Two and Twenty Dark Tales (21 page)

I wrap my arms around my backpack and hold on as hard as I dare.

Inside it I have the book of poetry, with my two feathers tucked between the pages like secret love letters.

Throughout the day, Michelle keeps asking me how I am. I say “fine” so many times she gets annoyed. It’s not like we’re all that close, anyway. We just don’t have any other friends, so we sort of got stuck with each other as freshmen. Three years later, we are still stuck. Neither of us fits in—at least not here, in our little community of farming families. I am like a walking wound, someone to be avoided at all costs. Michelle Okorafor, on the other hand, holds her head too high for someone who looks so different, and Nigeria might as well be on another planet. Together, we are like an old married couple who don’t know what we would do if we didn’t have each other.

It turns out Michelle is still upset that I didn’t make it to her seventeenth-birthday dinner, the one she had with her family. At the time, I’d told her that Stella needed me to help out on the farm, what with my father being away. That usually keeps her quiet, although missing her birthday was probably a step too far—even for me. This time she was hurt. I should have felt guilty, but I had been numb for so long it was difficult for something as banal as guilt to register.

I just hadn’t wanted to do anything during the vacation. The snow had fallen heavily, and I had a lot of homework.

And then there was the crow. At least his visits had made me feel
something
.

Michelle and I walk into last period together, that first day back at school, and all I can feel is relief that it’s almost over. I got through the day. I wonder how I will make it through another day like this, and then another. What about the whole week? A month. A semester. Graduation seems so far away. How could I travel that far without wings?

I sit in my usual seat by the window at the back. Michelle flops down next to me and immediately pulls out her cell phone, her quick fingers dancing across the keys. I rest my chin on my hand and gaze outside. It is already getting dark, so all I can really see is my own reflection: long brown hair falling in thick waves around my pale face and my serious grey eyes staring back at me.

I look beyond myself, watching the reflected classroom as my fellow students settle themselves at desks and pull books from their bags. I can see Richard Poole in the far corner, sitting with one of his regular cronies. I see Hanna Skarsgård take off her woolen hat and fluff out her flattened blonde curls.

My gaze shifts once more… and my eyes meet those of a stranger.

I stifle a gasp, instinct kicking in and saving me from more of Michelle’s questions. Turning my head away from the black mirror that the window has become, I look across the classroom.

A new boy sits across the aisle from Michelle, but she is too busy texting with her little sister to notice. He is looking right back at me.

His scruffy hair is so black it shines cobalt blue beneath the lights. His eyes are dark and his face is almost as pale as mine.

He smiles at me.

My gaze flicks to Michelle, but she is still engrossed in her virtual conversation. I look at the strange boy again, wondering why my smile won’t work. I must look sullen and stupid. I try to swallow away whatever is stuck in my throat, but even that doesn’t help.

Mrs. Brennan strides into the classroom and bangs the door behind her.

“Sorry I’m late,” she says, holding up a sheaf of papers. “It seems we have a new student with us today.”

All the muttered and not-so-muttered conversations stop. Even Michelle puts down her phone and glances around the room, finally realizing she is sitting across the aisle from the new kid.

The scruffy-haired boy is now the center of attention. He doesn’t look too happy about this, but he leans back in his chair and accepts our assessment of him.

“Let’s welcome—” Here, Mrs. Brennan stops to adjust her glasses and consult her paperwork. “James Vanderveer.”

We all watch James Vanderveer like he belongs to a fascinating new species.

All except me. I watch him for an entirely different reason. I can’t take my eyes off him, not even for a second. Not because I think he is beautiful—which I do—and not even because he is new and different, someone to brighten up an ordinary, dull day at school. Which he is.

I cannot take my eyes off him because I know who he is. I know it, deep inside me, even as my logical brain tells my crazy heart to get a grip. This is… impossible. Crows don’t turn into boys so they can attend high school. That’s not how real life works.

But perhaps my life has become something else. Perhaps magic
is
real in a world where lonely crows visit human girls at home on winter mornings.

