Zoe Markham - White Lies

They were supposed to like shiny things. They were territorial, I thought, although I realised I was basing this purely on a YouTube video I’d once seen of a girl on a bike getting attacked by one. It was hilarious. There was something else, too, something right at the back of my mind that I couldn’t quite untangle. Something to do with blood, and the devil. Beth would know – she’d gone through a pretty heavy-duty Catholic phase once.

Beth! I hadn’t even messaged her since I’d arrived. She’d be worried about me.

I grabbed my phone. She was online, of course. She was always online.

-hey B! whats that thing with magpies & the devil? Can u remember?

There was a slight pause, and then, ‘Beth is typing…’

I let out a slow breath as the familiarity of contact started to work its magic and calm me down. Everything might have changed but some things would always stay the same – right? I couldn’t work out if that made any sense or not, but I liked the thought of it either way.

-Hello, Beth. How are you? I’m fine. I made it to my new school safely. I’m settling in OK. You can stop worrying now…

I laughed, and rolled my eyes.

-sorry!! hi! hows u? all good here. the magpie thing though?

-Seriously? Why aren’t you making friends instead of asking me crazy weird questions?

-cos theres a magpie outside and im trying to think of the blood thing, what was it, do u know??

-Yes, of course I know. I read, Abs. Actual books, not your dodgy Fifty Shades nonsense *bites lip*

-whatever! i only read them to see what the fuss was about!

-That’s what they all say, Sis.

-yeah well at least i didnt watch the film *points finger*. anyway are u gonna tell me or not??

-Only because they wouldn’t let you in. And it depends, are you going to start properly spelling and punctuating your messages?

-yeah when i get old and fussy and annoying like you :p now spill.

-OK, crazy girl. Magpies supposedly didn’t sing when Jesus was crucified. They were the only birds that didn’t. Even those big old crows that everyone thinks are so spooky sang. Or cawed. Or whatever it is they do. But not the magpies. Some people say they carry a drop of the devil’s blood on their tongues. They’re cursed birds, Abs. Laden with darkness.

I got chills as I read. Maybe the bird outside my window could rival a raven yet.

-If you believe in that kind of thing, that is.

I fired back a LOL , feeling better as I remembered how Beth’s level of belief had taken a nosedive when a certain hot young novice priest had moved on and an octogenarian with gastric ‘issues’ had taken his place at the chapel on the base.

-i think he lives in this tree outside my window, I told her. he needs a name.

-OK. Call him Malthus. Now go and make friends, or I’ll tell Mum.

-malthus??

-Google it, Doofus. Now Go Make Friends!

-i dont like it, its too lispy.

-You are seriously weird, you know that, Abigail Gray?

-oh yeah, grey!

-What are you on about now?

-the black and white thing, u mix them u get grey – ill call him Grey.

-Magpies actually have a bluish tinge to their feathers, and green tails. So that doesn’t work, Doofus.

-yeah well i like it, anyway cant chat on here all day, gotta go make friends :p

I logged out before she could snark back at me and get the last word. And I felt much better. Less lost. More like the kind of person people might want to hang out with, rather than just sort of stare at. My phone buzzed, and I looked down to see a text.

Let me know how it goes, and say hi to Malthus for me xx

I smiled. I’d give her a call later tonight. She’d want to hear about Tyler for sure – she had an epic weakness for blond surfer types.

I lay back and sighed. My bed was pretty comfortable, but something was digging into my thigh. I pulled the small, golden key from my pocket and turned it over in my fingers. Its smooth warmth made me feel safe – in control. It was like running my fingertips over the bracelet, except in that one moment the key felt more solid – more real. I closed my eyes. I’d just lie here for a few more minutes. Enjoy the calm before the storm.

Chapter Five

Nothing made any sense when the bird woke me up. Because I couldn’t have been asleep. I’d heard the laughter and the shouts outside, the cars and the footsteps; but the sudden scrape of claws against glass had startled me upright and my head swam with the kind of confusion that only falling asleep when you didn’t mean to brings. When just for that one split second you don’t know where you are or what day or time it is. And there he was, perched as still as a statue, somehow calmly expanding to fill the entire open window.

I swore like a squaddie and threw myself sideways off the bed, trying to get well out of beak range, landing on the hardwood floor with a thump. I heard creaking doors and echoing shouts in the corridor outside, but I didn’t take my eyes off the bird, pushing myself further back towards the door, staying low. I had no idea why. Maybe I’d thought I’d be less of a target down there. Unfortunately, I was a pretty substantial target anywhere, as I proved when the door flew open and eager footsteps rushed in, tangled themselves up in my arms, and flew over me. The bird bolted. The owner of the footsteps cried out. And for some reason, probably because I had no idea what else to do, I giggled.

A short, skinny blonde who couldn’t have been more than fourteen peeled herself off the floor with, I think, more hurt in her eyes than anywhere else.

“Oh, God, I’m not – sorry,” I gabbled breathlessly, pushing myself to my feet and offering her a hand just that little bit too late. “I mean, I am sorry, obviously. I meant to say I’m not…I wasn’t…laughing at you. Sorry.”

She looked a bit like one of those cats you sometimes see in town. Wide-eyed and unsure whether to come over and rub against your leg or run like hell in the opposite direction.

“I sort of laugh when I’m nervous,” I explained. It didn’t seem to help. “I’m Abby.” I ploughed bravely on. “I’m new. Sorry.”

The silence stretched out for a couple more agonising seconds before she broke into a kind of puzzled smile; and I breathed an inner sigh of relief.

“Hi.” She waved, wincing a little and then holding her arm, and she looked so small, so tiny , that I worried I’d broken her. “I’m Lilly,” she said. “I’ve been here for ever. Why were you on the floor?”

I brushed some imaginary dust from my jeans, playing for time, and looked over at the emptiness of the open window.

“You didn’t see him?” I asked, wondering what came first in all the confusion: the opening door, the fleeing feathers, or the falling Lilly.

“See who?”

“There was a…never mind.” I didn’t think it would’ve helped. ‘There was a bird. It scared me. I’m clearly insane.’ “I’m really sorry. Epically bad timing. Way to make a first impression, right?”

She laughed with me this time, and went to pick up a bag I hadn’t even noticed her drop. It was tiny – maybe half the size of my case. She threw it onto the bed nearest mine and started flinging things out at random, chatting away to me over her shoulder. I sat back down on the bed, still trying to compose myself. It seemed to have been that kind of a day, so far.

“You’re Year Eleven, aren’t you?” She didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Mrs S told us about you. Mrs Strickland I mean. You’ve met her, right? And Mr S?” She stopped for a second, and turned around to look right at me. “You haven’t just been sitting up here all on your own or anything, have you?”