The Magpie Effect - The Magpie Chronicles Book 1 (#Wattys2015)

Chapter 2.2

"Uh, yeah. Anyway, I'm going to be studying Music Tech, Media Studies, Geography and Philosophy, so..." he trailed off into an awkward silence, in which he tucked his hands into his pockets and pulled a fat-lipped face.

Mrs Temple snorted again. "No Biology, I see.  Honestly, this institution is getting more metropolitan by the year." She flapped her hands at him. "Sit down, sit down."

Jet melted into his seat, his shoulders slackening. Debbie and I exchanged glances. If he was studying Geography, there was a high chance that he was going to share a classroom with us.

Not that I was overly concerned with him, I reminded myself.  Boys were a no-go territory. Nevertheless, it was with a sense of complete inattentiveness that I found myself inching to the left as Mrs Temple went about distributing our timetables, trying to catch a glimpse of the boy with espresso hair.

*

Everywhere we went that day, Jet Burr followed us. Not literally, of course, but his name was inescapable.

By the time the day was done, Debbie and I had harvested enough morsels of information to piece together a fluid, albeit slightly perforated, picture of Jetham Burr. The Burrs had moved down from London so that Mrs Burr could take up her place on the county council. They lived in one of the more prosperous estates on the edge of town, the kind with iron gates and private garages. He even had a car, or so they said. Somebody in the lunch queue had seen him pull up that morning in an old banger.

I was half-grateful for his sudden appearance in the Atlantic social infrastructure; it meant that the first-day excitement was focussed, contained. By the time the excitement about him died down we'd be a couple of days in to the term and everybody would have settled back into their usual routines.

Routine meant safety. Routine meant ordinary, and I could never pass up ordinary.

*

The girl was waiting for me outside my front door that afternoon. She was just standing there. Staring at me. There was an odd smile on her lips, more of a physical motion than an emotive manifestation. It was just an upward curve of the lips; it didn't extend anywhere near her eyes.

I froze at the top of the garden. I hadn't forgotten about her. She'd been in my thoughts all day, peering out from behind Jetham Burr's lanky shoulders. She was the first spirit that I'd seen in years; she wouldn't be easy to forget. But her arrival on my porch would only make disremembering her more difficult.

I gathered my wits about me and walked up to the front door, but not before I could say: "What do you want?"

She spoke, slowly and deeply. "I want to help you."

"I don't need your help with anything," I said, reaching up to grasp the handle.

"Are you sure?"

"What could I possibly need your help with?"

"Enemies," she whispered.

I flinched. "I don't have any enemies."

"Do you have any friends?"

"What?" I thought of Debbie. "Of course I do."

This time, the girl said nothing.  She only smiled at me, her eyes full of pity.

"Why do you want to help me, anyway? Isn't it usually the other way around? You know, wandering spirit searching for assistance in achieving her purpose? What's the catch?"

The girl tilted her head, her burning-bright eyes locking on me. "No catch. Just two friends helping each other out."

"We're not friends," I corrected her. Winnie would have thought I was being cruel. "I don't need your help. And I definitely don't want to help you. Now leave me alone-"