Page 4 of Magpies & Mayhem
More annoyed.
Birds could be real dicks.
There was only one other nestling in the little cup of sticks, looking plump and princely as I landed. I would have mean-mugged him if he’d been old enough to have his eyes open yet, so I told him off instead. “There are plenty of bugs around here for both of you,” I groused at him as I tucked his sibling in beside him. “Fratricide isn’t a good look.” My magic didn’t have any effect on Void creatures, unfortunately, so that was the best I could do.
Launching out of the tree and into the darkening sky to give the little family some space, I chose not to shift back just yet. There was no one nearby to disturb my clothes, and it felt good to stretch my wings for a bit. The chilled air had a bit more bite to it than I usually cared for as it sliced between my feathers, but the freedom of the updraft under my wings as I wheeled about over the streets below filled me with a giddy sort of pleasure. And if I found myself drifting toward a familiar apartment block, it was purely coincidence.
It was hard not to be curious, though, and it didn’t help that I easily spotted my prey perched all alone on the empty rooftop. I didn’t remember Jordan being a smoker, but he sat four stories up, arms draped over his knees and a cigarette between two fingers, gazing blankly at the horizon as the last rays of light disappeared.
An impulse grabbed me as I peered down at his rigid posture, and I didn’t even attempt to fight it. I already acknowledged birds were dicks, didn’t I? Pulling my wings against me for a steep dive, I swooped and snatched the cigarette from his fingers before he even knew I was coming and promptly dropped it into an open, wet dumpster below. No amount of my own cackling could drown out Jordan’s swearing, but by the time I looked back, he was gone.
Chapter 3
Myroundshadn’tgonewell. I usually knew where to find the creeps hiding out here in Dry Gulch, the old Boundlands cattle town in the desert where I lived with my youngest brother. Tonight had been just as fruitless as every night since—according to rumors—a group of sparks, the little fire fairies, had rioted and burned down the main headquarters where all the local Phantoms hung out. Normally, I’d never concerned myself with Phantoms—there were all kinds of shady people who lurked around in the seedy underbelly of the city. But once they’d messed with Elara, I wanted to have my eye on them and my finger on the pulse of their group. I was frustrated that I couldn’t find any. Not one. I’d been keeping an eye on all of their local haunts, leaving no stone left unturned, but… nothing.
There was also the fact that everywhere I went, I kept catching whiffs of the same brand of cigarettes Jordan smoked. But whenever I looked around, he was never there. It meant that I was constantly feeling like I was being watched, and dwelling on my one-sided and entirely misplaced infatuation with him. So, I was a little extra grumpy when I stomped into our apartment and my little brother cut off his magic to his calling stones as soon as he heard the door open. Calling stones were what we used to communicate over long distances here in the Boundlands. We fed a little magic into a special chip of stone, and spectral messengers would consume the magic and record our message to take to the person whose DNA we presented them. I guess you could use a toenail or something if you were into that, but most of us kept a lock of hair from the people we wanted or needed to talk to. It wasn’t something you’d do with a casual acquaintance. For my brother to cut it off like that and act like it wasn’t a big deal? Did he actually think I was that brainless?
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Josh blinked at me. “Nothing.” He was sitting on our ragged couch with his ankle crossed over the knee, the blonde hair that desperately needed a cut flopping into his eyes. He grabbed a bag of jerky off the coffee table and tried to act casual.
“You think I don’t know who you were talking to?” I groused.
His shoulders tensed as I walked over and took the bag of jerky from him, biting into a piece and flopping onto the seat next to him with my lower legs thrown across his lap. “You’re a grown-ass man, Joshua. You don’t need to hide who you’re talking to. We live in a rinky-dink apartment with paper-thin walls. You think I can’t hear you having flirty conversations with your boyfriend?”
His eyes went wide as he feigned shock, and he looked around as he blustered, as if there were someone else here that might hear us. “He’s not my—Sidney! What are you—he’s not my boyfriend.” He acted like that was ridiculous. It wasn’t like we hadn’t ever discussed his romantic preferences, so he wasn’t trying to hidethatfrom me, but he hadn’t ever acted on them.
I narrowed my eyes at him, not buying any of it. “Why not? Have you not asked him out yet? Ask him out.”
Josh narrowed his eyes back at me and stared at me until I wasn’t sure he was going to answer. He was twice my size, if not more, although he hadn’t quite filled out as much as our two older brothers. I know I said he was a grown man, but that was a pretty recent change. I didn’t really remember when he’d turned into this big burly guy. He’d been a lanky teenager for so long, but even then, I still saw him as the tender little boy with wispy hair who followed his big sister around and always cried when our older brothers picked on him. I’d been his champion then and I’d been his champion in everything since.
“I don’t… know if he feels the same way about me,” he said hesitantly.
My back was instantly up. “Are you kidding me?” I said around a bite of jerky, sitting up in my agitation. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re adorable andperfect—well, you’d be perfect if you’d stop eating my yogurt and pick up the socks you leave lying around everywhere. Everyone knows you’re the best of us. That’s just… this is silly, Josh. I’ll ask him out for you.” I reached for his calling stones—and hesquirted me in the facewith a spray bottle.
“Boundaries.”
“What the hell?” I sputtered and scrubbed at my face. “Why do you even have a water bottle?”
“For my plants.” He gestured at some potted shrubbery on the side table.
“What’swrongwith you?” I asked.
“Nothing is wrong withme. I haven’t decided how I feel about all this yet, and I don’t want to be rushed. I want you to respect my boundaries and my own timeline here.”
I frowned at him and finished drying my face with my sleeve. He eyed my hoodie, obviously recognizing that I’d grabbed it from his closet this morning but choosing not to mention it. This was a regular thing for us. His shirts were big on me, but I loved them. It made me feel like my family was always with me.
“What’s to decide?” I asked. “Dating a dude isn’t taboo in our culture like it is for some of the human cultures.” Maybe he had some kind of internal hang-up with it.
He sighed. “It’s not taboo in Boundlands’ culture, but in shifter culture? I can’t pass on my genetics with a husband. I might as well bring home a vampire for how pleased Grandma will be.”
My gut clenched at his mention of a vampire and the reminder of how Jordan’s life was basically ruined now. Josh was right; shifters had a different take on pairing up and producing offspring than some other groups. Our ancestors, the original shifters, could shapeshift into any animal that breathed air. All of them—any bird, mammal, reptiles,dragons, you name it. But as we bred with other races, our genetics got more and more diluted, and eventually family lines could only shift into certain types of animals, and now most of us could only shift into one specific animal, like my family. Some lines got so diluted that they lost the ability to shift altogether, with other magics presenting in their children instead. There was a lot of pressure and expectation around shifters pairing up with other shifters, especially ones with comparable animal forms. I’d dated a lot of different types of people, but Josh was right… I’d always kind of assumed that I’d end up with another bird shifter someday.
I leaned forward and rested my head against his shoulder. “I’ll protect you from Grandma.” I loved my grandma to death, but on this issue, she could kick rocks. “I just want you to be happy, Bubby,” I said, using my childhood nickname for him.
He wrapped his arm around my back and gave me a squeeze with his cheek against my head. “Great. Then buy me more of that fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt.”
Iwassickofpoking my nose into all the pubs around Dry Gulch—the drinks were terrible, and the patrons were worse—so I decided to head up to the Silver Tongue, a brewery managed by a friend of mine in the same neighborhood Elara lived in. I stepped in, half hoping to find her there, and scanned the interior. No Elara, but I did spot four familiar figures at the bar.
