Songbird (A Sinclair Story #1)

by Jaymin Eve

  I gave my expression one last grimace, my full, unnaturally red lips thinning, before I turned to leave the room.

  I made my way down the hall to the room I shared with Lucy. She was sprawled across my bed, wearing her favorite purple flannel pyjamas. A thick novel lay open in front of her. Her attention never wavered as I stretched out next to her. It took a few minutes before she flicked a page and spoke.

  “Are you actually gracing me with your presence, Abigail? To what do I owe such an honour?”

  I smirked. “Honestly, Luce, I just felt a need to give something back. You know, to those lesser.”

  She raised an eyebrow, flicking across to the next page. “You are going the right way to end up on my list, Abigail.”

  My smirk fell; Lucy’s list was not a place you wanted to be. The last person who got on her bad side ended up with their hair glued to a school desk.

  “Sorry, Luce, I was staring at myself in the training mirrors and my butt looked huge. I had no choice; I had to get out for a run.”

  Shaking her head, she sighed. “As if your tall lanky butt would ever look big. Try being five foot, Abbs. I look at a picture of a donut and it attaches to my thighs.”

  I laughed. Lucy was curvy in all the right places, without an ounce of fat anywhere else.

  “Did you have to mention donuts?” My mouth watered. I was eight the last time we had their sugary goodness. But there was no way to forget.

  We’d had canned beans and an unidentified rodent stew for dinner. And we had learned to never expect junk or fresh food; they’re the rarest of all.

  Reaching, I attempted my nightly routine of taming my curls into a braid. Lucy took pity on me, helping out when it was too painful. After she finished, I relaxed back into my pillows.

  “So what happened today? I’m assuming you didn’t plan on being out until the middle of the night, worrying your blood sister to death.” Lucy could lay on the guilt with the best of them.

  “You were in self defence. You know how boring I find the basic classes. I can’t even believe we still have to attend them.”

  “They seem to think we’ll forget everything if we don’t attend absolutely every class.” Lucy shook her head. “And don’t diverge from the topic. What happened?”

  I skimmed over my day. Most of it was unimportant.

  Except the encounter in the alley.

  It was foremost in my mind. I spent the most amount of time describing every little nuance.

  Lucy shook her head, confusion warring with humor and fear.

  “Who are you, Abigail? You jump from one dangerous situation to another and yet somehow escape unscathed. I’m afraid that one day your luck will run out.” She glared at me. “If you die, I’m going to find you, bring you back, only to kill you again. Understand?”

  “Understood, psycho!”

  She patted my head.

  Ignoring her condescension, I continued. “I need to go back and find him. I need answers. The curiosity is killing me.”

  I hadn’t planned on telling her – she was a worrier – but keeping secrets is not my strong suit.

  She nailed me with her ‘look’. I froze.

  “We should consider ourselves lucky that you escaped today without losing any body parts. He said he was your watcher? Do you really want to chase down weird alley stalkers?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about how he made me feel.”

  She shook her head. “I swear worrying about you is giving me gray hair.”

  I wanted to reassure her that everything would be fine, but we live with zero guarantees.

  “I’m eighteen in a month and, as Olden so kindly pointed out, onto the streets we go. It’s not exactly my dream to join a resistance group; I don’t want to be a foot soldier in this pointless war.”

  Lucy nodded, unease plying her pixie features.

  “I feel restless, Abbs. I’m getting no sleep and wrinkles, I think.” Her worry was clear. “My thoughts are that we should get out of New York. There’s no future for us here. We have nothing to lose by checking to see if it’s this bad everywhere.”

  I shook my head in frustration. “I know I say this every day, but what the hell is wrong with people? War is so short-sighted. They are destroying the very world they have to live in.”

  “Yep, people are stupid. That we established long ago.”

  “Word.” I shook my head. “And stupid’s an understatement. Not nearly strong enough to describe this idiocy. Slow, dim-witted, dense, moronic ...” I trailed off and Lucy picked it up.

  “Brainless, thick, dumb-ass.”

  I laughed out loud. “I think you nailed it. They take dumb-ass-ness to an entirely new level.”

  A wave of exhaustion flowed over me. “You’re right. New York is just too dangerous. If only we had family to go to.”

  Lucy lay back against the pillows, her expression grim and her tone had far less bounce than usual. “Well, my parents are dead. Car bomb saw to that. And I guess if no one has come forward for you after eighteen years then yours are either dead or somewhere far from here.”

  It was incomprehensible to me that my parents were dead. I knew they were out there somewhere.

