The Magpie's Library

by Kate Blair

  I let go of The Whisper and began to unravel.

  I had been dead for a long time. I had let The Whisper hold me together. Let it be the dark glue I used to catch souls, to stick them into my nest, to try to fill the holes in me.

  I no longer had need of it.

  The Whisper scrabbled to get back within me. It sought the gaps, murmuring, muttering, threatening.

  You need me. You are nothing. I am all you have.

  It was lying. It had always been lying. Why had I listened for so long? The only real power it had was the power I had given it: my magic. Without that, all it could do was whisper cruel lies in people’s heads.

  You were never loved. I am all you have.

  It was just a voice. I had only to ignore it and listen to other voices that spoke to me, that had always spoken to me. Listen to Silva. To Isabel, to my brothers and sisters.

  I had been much loved. Yet I had let The Whisper take that away, let it isolate me.

  I exhaled, letting the souls coil out, away from me. Letting them free. They unthreaded, untangled, breaking apart my wings, my nest, my library. I fell apart, glad to feel it all slip away.

  The Whisper raged, a dark storm whipping into a wild tempest. The souls streamed away from both of us. The girl fled to her own world, the living world, and my heart rejoiced to see her go. After a while, the anger of The Whisper burned itself out.

  It gave up on me, and stillness returned.

  Yet I was not alone. One other figure remained, made of almost-translucent letters. A sliver of a soul, trapped here nigh on as long as me. I fell to my knees.

  “You … you are still here.”

  “Of course. I missed thee, my dear Maghew.”

  “I am so sorry,” I said, a sob swallowing my words. “I … I …”

  She held her hand out to me. “I am sorry too. I should never have allowed thee to grow so alone, trapped in your dark room. I should never have left you, that day.”

  I reached for what was left of her soul with what was left of mine, still wondering that she could be here, afraid to blink in case I lost her again. Our fingers linked, and for a long time, we gazed upon each other. Then she tugged, pulling me to my feet with a grin that made my heart soar.

  “Come, my little magpie. The others are waiting for us. ’Tis long past time for us to go.”

  Isabel and I left together.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I LANDED ON the floor of Hayling Library, one hand thrown out across the cold parquet. On my arm, the last of the text sunk into my skin.

  I am so sorry. Thank you. Thank you. Forgive me.

  I rubbed at the flesh where it disappeared, and it felt alive, pricking with sensation, tender with bruises. Wonderful, aching bruises that showed I was here, that proved I’d survived. Hot lines ran down my ankles where I’d scratched them, trying to claw off the words of Ollie’s story.

  I stood with ease, raked my tangled hair from my face with my fingers, twisted around, and saw the blank wall.

  Maghew’s door was gone. I ran my palms over the smooth surface to check. I felt the plaster, the paint, the normal wall under my fingers. I was free.

  Ollie. I had to see Ollie. Had to find out if he was free, too.

  I dashed for the entranceway. I shoved the door open and ran onto Elm Grove. The wind in my face was fantastic. My heart hammered in my chest and a stitch grew in my side, and I felt it all. The impact of each step reverberated through my body, jolting my bones, a beat that echoed through me: alive, alive, alive.

  I sprinted all the way down Elm Grove and around the corner to Grandpa’s cul-de-sac. I burst into the house.

  “Ollie!”

  He stood in the front room, cheeks flushed with color. “Silva!”

  We ran to each other, and I hugged him, squeezing his skinny chest tight. I grabbed his shoulders and held him at arm’s length, examining his face.

  “Did it …?” I was out of breath.

  He grinned. “It was amazing. Light flowed back into me. What happened?”

  “You’re better?”

  He nodded. “Back to how I was, at least.”

  I pulled him into another bear hug. “Oh, Ollie. Things will be different now. I promise. I’ll be there for you. We’ll get you help.”

  We stood like that as I caught my breath. He was still here. We were still alive, the both of us. Our stories unwritten. Ollie’s tears were damp on my shoulder, but when we broke apart, he was smiling.

