Odin's Murder

“I want it to be, but I don’t think so.” I glance at Julian.

“Memory’s dreams have been getting worse. Scarier,” my brother tells Ethan, but when he turns to the next page in his journal, I slap it closed with an open palm.

“Look,” Ethan sets his elbows on his knees, leans toward me. “We all have weird habits. You have creepy bird dreams. Faye messes around with those stone runes and plants. I collect stuff. Sure, the fact you both dream the same thing is totally weird, but it’s not like you were separated at birth and ended up marrying another set of brother and sister twins or something.”

I can’t decide if he’s being dismissive or supportive, but he’s not meeting my gaze.

“They follow me,” Faye voice breaks the lull.

“What?” I ask. My roommate looks little, huge eyes staring down at the blanket on my brother’s bed.

“The crows. Like, all the time. No matter where I am, what country, what climate, every time I go outside they’re there. Five of them. Perched on branches or on the roof, haunting me.”

“The same ones?” Julian asks. “Do they do anything? Are they aggressive? Make any particular noise?”

She draws her knees up to her chest, boot heels snagging her skirt, and leans away from his quick-fired questions. “They aren’t malignant or anything, they’re just there, watching. They caw and let me know they’re around, like they’re keeping me company, waiting for something.”

“Always five?”

“Yes. I know it doesn’t make sense, and I don’t expect you to believe me.” A shiver runs up her arms, and she burrows deeper into her sweater. “My first step-mother called them my imaginary friends.”

“I’ve seen them. They do follow you.”

We all look at Ethan again. Before anyone else responds, I ask, “What do you mean? When?”

“In my photos. At first I thought it was a fluke, but they’re always there. Even when I don’t realize it.” Ethan pulls out his camera, flicks his thumb over the little screen. “See?”

We peer at the image. Faye is standing in the shadow of the chapel, a disgruntled scowl on her face, and sure enough, in the tree behind her, perch the crows.

“I only see four,” Julian says.

Faye makes an odd noise in her throat, points to a fifth, hidden in the tree.

“I didn’t notice them when I was framing the shot, but they didn’t like the flash when it went off,” Ethan says.

“They’re real,” Faye whispers. “I’m not crazy.”

“That’s why we keep track of our dreams,” Julian tells her, his voice gentle. “So we know we aren’t.”

She’s shaking, staring at the photo. I press my toe on my brother’s this time, because he’s looking at her like she’s glass, about to shatter. He glances at me, then back to her. I turn to Ethan. “What do you collect?”

“What?”

“You said you collect things.”

“Oh.” Ethan’s shoulders tense, defensive hackles back in place. “Just things. You know, crap I find around.”

“Like what?” Julian turns his head to Ethan, but he’s still watching Faye from the corner of his eye.

Ethan scowls, his jaw even tighter than a minute before. I’m surprised when he stands, shoves his hand in the front pocket of his pants, then holds his palm out. “See, nothing big.”

We all look at what he’s offering—a small silvery marble. Faye smiles a little and Julian goes back to his computer. I pluck the marble from his hand. I’ve seen this, or one of these before. “Marbles?”

“Shiny stuff. Little things. I just like them. And they like coming home with me.”

“Shiny?” asks Faye.

“Yeah,” he seems a little embarrassed, taking the glass out of my fingers without touching my skin, stashing it back in his pocket. “Metallic or glass or silver or whatever.” He fishes something out from his other pocket and tosses it into Faye’s lap.