  I shrugged, wincing as the movement tugged on my ribs. “We’ve never relied on anyone else before. Plus we’re smart enough to figure this out. Surely.”

  Lucy laughed and, reaching over, fist-pumped me. “Smarter than the average rebel.”

  I yawned loudly, barely keeping my eyes open.

  Lucy saved my ribs the painful effort by switching off the main light for me. She dived into her bed, whilst I pulled back my covers and crawled under. There was a real chill in the air. A little more effort to insulate these old buildings would be much appreciated.

  “Night.” I yawned again.

  “Night, Aribella.”

  I groaned. “Seriously, not you too! Was that the only thing you took from today?”

  She laughed. “Aribella suits you.”

  “Go to sleep, Lucy Laurell.”

  “Sure, use my full name. Totally scary.”

  “I still think we need middle names, you know, for dramatic effect.”

  Lucy laughed. “We’re abandoned teens, Abbs, we can’t afford middle names.” She dropped her bottom lip. Overdramatic.

  I snorted with laughter. “Word.”

  She let a few chuckles escape. “The other day I was trying to remember when we started using ‘word’ as an acknowledgment.”

  I paused for a moment. “You know, I have no idea either, but we can’t give it up now, the memories. Remember that day we answered every one of Olden’s questions with ‘word’?”

  Snorting laughter sounded from Lucy. “Totally worth the week of scrubbing floors.”

  Smiling, I switched off the bedside lamp. Darkness flooded the room. It felt as if sleep claimed me instantly, and there I was, in my dream world. It had taken a few years for me to realize how unusual it was to have the exact same dream – every week – for as long as I could remember.

  Dream-me started her adventure in an immense forest. Ancient gnarled trees and dense overgrown green foliage spanned as far as the eye could see.

  As usual, I found myself wandering aimlessly through the peaceful expanse. Waiting for them to find me. The woman arrived first, stepping out of the vast tree-line to stand before me. She was beautiful – tall with straight black hair that hung almost to her waist. She looked to be in her early thirties, but her eyes held the weight from years of experience.

  She radiated intoxicating warmth. Generally we stood there, simply staring. I soaked up the feeling for as long as I could, and, just as I was expecting her to move on, something changed. A sense of urgency filtered through the forest. Clutching my hand, she pulled me closer. Leaning in, she spoke.

  “We love you.” Unlike the usual dream fuzziness, the words were soft but clear. “Find the blue stone.”

  Then she was gone.

  Reaching out, I fought to keep the war
mth, but my hands clutched empty air. Sorrow flooded through me; I’d lost something vital.

  At that point, a distraction stepped through the forest – which had turned strangely misty – capturing my full attention. My stupid heart galloped away in my chest.

  He isn’t real. I repeated over and over.

  He was astonishingly perfect, and, unlike the woman had only started appearing a few years ago, I had long reached the conclusion that he was too amazing to exist anywhere but in dreamland. Broad-shouldered and tall – well more like giant – he had messy dark hair that fell around sculpted features. My favorite part – his eyes. Surrounded by thick sooty lashes they were a deep rich brown and when they focused on me everything else faded away.

  We stared, the moment powerful. Energy hummed in the short distance between us. I wanted to move even closer, but something held me back. His lips turned up in a quizzical smile, and he was the one to close the distance. His large hands engulfed my face on either side.

  Leaning down from his great height, he rested his forehead against mine. We fit together in that moment; two puzzle pieces that until that point had been clattering around in an empty box. And then he was gone. The emotions in my dream world were so intense; the sense of loss was sharp and biting. Eventually, as always, the world faded and the darkness of a dreamless sleep consumed me.

  Much too early the next morning I found myself jarred awake. Glancing over to the small side window, I saw heavy sunlight streaming through. I had slept long and soundly for the rest of the night. Lying back, I contemplated the latest addition from last night. In typical dream murkiness, the details were already fading, but I remembered – the woman had spoken to me. And in the bright clarity of morning, one detail stood out: she had the same accent as the alley man. Excellent! One more thing to add to my list of strange.

  My first attempt at rolling out of bed was pain-filled. I’d forgotten about my injuries. Lifting my flannel shirt, I grimaced. Still an ugly dark purple, although some spots had yellowed. I must admit that I take my ability to heal in a quick manner for granted, but this injury was worse than usual. With a deep breath for courage, I sat up and pulled myself out of bed.

  Hobbling down the hall, I pushed my way through the girls in the bathroom to find a spare sink to brush my teeth. No way was I waiting in the shower line this morning; I had a man to find. I did take a few minutes to re-braid my hair, needing it off my face.