  The pad of running feet on the driveway made us both turn, and a girl flashed past the window and into the hall. She stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at us.

  It took a moment for me to recognize her, even with the white stripe in her hair.

  “Chloe?” Her posture was different. She carried her limbs lightly, no longer stooped with their weight. Her eyes glistened with tears.

  She lifted her arms, as if to show me how they’d changed. “Silva, what did you do?”

  “I went into the magpie’s story,” I said. “I pulled him out.”

  Chloe’s hand went to her mouth. She kept it there as I explained. Emotions flowed over her once-stony features, swift and smooth as water.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I never thought …”

  The slow creak of footsteps came down the stairs. Mum stopped a few steps from the bottom, eyes swollen with tears, hands tight on the bannister.

  “You’ve been gone so long,” she said.

  Cold shot through me. “Sorry. Am I … I mean, has he …”

  “Not yet, but …” She took a deep breath. “We should all go up. Now.”

  She led the way to Grandpa’s bedroom. The four of us shuffled in together and took our places around him.

  His eyes were closed. The air was stale and the room almost silent, aside from the uncomfortable rattle of Grandpa’s breath. Janet stood at the foot of the bed. She held a handful of scrunched tissues over her mouth.

  I didn’t need to peek into Janet’s soul to know her story was a sad one. Her cousin and her husband both left her. Her mother died a lingering death as her daughter turned to stone. It was no wonder she was so lonely; no wonder she clung to my grandfather.

  Grandpa shifted with a grunt. His eyes opened. I braced myself for the blank look I’d got back in the hospital, but he smiled. Lifted a hand in a small gesture toward his bedside table. “Want some?” His voice was hoarse, and the words seemed to be an effort.

  A pack of Jelly Babies sat on the side.

  He still knew me. I half-gasped, half-laughed, even as tears prickled at my eyes.

  I was so glad to be his little girl one last time. “I’ll always bite the heads off first, I promise.”

  Grandpa nodded. “They shouldn’t have to suffer.” He started coughing. A gasping, choking kind of cough that sounded like it might stop at any moment. I glanced at the others. Ollie’s jaw clenched. Chloe clutched her hands together in front of her.

  “You’re all here,” Grandpa said, in a wheezing whisper, once he got his breath back. “I’m so glad. This is what I wanted.”

  The room blurred with my tears.

  “Oh, oh,” Grandpa said. His shaking hand moved over his heart. “Peg. I never thought …”

  “It’s okay,” Mum murmured. “It’s okay.”

  But he wasn’t looking at her. He stared at the gap at the end of the bed, the space Mum and Janet had left between them. I followed his gaze. Hairs prickled at the back of my neck. For a second, I thought I saw the flicker of text, twisting into the shape of a girl in a long nightdress. I blinked and it was gone.

  Grandpa smiled and nodded, as if he’d heard words the rest of us couldn’t catch.

  “Yes,” he said. “I’m coming. Just let me say goodbye.” Then he made an odd sound, like something had lodged in his throat. An uncomforta
ble, wheezing sound.

  Ollie grabbed my hand, and I squeezed his.

  “No.” Mum reached into her pocket, fumbled for her phone. “No. I can’t let this happen. I don’t care what I said. I’m calling an ambulance.”

  Grandpa caught my gaze then, as the effort to breathe shook his frail body. There was no confusion, no panic in his eyes. He moved his head: a slight shake.

  My heart clenched. I didn’t want to let this happen, either. But it wasn’t up to me.

  I took my mother’s wrist, gently moving her fingers away from her phone.

  “Mum, it’s time.”

  She turned to Ollie and I, tears streaming down her cheeks. Then Grandpa started breathing again, and everyone leaned back, relieved that the moment had been postponed.

  IN THE END, Grandpa’s death wasn’t like the deaths on telly. There it was obvious and quick; the dying person muttered meaningful last words, their eyes closed, and the monitoring machine flat-lined with a dramatic whine.

