The Short Life of Sparrows (9 page)

I welcome her laugh.
She stares at me, her forehead scrunched. “Another secret? You’re not as boring as you make out to be. You’re pretty witty, actually.”

I almost ask her if she can ever pay someone a compliment without turning it into an unfiltered slight. Every sweet thought seems to send her grasping for some immediate bitterness to dull it. And yet, the distraught way she gathered a bunch of dead, plain birds makes me wonder if her sharpness is simply a defense for her. There’s a mysteriously easy silence between us as we cut into the field toward Lil’s.

“You’ve told me two secrets today,” I remark, digging my thumb into the shovel’s handle. “It seems unfair.”

“Do you have any secrets?” she muses, folding her arms around her dampened dress.

“Well,” I pause. “Seeing as you’re set on thinking I’m completely unworthy of any romantic thought—I suppose I could share something in confidence. But this is a secret we’d be keeping from Daphne too.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh
that
,” she flaps her arm, as if she’s discounting my declaration already. “There’s no surprise in it. You’re always pausing to wipe the sweat off your head when Daphne comes by Lil’s. And you ate every single one of her cookies. Daphne is a great cook, but to eat that many cookies would’ve only been to flatter her. How bad did your stomach hurt after you ate all of them?”

A senseless smile fills my face. “I threw up behind the shed.”

We laugh harder. She squints, a mischievous thought playing across her eyes. “You know, Daphne never spends that much time arranging desserts on a plate for the rest of us. And I’ve never received treats from her on a crocheted blue napkin either.”

“You think?” I press, surprised at my own stupid prattle. Thinking of Daphne in her lilac cotton dress is one thing. Acting on it, or encouraging anything to become of it, well it makes me an absolute idiot.

“I think if she wanders by Lil’s any more than she has been,” Calli teases, “you’re going to need another gesture besides wiping your brow. And she’s going to run out of flour.”

The smell of the storm steeps in the air, leaving the long grass bent from the wind. Lil has lit the lantern on the porch. She huddles under her shawl, and from her stance I can tell that we’re going to hear about our tardiness.

“Let me do all of the talking,” Calli whispers. “One more secret? As long as you nod a lot while Lil yells at you, she thinks she’s done some good. Nothing softens her up like cleaning the pots from dinner.”

Lil flaps her shawl, as if it can hurry us along. “You’re both a mess. Haven’t I taught you to stay clear of a Nightblood’s magic? What was it anyway?”

“Just birds,” Calli mumbles as we approach the fence.

“Well,” Lil huffs, “if you decide to encourage gentleman callers, next time maybe you could mention that they rid us of something more convenient, like house spiders or that stubborn patch of crabgrass on the backside of the property.”

Calli grabs a hold of my upper arm, stumbling her way through the gate beside me. I can’t tell if it’s because it’s growing dark and she’s exhausted—or because she’s forgotten her promise to hate me forever. I’d ask her, but I don’t really mind her clutching my sleeve. I still find Calli irritatingly intense and far too fired up about everything. I wouldn’t have any desire to kiss her or ask her to run away with me—not the way she claims I did in her Awakening. But these are the first secrets I’ve ever been asked to keep. Nobody has trusted me or known me enough to tell me anything. It’s nice to feel needed for once, whatever the reason is.

11

CALLI

D
aphne dumps the blanket and basket to the ground before squeezing through her window. I peek around the corner of Mildred’s house to check for any lanterns besides my own. As she bumps into my backside, she squeals when I jump. “Ssh, Daphne,” I say, slapping a hand over her mouth. “If you fall into giggles we’re going to get caught.”

She leans out from the log exterior, looking around. “Oh,” she whispers, rolling her eyes, “Everybody is too deep into their nightmares to hear us. Let’s go to the river tonight.”

Ever since Mildred’s painting of the drowned woman, she’s repeatedly reminded Daphne and me of the dangers of fast rivers. Imagining Mildred’s panic at discovering us by the water at night pierces me with guilt. I dislike seeing Aunt Mildred cry—even if she spends half of her time doing it. We take brisk steps into the field behind the house. “Your mother hates it when we go down there,” I reply. “How about the tree fort?”

“You nearly fell off the ladder last time. We have to fix the bottom rung before you’ll get me back up there.” She readjusts the rolled blanket under her arm to keep from dropping it. “What’s the good in sneaking out if we’re going to mind everything else we’re told? Isn’t that what you’re always telling me?” she hisses, lifting her basket at me.

