my chin in her hand, a sad smile wavering on her face. “None of us ever are. But you’re a tough girl. And you’re going to go stand under that moon and get through it without wailing.” She jerks her head at a cluster of Nightbloods, who all pucker their lips suggestively when I glance at them. She straightens my sash for me, then smoothes my hair in abrupt motions. “Like I said, you’re going to wait ‘til you’re home to feel anything about what fate shows you. You’re not going to offer up your pain for these primped peacocks to snort over. Now brush out the wrinkles on your dress from where that buttered blond was glued to you. The only thing that really belongs to a Seer is her self-respect. So you need to take your place in the center of the Willow Circle before the moon seeks you out. And please don’t slouch.”

The music halts as I push myself into the puddle of murky moonlight. I bow my head, unwilling to pretend I want whatever dream has been chosen for me. My eyes stare at my feet, as if keeping them open will save me from dreaming. Folding my arms doesn’t stop me from shivering as the breeze steals through my clothes. Strands of my red hair flutter in my face. The coven stays silent except for one small cough in the crowd.

Murdoch takes his seat in a chair among the Coven Mistresses. I tip my head to him, giving him the respect that’s required of every Seer. Unlike the Elders on his council, he doesn’t bother to wear his hood. His silvered hair is a long snarled mess over his shoulders. The braids in his beard tangle with gems and gold link.

His voice is as tired and unmoved as the bags are around his hazel eyes. “Are you ready girl?”

“Yes,” I manage. Balling my hands, I stand like a bewildered goat about to be sacrificed. Gritting my teeth is all I can do to keep from shaking. I prepare for death and horror to play out in my head. A tingling radiates into my arms and along my spine as the moon crests.
And then I’m alone
.

The coven is nowhere to be seen. I gulp, realizing I’m not above the scene that fate is showing me. All visions should be for somebody else, shouldn’t they? I’m not supposed to be a part of my Awakening. Or am I? I’m already bitter that nobody told me whether it’s normal to see something for my own future. Standing at the edge of our village, the dirt road stretches out before me. It’s a motionless night under a web of tiny white stars.

I recognize the face of the person standing beside me. The Ordinary takes my hand. Run, I tell myself. But I can’t move. Isaiah—someone I’ve only just met tonight—coaxes me down the road toward the coven gate. All of the panic of being alone with an almost stranger isn’t enough to change anything.

“It’s time to go,” Isaiah says. “Say goodbye to them.”

Don’t answer him, I instruct myself. Maybe I can get out of whatever this is.

“Goodbye,” I hear myself say toward the dimmed village lights, although I don’t mean to reply at all.

He pulls my hand. “You’ll be so much happier. It’s time. You don’t want this. There’s so much more—out there.”

“Uh huh,” I say, with an agreeableness that I would never recognize from myself.

I’m holding a bag of belongings in my other hand as I grip his. I don’t want to leave my home, but my feet keep moving me further away.

“It’s for the best,” he says, draping his arm around my shoulder.

You’re being entirely too transparent and easy about this, I think. He’s Ordinary. This can’t end well, I argue in my mind. Don’t go. You’d never leave Lil. You’d never do this. Stop walking.

I’m standing with my head tipped up when it ends. I open my eyes. The entire coven gawks at me. Did I say anything while I was outside of myself? My cheeks well in pink, thinking that I might’ve been talking to empty space. The crackle of the bonfire breaks too harshly in my ears as I wait for one of the Coven Mistresses to address me. They sit with haggard, ashen faces in their carved maple chairs. Odella, the one with a wig that hides her irregular baldness, wags her finger at me. Her other hand scratches the chin of that damned pig she dresses and keeps on a leash. “Now,” she says, “Remember, you should never share your Awakening. Only know that fate has blessed you with holding a memory of what will be.”

Murdoch stands, advancing to me. The black veins protrude from his forehead like inky, twisted nets. I shudder as he puts a weathered hand to the crown of my head. “Do you swear to keep your Awakening sacred? To bear all future Ordinary misfortunes to yourself? And will you remember a Seer honors the earth by bearing the evils that the earth cannot?”

Honor?
My stomach flips. I raise my face to Murdoch, unable to be the sweet little Seer that should kneel and take her vow. “I’d never share what I just saw,” I say, “because whatever that was, I don’t accept it. And I’m not honored. Nor am I claiming it.” I curtsy, but there’s rage flooding through me. “Am I dismissed?” I ask, careful not to sound as repulsed as I feel.

Instead of reprimanding me, Murdoch merely nods. “You may go.”

Pushing my way through the rowdy liquored mass, I can’t break away fast enough. The dancing resumes, despite my intention to exit my own party. Rowe and Alissa are in my way—her obliging laugh cutting in my ears. I have to swivel to try to get around them as she titters over something he said.
Oh,
I hope she gives him a very sobering rash
.

Cutting through the trees to get home, I tear the combs from my hair and the ribbon sash from my waist. I shove the sash and combs into the fold of my dress, grateful Lil thought to make pockets for my dress. She’s so practical.

I’m trying not to let it bother me when the music echoes over the hill. The cheers and yells from my invited guests swell—
as if there’s been no disruption to the evening at all
. Nothing I did in my dream reminded me of myself. If I’m ever alone again with a man, it’ll be because I want to be there, not because fate persuaded me. I’d never leave my aunts or Daphne for anything. And if I was sneaking away, I don’t see any reason why I’d choose Isaiah. There’s nothing about him that stirs me or calls out to me. 
That dream isn’t mine
. Nothing about this night has really been mine.

I prepared to see someone dying—believing it to be the worst possible scene to witness. How wrong I was. I knew Seers weren’t allowed to keep their joy. But I wish I’d known that we’re not allowed to choose it either. One stray tear slips down my cheek as soon as my shoes touch the front porch, but I scrub it away with the crook of my elbow.

Collapsing on the top stair, I wind the lace overlay of my skirt backward, watching the porch lanterns cast tiny streaming rivers of honeyed light on the silky underlining of my dress. I’m wishing I’d listened to reason and picked a dull fabric. Other Seers wear their Awakening dresses to dinners and dances as long as they can squeeze into them, but I can’t see how I’d ever want to wear this a second time. It would just be a hideous, nauseating reminder. This dress says, “
You don’t belong to yourself
.” I belong to the nightmares—to a coven that has never understood me—and apparently to a future with an Ordinary man who means nothing to me. Awakenings are supposedly unchangeable—like the rising of the sun and the tide of the sea. I think that if there’s a way out of this—I’ll find it.

Lil has forbidden me to channel or do magic. “It’s not ever worth the price,” she always says. I’d trade just about anything though to choose my own destiny. I’m not above channeling magic or opening one of the dusty grimoires on Lil’s mantle to chant my way out of this.

My eyes sting for a moment, but I shrug with a half-hearted smile. At least I have my Awakening out of the way, and no future birthdays can be as mortifying as all of this. “There’s always next year,” I say aloud for nobody to hear. I pull my boots off of my feet, lugging them in one arm as I close the front door behind me.  The clock beside the woodstove ticks—a harsh constant sound that seems to say,
time continues, whether you’re ready for what’s coming or not.
Setting my shoes and sash on the seat of the rocking chair, I toss off my stockings on the rug. I’ll reach my bedroom before I allow myself to really fall apart.