  Grandpa didn’t have a heart machine, of course. And there was time with us. Time to cry, time to hug him, and each other. Time for us to get tired from all the standing. Time to sit on the edge of his bed and stroke his legs under his sheets. Time to offer him sips of water through a straw, and for Mum to give him more painkillers. Time to tell him we loved him so many times that I was sure he was getting sick of hearing it.

  He told us he loved us too. Hours passed as he sunk deeper into his pillows. As the afternoon slid toward evening, his breathing got worse, until it was painful to hear it, until I felt as if I were choking too. Grandpa grew tired, his eyes opening and closing, falling into and out of sleep.

  When his eyes closed for the last time, he muttered something I couldn’t quite hear. But it sounded like “she’s waiting.”

  He stopped breathing, for almost a minute. I felt as if I was collapsing from the inside, as if my heart were caving in. But just when I gave up hope, he inhaled, air gently lifting his chest, before halting again. It happened twice more, for longer each time, and then he took a final, faltering breath.

  We were quiet for about ten minutes after the last wheeze, waiting, but no more came.

  I squeezed my eyes shut, as sorrow crested in me, a wave of pain taking my breath. I bit my lip and listened to the hiss of the sea. In. Out. The whisper of the tide filled the room, taking up the space left by Grandpa’s stopped breath.

  It wasn’t a happy ending, but it was the right one for Grandpa.

  THE DOCTOR CAME and went, and the undertaker took Grandpa away. I couldn’t bear to watch him be wheeled out of the house where he belonged. The grief was a hot knot in my chest. But the ache felt right, it felt real, it was a part of being alive, of being whole.

  Janet and Chloe went home as it got late, Chloe and me hugging tight as she left. Janet paused for a moment at the door, as if she wanted to say something to Mum, but she shook her head, and turned away without speaking.

  After I got into my pajamas, I drifted back into Grandpa’s room, and found myself by his empty bed, staring at the Jelly Babies on the side table. The air still smelled of him: musty aftershave and digestive biscuits. But he belonged to the past now, just like Maghew, just like Isabel and Margaret.

  It didn’t seem real.

  I wandered over to his cupboards, opened the doors, and ran my hand along the sleeves of shirts he’d never fill again. I went to the bed and picked up Margaret’s doll.

  I’d give it to Chloe, just as he’d promised.

  Something caught my eye, under the pillow. I lifted it, and found a small pile of pictures, some in frames, some loose, a few with sticky corners still on them, as if they’d been pulled out of photo albums. There was Grandpa as a boy with Margaret and his mother, and Mum holding me as a baby. There were others of Ollie and Chloe, and a few of people who were probably distant relatives.

  Grandpa must have taken them from the shelves, from photo albums, and from the fridge, and kept them under his pillow. He’d been afraid of forgetting us, so he’d kept us all close, safe in his bed.

  Just like Maghew and his mementos.

  I sat on the bed then, clutching the pictures. Grandpa was afraid of losing his memories. They were all he had of his sister, his parents, his wife; that’s why they were so important to him. That’s why he couldn’t bear to live without them.

  I couldn’t make Grandpa stay, but he’d left me a treasure trove of memories of him: my own collection, a library filled with happy stories that I could visit whenever I wanted.

  Mum entered the room. She was silent for a long moment and gave a little cough before she spoke. “Ollie had a talk with me. He told me how he’d been feeling, and that you thought he might be depressed. I’ve made him an appointment in Manchester, to speak to a doctor.”

  I spun around. “We’re still moving to Manchester? What about the funeral?”

  “We’ll come back for that. It won’t be for a couple of weeks. Work needs me to start on the new contract before then.”

  “But can’t … can’t we move here? It’s your house now, right? If we don’t have to pay rent, can’t you get a lower-paying job and stay?”

  Mum looked out of Grandpa’s window. “Silva, I have to put this house on the market.”

  Cold cracked open inside me. “No. Mum, please …”

  “I’m sorry. My job needs me to move around. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  But I did. It all clicked into place.