“Well,” I say, “in that case, don’t say you didn’t just dare me.”

“I don’t like when you smile like that,” Daphne shakes her head, knowing she’s pushed me too far. When I start walking toward the row of sheds, she scrambles to pull me back. “You wouldn’t, Calli. Please.”

Wrenching free from her, I jog until I’m comfortably out of her reach. “Oh,” I call back, just loud enough for her to hear me, “I would, and I’m going to. I’m so nauseous from you and him making eyes at each other without being able to even manage a hello. He stares far too hard at you out of the corner of his eye while he’s cutting firewood. I’m surprised he hasn’t accidentally chopped his foot off. And who takes a hired man cookies in the nicest dish they have? You might as well walk right up to him and kiss him in front of the ladies during teatime.”

I break into a run to get to the old tool shed before she can stop me. Knocking twice on the stripped door, I wait. There’s no candlelight coming from the cracked, filmy pane. She clutches to the rolled quilt and her basket even tighter. “Let’s go,” she pleads. “This is your worst idea yet.”

Just as I raise my hand to knock again, the door scrapes open. “Is something wrong?” he asks, careful not to open the door all of the way.

Waving the bottle of Desertberry wine at him, I give him a cordial smile. “I decided I should apologize for how I’ve behaved this week. I thought I’d see if you’d like to go down to the river for a late-night picnic.”

“No,” he says, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Well,” I sigh. “You’re going to miss out. Daphne made her strawberry tarts, and they’re amazing.”

“He doesn’t want to go,” she calls after me. “Leave him alone.”

Realizing who is with me, Isaiah retreats further from the opening. “Give me a few minutes.”

The door clicks in place, and I turn to her, my mouth dropped in fabricated shock. “Seems he likes strawberries,” I return to Daphne, mocking her horror with a satisfied grin.

He reappears with his patched brown coat—his hair in a much more decent state than it was when he answered the door. “Do you want me to carry something?” he asks, fidgeting with the last button on his coat.

Daphne acts like she’s a mute, and I find that I’m going to have to help them along. “Yes,” I say. “I’m sure Daphne would appreciate some help since her hands are full. What a gentleman, huh Daphne? I don’t think we know any Nightbloods who would offer to carry something.”

She tenses up as he takes the basket from her hand.
Now I’m the one trying not to burst out laughing
. He falls in line behind the glow of my lantern, watching the ground. “Do you guys do this often?” he asks.

“When Daphne had her Awakening last year,” I say, “we started staying up at least once a month. Being awake all night isn’t practical all of the time, but it’s nice to have an occasional break from the dreams. And I’m not ready to have another one after last night’s.”

“Understandable,” he says.

“Do you like working here?” she asks.

Yes Daphne, he loves living in a drafty shed and being surrounded by Seers who don’t actually want him here
. My poor cousin is struggling for a conversation that doesn’t give her nerves away. The fast rushing of the water over the jutting rocks gets louder. “We can set up right here,” I say, stopping Isaiah. “The sides of the riverbank are muddy if you get any closer. I don’t think any of us want to go swimming.”

We all busy ourselves with smoothing the quilt over the grass, and I stiffen remembering how Isaiah took my hand in my Awakening. “Do you think Daphne is pretty?”
Oh, it’s so mean.
I instantly want to take back the dread I’m causing the two of them. But just seeing Isaiah’s face bathed in moonlight gives me flashbacks to my birthday—of him pulling me away from everything I know. I’m still fixed on doing whatever I can to prevent it from happening.

“Calli,” she snaps. “Sorry Isaiah. My cousin hardly ever thinks before words fly out of her mouth.”

He clears his throat a little. “It’s okay. I’m well aware by now that Calli says whatever’s on her mind. Maybe we should open that bottle already.”

I hand it to him, evading the nasty stare I’m getting from Daphne. Unwrapping the bread, I tear a piece off the loaf and stuff it into my loud mouth. The wind blows my red hair into my eyes, and I hunch.
I probably should’ve brought a coat, but I couldn’t risk tiptoeing through the house to find where I’d left it
. “Could you please hand me the bottle?” I ask, rubbing my hands together. “I need some liquor to warm up. It shouldn’t be this cold in the middle of the summer.”

