Stranded

man shook his head.
    “It’s a bird. Colorful, unpredictable, high-spirited with high intellect and reasoning that it uses for deceptive schemes. The bird is a scavenger. They say it’ll take down smaller birds and even rodents though it’s not classified as a bird of prey.”
    “You sure do know a lot about them,” Otis said, but his smilelooked forced, as if he were trying to ignore a foul smell, and his eyes darted over to Maggie.
    “My mother knew all kinds of superstitious nonsense. I remember her telling me about the magpie and all the legends connected to it. If you dare to kill one, misfortune will strike you down. It’s best to treat a magpie with respect. It’s believed that they carry a drop of the devil’s blood under their tongue. Mother had a silly rhyme she used to say:
    “One magpie for Sorrow
    Two for Joy
    Three for Silver
    Four for Gold
    Five for a tale never to be told
    Six for one that’ll make you cry
    Seven you Live
    Eight you Die.”
    Maggie’s fingers struggled with the zipper of Tully’s windbreaker. She glanced up and saw Otis look over at her again, but he didn’t look amused or pleased. He didn’t like that Jack was giving her so much attention. This was obviously a reunion of sorts for them. If Maggie remembered correctly, Otis had been in prison for almost a year. Did he not approve of Jack’s game?
    “You don’t talk much about your mother,” Otis said.
    “She died when I was pretty young. Left me with that bastard I was supposed to call Daddy.”
    Otis’s head wagged. “Remember, Miss Helen always told us we’re better than who we came from. She was a real special lady, Miss Helen.”
    Both men went silent. Heads down, leaning forward, and Maggie was struck by what looked to be a show of reverence.
    “Some days I still can’t believe she made me executor of her will,” Jack said, and Maggie realized they were talking about the woman who had owned the Iowa farm.
    “She always said you were real smart. She sure was proud of the business you built all by yourself like that.”
    Silence again.
    “You know she sent me a letter almost every week no matter where I was,” Otis said.
    “She did that?”
    “Yep. Told me what all you were up to and what have you. She had a way of keeping me calm, you know what I mean? Keeping me from feeling so messed up in my head. Like as long as I knew she loved me …” Otis actually sounded choked up. He wiped a hand over his face. “I don’t know much, but I do know I wasn’t starting no fires until after she passed.”
    Jack stayed quiet. Up until now, he had been the one talking, telling, bossing, but the subject of Miss Helen subdued him. And Otis seemed to know it was a subject he could use.
    “My little hobby keeps me in check,” Jack said, raising his head and smiling at Otis. “It’s a powerful thing. I can’t even describe it.”
    “I like power.” Otis nodded his head again, excited now. “I told Miss Gwen I was a powermaniac, not a pyromaniac.” He laughed, what sounded like a nervous cackle.
    “Miss Gwen?”
    “The woman who came to see me in prison. She’s a friend of your Magpie’s.”
    Jack gave him a hard, quick nod. He didn’t want to hear any more. “You liked taking that finger?”
    Otis’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. “The Demon was anasshole but he was sure crying.” The lopsided grin spread wide across his face.
    “When you cut open a person there’s like a steam that rises up out of the body,” Jack explained, resuming his role of mentor. “But it’s not just the cutting that gives you power. You know ancient warriors ate parts of their enemies. Did you know that?”
    Otis shook his head. Stayed quiet.
    “Just think of the power you’d get from a magpie.”
    And Jack settled back and smiled.
    There was something terrifying about that smile, and despite the warmth of the room, Maggie felt a chill.
    By now, Maggie had realized that she and Tully might never leave this forest alive. But she didn’t want to think about what they might have to endure. Death might be preferable, and she wondered if she should have left Tully.
    Her one hope was that Tully had actually sent off a text to Ryder Creed with their location. But that hope was fading fast. Too many “ifs.” Even if Creed found the dead troopers, even if the dog he brought led him to the water’s edge, even if his dog was able to follow the trail of bloody paper towels, he’d never be able to do it in this