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

Chapter 4

I directed him through town, pointing out the few sights and landmarks that Magpie's Nest had to offer - the four-screen cinema, the arcade, the swimming pool. I told him about the defining gumminess of its locals, which farmers got a bit testy when you trespassed and showed him Sweet Things as we drove past, its windows adorned with its signature logo: its name in ornate swirls, fresh out of the pipe.

Then, in exchange, he told me about London.

He told me that they'd moved down from the city so that his mother could take up her position on the local council. She was going to be some sort of representative, he told me, but she was particularly swamped under all the stress of these missing people. A bad time to arrive, he mused.

I didn't bother telling him that, after two days of committed information-harvesting with Debbie, I already knew most of this stuff. It was nice to hear him say most of it all over again.

Then he asked me where I lived, and I told him. He pulled up outside my house, and the air suddenly ran dry.

I gathered up my stuff. "Ok, well, thanks for the ride."

"No problem. I'll probably see you at school?"

"Sure," I said, and I smiled up at him - perhaps for a little too long. I winced, suddenly aware that I should have vacated the vehicle by now. "Oh! Right. Sorry about getting your car wet, by the way."

"Gloria forgives you," he said. I climbed out and slammed the door shut. The car shuddered with the impact; I was afraid that it would crumble on the spot. He waved at me as he drove away.

I lifted my hand, waved faintly after him, and then I was left alone on the rain-soaked pavement. The car-ride had almost absolved me of all the trauma of the afternoon, but now that I was alone, it crept up to tap me on the shoulder.

I whirled around. There was nothing there, except the whisper of things to come.

*

I staggered through the front door in a dazed stupor. The living room was empty - there was still an hour left until my dad finished work. The smell of warm, fresh sponge and icing sugar drifted in from the kitchen, and despite my best efforts to close the front door quietly, Vivian popped her head into the room as I turned.

"Hullo!"

"Ow!" I gasped, my heart jumping into my throat. "Mum! You scared me."

She ignored me, her face stretching instead into a gawp as she took in the sight of me, her hands smudged with buttercream as they flew up to her face. "Where on earth have you been? Look at the state of you!"

I looked down at myself, suddenly realizing that I still looked like a lost schoolgirl who'd been wandering the countryside for the past year or so. Whatever little drying I'd done throughout the ride home had been refreshed during the short walk from Gloria to the house. My uniform was drenched through to the bone, clinging to my body like spandex, and my hair followed suit.

"I know, I know. I missed the bus and it started raining."

She narrowed her lips into a tight line. "Well then how did you get home?"

"I had a lift. What are you making?"

"With who?"

I hesitated. "Some boy. Is it Victoria sponge? It smells great."

For the second time, she sidestepped the question. "What boy? Saffy, I'm warning you."

"Fine!" I snapped. "It was the new boy, alright?"

Vivian's face lit up. She pushed passed me and moved towards the window, shoving the blinds aside with her flour-streaked fingers. "The Burr boy? How did this happen?"

"He's gone now, mum," I groaned. "And I already told you - I missed the bus. Jet was driving by and he gave me a lift."

Vivian reappeared, her nose wrinkling with disapproval. "Such a silly name. Mavis said that they have a hot-tub at their house. A hot-tub! Can you imagine?"

"Oh, really? Did Mavis say that? Did she sound like she was outdoors?"

"No, why?"

"Because it sounds like she's camped up in the Burr's back-garden with a pair of binoculars and a porta-loo," I said.

Vivian gave her head a dismissive shake and carried on with her fussing. "She heard it through the grapevine, Saffy. You wait until I tell Edith and Mavis about this. What sort of car does he have? Did he mention anything about his family?"

She interrogated me into an exhausted inertia, and eventually agreed to pay me in cake. It was Victoria sponge, and it was perfect. She'd been generous on the buttercream and jam, just as I liked it. I retired to my bedroom, smacking my lips with the back of my hand, and, once I'd changed into my pyjamas, moved straight to the laptop.

A few minutes of shuffling around, and relief flushed through me like I'd been released from some sort of tether. Carmen hadn't put the photo up on any of the social networking websites, as I'd anticipated - but that didn't mean she wasn't spreading it in other ways.

I collapsed onto my bed and bit hard into one of the pillows. Out there somewhere was a mobile phone that had, within its cybernetic depths, a photograph of me with pale, salmon-like skin and a look of strangled fear on my face.

*

I slept a fractured sleep that night. I was either wide awake and staring into the surrounding abyss, or lingering on the other side of consciousness, dipping my toes in slumber. What sleep I did get was fragmented, interspersed with flash-images of Mona and Jet and Carmen, each of them sneering and grinning, their eyes shadowed and their teeth as sharp as needles.

Then, creeping out of the haze, came the towering forms of trees. Mountaintops, rocky ledges loomed above the leafy awning. I was some sort of creature; that much I could make out. My fur was warm upon my back, my paws heavy as they galloped across the earth.

I wasn't alone. A sideways glance revealed a mammoth creature with a pointed snout and jagged, snapping teeth. Its eyes were an astounding shade of vermillion. Hungry, yearning. Beyond its shoulder, more of the creatures ran in a frenzied formation.

So I was a wolf, and this was my pack. The wolf-blood throbbed through my veins, my senses spiralling out of control as I was overwhelmed by this heightened super-sensitivity. We were hunting. But what was it, exactly, that we were hunting?

We emerged from the woodlands into a craggy clearing nestled beneath the mountains. There, manacled to the mountainside, was a woman. Her clothes hung from her body in rags, her skin was caked in dirt. She was thrashing from side to side, her legs flailing and her hair wild. The shackles wouldn't give. She must have done something terrible, to be strapped to the cliff face like this.

She stopped when she saw us, and we did the same.

For a few seconds, we only observed each other. We entered into a silent contract, that we were the hunters and that she, by the shackles that bound her to the mountainside, was the prey. There was no escape. What had she done to warrant such a torturous execution?

In unison, we approached. The fight seemed to have seeped out of her body. Fear, in the wake of surrender, dawned across her face.

I couldn't stop myself. My paws padded onwards, despite my screaming brain. We formed a tight circle around her, and then, after a unified moment of cerebral consultation, we leapt.

My teeth sunk into flesh. Warm, pumping fluid gushed into my mouth. The woman screamed, and I woke up.

*******************************

Ok, there you go! If you enjoyed, please vote and comment and let me know what you thought!