Page 24 of Magpies & Mayhem
“I wonder if it’ll talk to us,” Jordan mumbled.
“What?”
“The burning bush.”
Why would a burning bush talk to us? I dragged us back on topic as the flames quickly died down to a much more reasonable level. “Why don’t you take it down?”
“The bush?” he asked, sounding bewildered.
“No, you goof, the stuff in your room.” What was his deal with the bush?
Jordan huffed, sounding exasperated. “That’s his love language.”
That made me chuckle. “Yeah, I guess that fits. Levi plays pranks on everyone he cares about.” And probably random unsuspecting people as well.
He shrugged again. “It’s his version of affection, his way of including me in the group. So I take it for what it is. If he wants to hang Twilight posters in my room and give me a pillow with my face on it ‘since I can’t see myself in the mirror and I might forget what I look like’ then he can go for it.”
I reared back and blinked at him. “You can’t see yourself in a mirror?”
“No, I can, but he likes to pretend I can’t since it’s an old vampire myth among humans.”
I thought back, trying to remember seeing this pillow he spoke of in his room. “I don’t think I saw that pillow, which is disappointing because that’s kind of hilarious.”
“Pretty sure he moved it into Grim’s room. He said it would be funny to have my face be the first thing Grim sees when he wakes up in the morning, but I’m not sure Grim actually sleeps. I haven’t seen it since.”
That made me cackle. “Okay, but the real question is, do you speak his love language back to him?”
Jordan slid his gaze over to me with a disgruntled expression. “I don’t think I speak that language,” he muttered.
Welp, my time to shine. “Then I can teach you.” I rolled forward to sitting and dragged my bag around in front of me again, opening the top and digging through it. “Perfection,” I said, pulling out an old copy of ‘Space Raptor Butt Invasion’ by Chuck Tingle. It was a great book, but I didn’t mind donating it to the cause. I slapped it into Jordan’s hand, and he took it from me reflexively. “Hide that in one of the boxes in Levi’s room,” I told him. According to Elara, he’d boxed up most of his stuff, but hadn’t moved all of it into her house yet.
Jordan studied the cover, obviously perplexed by the badly photoshopped half-naked man and the dinosaur in an astronaut suit. “What in the world are you reading?” he asked haltingly.
“Don’t kink shame me,” I said primly. I didn’t really have any kinks for butt invasions or space raptors, but I loved Chuck Tingle. “That man is a literary treasure.”
“I’m not kinkshaming. I’m just kinkasking-why.”
I ignored him. “Wait! I’ve got more.” I knew I’d find a use for this! Zipping open a side pocket, I dug out a roll of stickers that said ‘ANAL USE ONLY’ in bold, black letters, which my brother had stolen during his last visit to the medics and I, in turn, had stolen from him. Being a magpie who hoarded random interesting things came in handy sometimes. I tossed it to Jordan. “Slap those babies on everything Levi owns. His shampoo, his toothbrush, his guitar case, everything.” I resituated my bag and settled back into the soft sand, feeling smug.
“Why is it all butt stuff?” he asked.
“Because butt stuff is funny.” Yes, I realized I had the sense of humor of a twelve-year-old, but so did my brothers, so I fit right in with them. “Levi will love it,” I insisted.
We lay staring at the stars and talking about nothing while the fire in the bush died down to low coals and Huck frolicked in the sand, chasing beetles and other bugs, but always sticking close by. There was a lull in the conversation as we listened to the night sounds—crickets and toads calling to each other in the dark—until Jordan suddenly asked, “So… what is your love language?”
My gaze shot to his face to find him staring at me in the dark. “Violence,” I said, giving him a flippant answer to try to fend off the way my stomach swooped and tightened when he looked at me.
He snorted. “No.”
“What do you mean, no? You don’t get to decide what someone else’s love language is.”
“Yes, I do. Violence isn’t a love language,” he answered just as flippantly.
“Fine. Nice sticks.”
“… What?”
“Yeah. You know how it goes,” I explained. “A daddy bird loves a mommy bird very much, so he goes and finds her a nice stick.” I could feel the mischief dancing in my eyes.
