Odin's Murder

“It’s ridiculous,” I say through clenched teeth.

In my heels, I’m close to his height. His hair has grown out a little and I wonder what the texture feels like. My fingers reach up without my permission, but he catches my wrist and pushes it into my side. His hand is hot and calloused, burning into my skin. He quirks an eyebrow at me, and I raise my chin, challenging him, daring him to say something snide, but then he tilts his head and he presses his lips to mine..

His mouth is heavy and hard, and we’re not oil and water, I’m gasoline, and he’s fire. White flame explodes behind my eyes with a roar, and quill feathers strike across my cheek like nothing I’ve felt in my dreams.

I jerk back, and my vision clears. He’s staring at me, eyes wide, gasping, and I remember to breathe, too. “What was that?” My voice is a crow’s rasp. My head pounds and I’m almost nauseous.

He releases my wrist and slides his other hand away from my face. “What did you do to me?” He rubs his temples. “Fuck. My head.”

The music from the movie inside changes, a silly cartoon jangle that makes my brain throb. “It was you, not me!” I close my eyes, and touch my mouth. My lower lip still burns. “Why did you do that?”

His shirt sticks to his chest as he breathes. “I have no goddamn clue.”

The air around me cools, and I know without opening my eyes that he is gone. A glowing red arrow shoots up behind my eyelids, piercing my brain, marring all my memories with its afterburn.

9.

Exits

I count in the shadows until Memory goes back inside, and a few more minutes until my erection subsides before I cut across the lamp lit campus. The back of my skull pounds; I’ve rubbed my eyes a dozen times and I can’t make the white spots go away. My entire body aches, as if I’ve been hit by a nuclear blast, and my balls hurt like they’ve been kicked, twice.

I laugh, but it’s bitter in my mouth, as I pass a couple by the fountain in front of the main building. She’s looking at him, shy and sweet, and he takes her hand. I contemplate saying something crass, to ruin it for them, too, but I keep walking, five, four, three, two, one.

I want to find Danielle, just to get Memory out of my head, but I’m so worked up I would maul her. She’d probably let me, too—she was dying to strip down to skin at the chapel, trailing her hands inside her swimsuit, and I’d have gone for it too, if we’d had the time. But I spot her hanging out with her project group friends, and turn the other way, knowing it would be smarter to just go sleep off my headache. I head toward the dorm, stopping when I see that window is open and the light is on. I don’t really think I can face Memory’s brother right now.

Cherry is red hot, maybe even more than I can handle, but that kiss? That was like nothing I’ve ever had, and my mind and body are still in an uproar. I unclench my fists. They’re raw and chapped from washing dishes, and remind me what happens when I can’t keep my head in check. I breathe deep on five, release on ten. It doesn’t help.

I glance up at the clock tower. Cross the quad, walking slow. Dr. Anders’ office is in an old, yellow, brick building, up a couple floors, third room on the right. The exterior door is unlocked and closes with a smooth, quiet click. I take the stairs two at a time, avoiding the patches of window light until I get to the right floor. The hallways are dark, too, lit only by the red glow of emergency exit lights.

The professor’s door is easy to find; it’s covered in stick-on notes, taped assignments and may as well have a black gash of WASH ME graffiti across the clouded window. It’s also unlocked. I’m surprised and a little disappointed. I wanted that fine-tuned concentration of jimmying a lock open, clean, with no noise or damage to the door, the victory of precision that cuts through the battering ram urge to destroy.

The room is dark, except for the vague glow of a computer monitor on a desk against the side wall. I shut the door behind me and step into the room. What I’m looking for should be behind the desk. Something titters in the corner and I freeze, heart pounding in my throat.

/> It rustles again, a small soft sound, not human, and I exhale. Near the window is a cage—complete with a black bird.

“You scared the crap out of me,” I whisper, walking around the desk. “Kinda small for a watchdog, aren’t you?” The bird stares at me and knocks its beak against the cage. “Nope, sorry. Can’t let you out,” I tell her. It lowers its head, dejected, bites at one of its toes, and I have an immediate kinship with the thing. I know what it’s like to be stuck behind bars. My fingers twitch for my camera; I feel like if I could take its picture I would know its name. “I bet you’ve seen what I’ve come here for,” I tell it. “A jar of glass marble things. Round and shiny—almost silver? I saw them the other day. You weren’t here.”

She makes an odd sound in agreement.

“I was trying to switch groups. They’re a weird bunch. Mostly harmless. Well, except for one of them.” I rub my hand over my mouth, still feeling the sting of her kiss and the horrified look on her face.

The bird flaps its wings and I continue looking, finally finding the bowl close to the computer. I reach in and take one of the gumball sized marbles. Even in the dark I can see the iridescent shine on the silvery surface, and the tension eases from my shoulders as I roll it in my fingers. I stash another in my pocket. There are two dozen or so, all slightly different. Anders won’t notice a few are gone.

I turn at another churrrp. The bird is watching me, black feathers ruffled up at its neck. “Don’t tell him, alright? Or Mary, either, she’d have me put in solitary. It’s just a little tension relief. Better than a fistfight, y’know?”

Though I bet punching someone in the jaw would make this headache go away. Jeremy’s face flashes in my mind, and I quash the thought before I get riled again. I turn to leave, but stop, fishing out another marble, one with a line of bright blue spiraling through it. I slip it between the bars of the cage and it rolls across the paper lining the bottom. “You like shiny things, too, right?”

If the prof noticed, it would confuse the hell out of him, and that thought makes me grin at the bird.

“See, I’ve set you up. You can’t rat me out, now. You’re an accomplice.”

The bird ignores me, absorbed with my gift, tiny talons grasping at the marble. I step back into the hall, pulling the door closed as I leave.

*

Even a full night of sleep, several aspirin, and a cup of coffee cannot banish the residue of my Memory-induced migraine. On my way to morning group study, drinking one of the many sodas I’d need today, I let myself think about last night. And her.

The kiss was like a flashbulb going off in my brain. Not in a good way. Not like in the goofy cartoons where they kiss and see fireworks and pink hearts and crap, or chick movies where the music blares when their lips meet. This was more like the two enemies kiss because there is no other option anymore, and their brains fry like they’ve been hit with a Taser.