  Back in my room, I grabbed some clean clothes from my drawers. The current world crisis doesn’t allow for a high-fashion life. Which is fine by me. I like comfortable. Tattered slim-fit blue jeans, low cut enough to sit below my bruises, and a simple white t-shirt.

  Dragging on battered black boots and grabbing my hooded dark-gray coat, I left the room. The weather was reasonably mild this time of year, but with the cold season around the corner the wind could cut right through.

  Lucy would be at breakfast; she was an early riser – unlike me. I have a personal vendetta against all hours before 10am. I didn’t bother with any cosmetics, not that many existed. Lucy’s contact on the outside did procure a few things, such as mascara, which she was addicted to. My lashes were already naturally thick and inky black – and with my talent of getting more of the mascara in my eye than on my lashes – I never bothered with it.

  Starting down the stairs, I made it to the first landing. As usual I rounded the corner far too quickly and found myself in a collision. We teetered comically on the ledge before managing to untangle ourselves. I recognized the mass of blond hair: it was Lucy. As she pulled back from me, I noticed she was dressed to impress today.

  “Cute shirt, Luce. Who did you bribe to get that one?”

  Her love of clothes is well known. Today, she teamed a funky purple vintage t-shirt with short denim shorts, long socks and sneakers. She’s the only person who manages to get clothes and cosmetics smuggled in. Works out for me too – occasionally a new shirt would magically appear on my bed.

  “I’ve told you before, Abbs, if you knew what I did for these things I’d have to kill you. Or myself,” she muttered. Glancing down at her watch, she gasped. “I don’t want to alarm you but ... wait for it ... it’s only 8.30 in the morning.”

  Groaning, I massaged my temples. “That’s why I feel like this. I hate mornings; remember that fight years ago? We haven’t talked since.”

  “How could I forget? It was the falling out of the century.” Lucy has sarcasm nailed.

  “So, I was coming to find you.” I would work on the little white lies – at a later date. In my determination to find the alley man, I’d completely forgotten about Lucy.

  Watching me, eyes narrowed, she shook her head. “Liar!”

  I smiled. The girl knows me well.

  “You were heading out to find your alley man.”

  I laughed. A little too well.

  “Can’t get anything past you, but I’m just a tad excited.” Bouncing on my feet, it was probably obvious. “Last night in my dream the woman spoke and, holy mother of gold, her accent was the same as the alley man. I kid you not.”

  Her eyebrows hit her hair line. “That’s a strange coincidence. You had any ‘I’m a crazy person’ thoughts, Abbs?”

  “Every day, every damn day. But this feels different. Or maybe I just wanted to hear the accent again so badly that I made her speak with it. I don’t know.” I was afraid to get my hopes up.

  “It does make sense. You obviously feel a connection to this man and his wicked accent.” She shrugged. “But since I’ve misplaced my army tanker, there’s no way you’re getting me out on those streets.”

  “Chicken,” I taunted; her instincts were to rise to a challenge.

  Her brows narrowed, blue eyes flashing her annoyance. “You know my requirements, Abby. Do you possess the skills to use a decaying dead animal as shelter? And would you recognize the right plants to eat should we get lost?”

  I snorted. “Did I miss the memo? Was the compound shifted to Africa overnight?”

  “You can never be too prepared. Just saying.”

  “If Bear Grylls bred with Chuck Norris, I would be their love child. That’s how skilled I am.”

  Lucy’s face remained carefully blank. “Thank you for that disturbing imagery. But we both know Chuck Norris needs no one. He creates children from thought alone.”

  “Agree to disagree, Luce. I’m a Bear fan all the way.”

  Crossing her arms, she leaned back to observe me. “Despite the fact it’s lame to still discuss shows from twenty years ago, you will never defeat Chuck.”

  I shrugged. “Twenty years? You’re being a little generous to old Chuck. And some shows are just timeless.”

  “And why are they timeless? Oh, that’s right – the television industry imploded on itself and no more shows were created.”

  “Valid point.” I changed the subject. “So are you ready to leave now?”

  Running shaky hands through her blond curls, she groaned. “You’re lucky you’re my best friend and those people are hard to replace, Abby.”

  “I knew you’d cave. Let’s go.”

  She rolled her eyes, but followed me as I skipped down the last few stairs.

  I looked back. “Your life would be so boring without me.”

  “Imagine that, a boring life, one where we both lived to, like, thirty. Definitely overrated.”

  “I know, right. What would we possibly do with all those extra years?”

  Unlocking the door, we left without any drama.

 

 

 
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