  Her job didn’t need her to move around, that was backwards. She’d needed a job that moved around. She couldn’t stay in one place. She was afraid to.

  Don’t say it. You’re wrong. She’ll think you’re crazy.

  That voice again. Of course it wasn’t gone. It had used Maghew’s magic, but it existed long before he was born. It would always be there, muttering in people’s minds. The library wasn’t its only trap, the only way it kept people apart.

  It hissed in our heads. It told us that we were alone, that other people wouldn’t understand. It told Maghew he wasn’t loved. It told Ollie that things would never get better, that his own family would be better off without him. It tried to drown out the real world and isolate us in the numbing fog of its lies.

  I was done listening.

  I flicked back through the photos, until I found an old one of Janet. It was grainy, and she wore different clothes, but now I knew what I was looking for it was easy to recognize the big hair, the blue eyeshadow.

  “The magpie’s door is gone, Mum. It won’t follow you anymore.”

  Her gaze snapped back from the window and her mouth fell open. She stared for a moment, and then pulled herself together. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

  Maghew had been showing me my own relatives, trying to bring us together. In the family tree of the library, my story and Ollie’s were right above another book, with a girl in a borrowed silver dress.

  “It was a cinema, wasn’t it?” I said. “Janet went to see a horror film with Uncle Tom. You followed the magpie and found the door.”

  Mum wobbled for a moment and sat on Grandpa’s bed.

  “How … how did you know? How could you know?”

  “What happened to you? In the film?”

  Her fingers went to her mouth. “It … it wasn’t a film. I was there. Actually there. Living it. It was terrifying. Violent and painful, a boy running from wolves. I felt it all. The fear. The agony of his bleeding feet as he scrabbled over stone.” She exhaled. “After that, I kept seeing the door, but no one else could. I was so scared of it.”

  “It’s okay, Mum.”

  Her voice shook. “They … shut down the Hayling cinema. It reappeared at the video shop. I moved away and it followed. But if I kept moving, it took a while to find me. I thought I was …”

  I sat on the bed next to Mum. Put my arm around her shoulders.
“Shh. It’s over.”

  She kept talking, the words rushing out of her in a torrent.

  “I met your father, and the door disappeared. I thought I was better. I had you and Ollie, but things got tough. Your dad and I fought a lot. It … it came back.” Mum bit her lip. “I asked work for a relocation. Your father didn’t want to move, and I couldn’t tell him about the door. He made me choose: my job or him.”

  “The door is gone. I promise.”

  She faced me. “You saw it? Oh Silva, you didn’t go in, did you?”

  I called Ollie and we explained it all. Mum wept. She told us of the static that had flickered over her skin while she’d been watching Grandpa that morning. The static that had made her feel just a little better, in spite of her sorrow.

  She hugged us tight. The three of us talked together, long into the night. We talked about the magpie’s trap. We talked about the distances we’d let grow between us, the whispers we’d listened to, the secrets that kept us apart.

  We’d been such idiots. We’d isolated ourselves from each other, escaped into separate worlds long before I found the library. Mum’s job, my books, Ollie’s games.

  We cried over the time we’d wasted, with each other, and with Grandpa.

  Finally, we talked about the future, and what it could look like for us.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  THERE WAS NO magpie on the lawn as we pulled into the driveway six weeks later.

  “Why is the front door open?” Ollie asked.

  I peered through the gap between Mum and the boxes on the passenger seat; through the drizzle smeared across the windscreen by the wipers. Christmas lights glinted in the hall. Janet and Chloe appeared, hurrying out toward the car as Mum yanked on the handbrake.

  “Because they were waiting for us,” I said. “Standing back a bit, so they didn’t get wet.”

  Chloe waved like a maniac. “Silva! Ollie!” She’d dyed her hair pink. It brightened her whole face.

  I opened the door, desperate to stretch my legs after the long journey crammed in with all our stuff, but Chloe pounced on me before I had a chance, yanking me into a bear hug.