James tilts his chair back, and I see that he is wearing black jeans and heavy boots. He looks tough, like he can take care of himself. The leather of his jacket is cracked and comfortable-looking. He seems a little wild, a little bit
Rebel Without a Cause
, and my heart beats faster than it has in a long time. He tilts his head to one side and meets my eyes. His are so black they are like two pieces of coal. I know I should be afraid of the intense expression on his face, and yet I am not. Maybe it’s for the same reason he wasn’t afraid of
me
after I let him into my bedroom. When he had been nothing more than a bird.

Mrs. Brennan’s voice drones on. Something about how Mr. Vanderveer’s application got mixed up, and his family thought he was starting the next day. That’s why he was so late to school today. But after that explanation, my mind drifts away from the class and all I can do is wait for the lesson to end. Not long, I tell myself. Not long.

I watch the clock. I tap my foot. I sneak glances at the boy-crow and hope Michelle hasn’t noticed how weird I am acting. I chew the end of my pencil and pretend to focus on world history, while instead I am focusing on James Vanderveer’s hands as he turns the pages of the textbook somebody gave him.

A flash of light catches my attention and I stare. Even though I already knew, this confirmation makes my stomach clench. I blink and look again.

He is wearing a silver ring, like a miniature cuff, on the little finger of his left hand.

There is a noise in my ears, like the
whoosh
of the train as the school bus waits by the tracks. I think I might faint, even though I am sitting down. My head feels all tingly.

“Miss Crawford, are you unwell?”

Mrs. Brennan is leaning over my desk, and Michelle is watching me with genuine concern.

James is standing behind our teacher, and I wonder when he appeared there because I don’t remember him moving. I cannot read the expression on his face.

“I’m fine,” I say. “I think I didn’t eat enough, that’s all.”

There is more clucking and mother-hen behavior from Mrs. Brennan, and in the end I have to accept a slip from her so I can visit the nurse, just to stop her fussing.

“Michelle,” our teacher says, “if you could go with—”

“I’ll go,” James Vanderveer says. He speaks in such a way as to make it clear there will be no argument. The decision has been made.

Michelle stares at him, open-mouthed, and I wonder if she will dare to contradict him.

James stares back, his eyes like a storm in the calm planes of his face.

My friend closes her mouth.

Mrs. Brennan frowns, but that is the extent of her dissent. “Very well. Off you go then.”

I grab my bag and cram books and pencils inside with shaking hands. My fingers touch one of the feathers and I shiver. I don’t look at Michelle as I leave the room. I don’t look at anybody. I watch my feet on the floor, and the only thing I am aware of is James as he walks beside me and opens the door.

He gestures me out into the corridor ahead of him, but he stands so that I have no choice but to brush against him.

When our arms touch, an image flashes into my mind, clear as a winter sky over the fields:
the room is small and bare, apart from a cage swinging gently from a hook in the stone ceiling. The cage is made from dull metal, curved into claws that grip the base. I cannot see a door, but there must be one somewhere, for otherwise how would the cage’s occupant get in—or out? There is a narrow perch welded between the bars of the cage, with a silver chain attached to it. And attached to that is a crow
—

My
crow—the boy who, even now, is looking down at me with an animal’s eyes in a human face.

I stumble into the corridor, disoriented, my heart pounding a rhythm that threatens to drive me to my knees. I lean against the wall and breathe, in and out, trying to figure out what just happened.

James regards me from a distance. He doesn’t try to touch me again—perhaps he knows better. I am relieved and disappointed all once. And then I am irritated with myself for wanting his touch when I don’t even know him and am not even sure I’d like him if I did. I’m not sure of anything. He might not even be
real
. Perhaps I have lost my mind at last, and this is some kind of super-delayed PTSD.

Without needing to discuss it, we leave the school. I crumple the permission slip and drop it into a bin outside. The cold air hits my face, makes my eyes water, and I immediately feel better. I don’t need a nurse. I don’t know what I
do
need, but it’s nothing they can offer me here.