“It
is
the middle of the night,” he reminds me. “And the breeze off the water cools things down quite a bit.”

His need to direct me to the obvious makes me feel like we brought Lil to our midnight picnic. They eat and drink in quiet, and I start to wonder how to salvage a night that was supposed to be fun.

“Let’s play a game. If someone says something true about you, you take a sip of wine. If it’s something false, you take a bite of one of the tarts.”

“We’ll end up with stomach aches,” she insists.

“And I’m the one who is no fun?” I ask.

Her eyes scrunch at me, but I know Daphne wouldn’t pass up a challenge—not in front of him. “Okay,” she says. “But I’ll start. Calli laughed so hard during a coven ceremony when two of the Coven Mistresses got in a fight, because Odella lost her wig trying to break it up—and Calli peed herself.”

Jerking the bottle back from her, I take a generous sip. “It was that funny. I’m not ashamed. Okay, my turn. Isaiah must be running from something, to want to work for a Seer like Lil, who is going to spend his summer scolding him over anything he misses. Seriously, has she talked your ear off about your hair? Lil is obsessed with everything being in order.”

He pulls the bottle from my grip and takes a long swig. “If by running you mean I’m trying to get away from living in a poorhouse that smells like mold and three day old soup, yes. It’s not so easy to get work or establish yourself, if you don’t have anyone willing to be your reference. And yes, Lil hates my hair. But I don’t care much if people like me.”

“But you do care if people like you,” I interject. “Everybody does. You’d better take another sip. And your hair isn’t that bad. Lil wouldn’t have given you a job if she thought there was anything dishonest about you.”

My cheeks tingle from the wine, and it makes me entirely too confident. The trees begin to look like bent, swaying cattails. Whatever filter I had is gone as my vision blurs. When I look down at the hastening river, the movement does nothing to help my swirling head. “What was your Awakening about, Daphne?”

Daphne becomes rigid, clasping her hands in her lap. Her round eyes dart away. “I thought we were drinking to truths—not digging for them. We’re not supposed to talk about Awakenings, Calli. You know that.”

“I know we’re not supposed to,” I say, waving my arms sarcastically. “But we’re not supposed to sneak out either. Forget about behaving for one night. The only reason I can convince you to even leave your bedroom window is because Mildred snores like a hibernating bear. Come on. I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

Isaiah props his elbows on his knees. “How are Awakenings any different from the other dreams you have? How can you even be sure that they’re meant to happen if nobody ever shares them?”

I curl my fingers like claws, trying not to laugh as I do it. “I’m trying to convince myself it’s just a creepy nightmare to make us take the rest of the dreams seriously. The coven loves to pretend our eighteenth birthdays are something special because it marks the beginning of our dreams about the future—about all of the dark energy the earth can’t bear—all of the nasty things Ordinaries are set to do. Murder, stealing, lies.”

He takes the bottle, enjoying a generous swig of it. “That’s sort of gruesome. Are you the only ones, that you know…can have these dreams? Or are there more covens outside of these walls?”

Daphne straightens her hair combs. “I don’t think so. I hope not. There are plenty of us to suffer here. I hate to think there could be more of us out there.”

“Yeah,” I say, stealing another taste from the bottle before passing it back to Daphne. “You’d think we’d use our magic to just keep on living, but without fail, I have never seen any of our old opt for it on their deathbeds. By the time death comes, they’re always grateful to be done with all of this. Even the parties and spells aren’t enough to keep us all from getting tired.” My hand muffles my hiccup, and I should probably be done with the wine. “Come on Daphne,” I push. “I swear we won’t tell anybody. I bet I hate my Awakening more than you hate yours.”

She shivers, keeping her focus on her hands. She hesitates, picking at the stitching on her skirt. “I saw some Nightbloods turn on one of their own. He didn’t even run, like he expected it. I couldn’t see anybody’s faces. But the man was screaming. It filled my ears—this tortured noise coming from a faceless person. And the night was really dark, but there was so much blood that I could see glistening puddles in what moonlight there was. They didn’t stop until—until someone with a lantern rode up on them. I couldn’t see the Elders or Murdoch anywhere. Just some of the younger men, with their switchblades drawn. I was an invisible spectator, and they couldn’t seem to hear my screams. I couldn’t run from it, even when the blood ran in a black line toward me.”