The Cunning

Chapter 8; The Third Day

Gillian flopped down on her queen-sized bed and breathed a sigh of relief. She had made it home without being sacrificed to some unknown cult god, or pressured into taking any hard core drugs, or murdered, or any other assortment of horrible things. The same could not be said for the magpie. 

She swallowed, remembering the blood as it boiled on the knife. That was just gross, her normal side said. But amazing, the hopeful and adventurous part of her chimed in. She pushed the thought away, despite her excitement. She really couldn't imagine a worse feeling than letting herself believe magic actually existed, then discovering it was some cruel joke. For now she would approach the aspect of the Hardwicks and their magic cautiously. Her mother had only been a little annoyed at her coming home so late and her father couldn't care less. “Good, she made some friends,” was his only comment when she passed through the front doors. 

There was a knock and her sister came in without waiting for an answer. “Do you get that from Mom?” Gillian asked. “Do I get what from mom?” asked Jenny obliviously, as she fell next the her on the bed. Gillian groaned, but ignored her and rolled over, pulling her phone out and turning it off to conserve the battery. “So where'd you go?” Jenny inquired, leaning her blonde head in one hand and looking expectantly at her sister. Gillian didn't say anything for a while. “Just drove around with some friends.” 

“What?” whined Jenny. “I don't know anyone yet. What are their names?”

“You don't know them,” sighed Gillian, staring up at the bare ceiling. 

 “Hm.” replied Jenny, and the two lay silently together in the bed. Gillian listened to the muffled bird noises outside the window. They were unfamiliar sounds-- different than the mocking birds and roadrunner chirps of the desert. Prettier though, she thought. 

The next day Gillian woke up before her alarm went off and stared up at her ceiling. It was odd, she thought. She didn't remember falling asleep. Then it struck her. She hadn't lay awake the previous night trying to loose consciousness as she had for the past week. She had hit the bed, closed her eyes, and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. What had changed, she wondered. 

Gillian sat up and looked about the room, the events of yesterday replaying though her mind. The buzz of excitement ran through her, and she pushed it down, a small voice in the back of head dismissing the integrity of what she had experienced. She got dressed with the thought of Warren and Anita's approval on her mind, choosing a dark cardigan and black pants instead of her usual more colorful attire. Why should I care what they think? She thought to herself as she looked in the full length mirror her dad had hung up on her door yesterday. She dismissed the thought that she sought their approval and settled on another conclusion: She'd be taken more seriously if she ditched the bright colors. She didn't want to look like a little girl who could be easily tricked. That was it. The suspicious voice in the back of her head applauded her strategy. 

She ran her fingers through her hair instead of full-on brushing it. Stillwood's moisture would take what little waviness she had out if she did. Just another thing she missed about the dry desert. After Gillian had brushed her teeth and washed her face, she sat at her desk and tried to replicate a tiny version of the circle Warren had drawn. She got as far as having the four lines inside done, but didn't know any of the symbols. She crumpled the paper and leaned back in her chair. The alarm on her phone went off suddenly, breaking the morning's silence. She turned it off just as her mother opened the door.

"Gillian, wake-- oh you're awake," said her mother, surprised. "I figured that since it's now the third day of school you wouldn't be getting up on your own anymore."