I slide behind the bicycle rack and push my way along one of the many utility blocks at the edge of the school grounds. James follows me, walking quickly and quietly as we move through the jagged bushes that have grown in the narrow space. I stop and turn to face him, alone with this boy who is strangely familiar and utterly alien.

“You’re… I…” I can’t even get the words out. What are you supposed to say to someone who shouldn’t exist in the world we know? Our safe, familiar world.

Safe?
I can’t help laughing at that. What’s so harmless about a world that takes away the people you love the most? What is so damn safe about a world that rips you into pieces and then expects you to get through life with only half a heart?

James touches my face with his hand, the hand with the pinky ring that might once have been a shackle. I feel the cool silver kiss my cheek and wish it was this untamed boy’s lips instead.

I feel the blush spread all the way from my neck to my forehead. What am I thinking? This is surreal, crazy, messed
up
. Wrong?

I don’t want it to be wrong. I gaze into his eyes and see a kindred spirit hiding in those shadowy pools.

“Wait,” I say. I push his hand down and step back. “Just… wait a minute.”

He nods. He waits.

I take a deep breath, trembling as I let it out. “James Vanderveer. That’s really your name?”

“It’s the name she gave me.” His voice is low and husky, almost as though he doesn’t use it often. He sounds older than seventeen.

“Who do you mean? Your mother?”

“Nah,” he says. He kicks a stone by his boot. “The witch.”

He talks differently from the others around these parts. He doesn’t belong any more than I do, but for reasons I don’t quite understand. Not yet.

But I intend to.

I reach out and rest my fingers against the back of his left hand. I make sure not to touch the ring, but I want to. I want to know what it is, who put it there, what power it holds over James Vanderveer.

He watches me, but doesn’t move away. Something in his expression dares me to do more, so I run my fingers across his hand until they stop at the cuff of his leather jacket. I imagine sparks where our skin comes into contact.

James grabs me with his other hand, too fast for me to stop him. I hardly see the movement, just a blur and then his fist is gripping my hip, and he drags me toward him until our bodies touch. His fingers curl into one of the belt loops on my jeans, twisting until I have to press myself against him.

There are no visions in my head this time, just a delicious blankness that makes me feel like an untethered balloon.

All this time, his left hand doesn’t move, and I’ve wrapped my fingers around his wrist without even realizing it. I am looking directly into his face, pale and savage, with strong features that make him look more
other
than I know what to do with. He dips his head to mine slowly, so slow, giving me plenty of time to push him away. He is testing me, challenging me to be the one to say no.

Well then
, I think with a secret smile. He doesn’t know me. Maybe nobody does, not anymore. Not since Alice.

I tug his left hand forward and place it firmly on my other hip. Now I am trapped in the circle of his arms, and I wrap mine around his neck, reaching up on tiptoe and swaying against his chest.

I catch a glimpse of a feral smile as his lips clamp down on mine, and the world stops turning as I take him in.

This boy I don’t even know, is holding me against his lean body and running his tongue along the seam of my mouth, encouraging me to kiss him back. I freeze, just for a moment, not because I don’t want this, but because I am
savoring
it. Enjoying the warmth of him, the smell of him. He tastes of licorice and the night sky, and I don’t want him to stop. Not ever.

Mind the gap
, I think, before stepping over the edge.

I kiss him with everything I’ve got: all of my loneliness and rage and pain. I pour it all into James as he meets my passion with his own. I let him touch me in places I’ve never been touched before. I am dizzy, drunk. I feel as though I am flying as he moves his mouth against mine in a kiss that lasts a thousand years. My toes curl inside my heavy winter boots.

When he finally comes up for air, I’m still clinging to him because my legs are as mushy as horse feed. My lips tingle, and I imagine I can still feel his fingers beneath my shirt. I want him to kiss me again, to touch me again. I grab his face between my hands and pull him toward me.

He laughs and nuzzles my neck. I sigh, content.

He pulls away, and this time I let him. We leave the school and run across a nearby field just as the sun goes down. James follows me without question, his intelligent eyes darting around and taking everything in. He’s a fascinating combination of hyper-aware and laid back.