The Magpie
By: Stix Eris
Her eyes bolt open. She can feel the energy coursing through her body: zipping from her fingers to her toes and back again like a circuit. She twitches, trying to banish the feeling from her body to no avail. Finally, she sits up and slips out of bed, putting her feet on the cold wood floor. She
sighs, resting her head in her hands- still wrapped with gauze from the night prior. “Keep these on,” Miracle had instructed. “It’ll help.” She can see her sister’s eyes, filled with deep concern, as she knelt by the hospital bed. But underneath her worry was something much more sinister: fear. She is used to that look by now, especially from her family. It’s the same one they gave her after she was released from rehab or before she got that bone marrow transplant as a child: as if she would spontaneously combust if they stared at her for too long.
It wasn’t entirely fair. She was only a mess in comparison to her sister. Having been born a few seconds after her, Miracle was something of a surprise and she remained the golden child ever since. With her graduate’s degree, successful career and perfect boyfriend- she is hard to contend with. So, Mallorie stopped trying. She decided to stay in her sister’s shadow and tried to find comfort in it. But it had become increasingly difficult- considering Miracle’s recent foray into masked vigilanteism, making her an overnight sensation.
Now, her face is all over the city: on posters, in commercials and waving on the flag outside the governor’s office. People worship her and it’s just as nightmarish as it was at every single piano concert, ballet recital and graduation speech. She still remembers her parents wiping their tears as they rose to their feet for every single standing ovation. While she sat quietly in the corner, dying for a smoke break.
They call her the Mage- which makes no sense to Mallorie. To be fair, she has no real power- just a brilliant mind and a penchant for tinkering. And while the denizens of Sterling City are dazzled by her array of sparkling magic tricks and glowing weaponry, Mallorie can see quite plainly that it is all smoke and mirrors. Just like most of the city: filled with uppity rich folks and dazzling smiles that hold no warmth beneath them.
Meanwhile, the Marr teems just below the surface- full of unmentionables that the Sterlites would prefer to forget. But when Miracle came along- she vowed to protect the city from the crime that constantly threatens to drift up from the Marr’s seedy underbelly.
It fills Malorie with guilt to know that- by all counts- she should be down there, among the underworld with sweat on her brow and dirt on her face, working tirelessly on the power grid that keeps Sterling City bright, clean and shining. She knows full well that, if not for her parent’s money, that’s exactly the life she’d be living.
Meanwhile, she works a useless job and has a habit of stealing wallets from other people’s purses and slipping baubles into her coat pocket on her way out of the department store just to feel something. She doesn’t know why she does it. Perhaps the rush reminds her that she’s
alive. Or maybe she is simply fulfilling the prophecy her parents laid out for her: the dead beat daughter with more addictions and bad habits than one can count.
But the jolt she gets keeps her alive and the rush is all she’s ever known. Her rehab therapist described her as having “dangerous fixation and deep need to possess what others retain.” As heady as the wording was, Mallorie had to agree. There had to be something behind her desperate need to hoard the cafeteria forks. Not to mention her unfortunate addiction to snagging her roommate’s jewelry. Her classmates took note, earning her the nickname: “The Magpie.” Miracle latched onto that pretty quickly- keeping the nickname alive way past its expiration date- much to her parents’ confusion. Eventually, she shortened it to “Mags” but the sting remained intact.
To say that their relationship became strained would be an understatement. After graduation, Mallorie kept her distance. She filled her body with every possible drink and drug, staying out late and sleeping with as many strangers as could find. She was happy to indulge in whatever landed in her lap. But when the Mage appeared on the scene- it reeked of Miracle’s usual flashy air. Somehow, she connected the dots. And when Miracle magically started calling again, it was easy to pull the information out of her. But Mallorie had already walked too far down the proverbial road of resentment and Miracle’s recent stardom was further proof that she would do anything for attention. It was also further proof that she couldn’t trust her sister- no matter how hard she was trying to pretend otherwise. And no matter how many wine nights, brunch spots or movie dates Miracle offered, Mallorie was never convinced.
It all came grinding to a halt when, as per usual, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The Makers Market was her favorite spot to steal. Amongst the moving bodies and teeming shops, it was remarkably easy to sneak away with whatever she laid her hands on. The day had been like any other, Mallorie was just slipping an ornate deck of cards into her pocket when a commotion broke out at the far end of the Market.
People were scattering this way and that- crying out in dismay. She lifted her head to see a man, presumably from the underground, stomping in their direction with Miracle in tow. There were whispers that the Marrites were starting to mutate- thanks to being constantly exposed to a multitude of toxins every single day. Multiple limbs, oozing sores, hair loss- it seemed too silly to be true so she had dismissed it as mere fear mongering. But she saw with her own eyes that the rumors were true- at least, in this case.
The man was bald with fists made of flames and fire pouring from his eyes. It reminded her of something she had seen in the nightclub after too many tabs. Something that would make her question her very existence and leave her haunted the next day. But it was as real as daylight and she could scarcely believe her eyes. He was spitting fire at the caravans, disintegrating rugs and souvenirs and toys into ash. Miracle was trying to stop him- with little success.
She found it kind of amusing, in a way, to finally see her sister getting humbled. Suffice to say, her sparkly tricks were nothing in comparison to actual, superhuman power. She wondered, for a moment, if she should help, try and distract him somehow- but she remembered how many times Miracle left her to rot and she decided better of it. It wasn’t her path, so it wasn’t her fight. Let her sister get her ass kicked for once. Maybe she’d learn something. Maybe people would finally see her for who she really is. But, even as she willed herself to move, she found her feet frozen in place, still too shocked at the sight before her.
“Mags- get out of here!” Miracle cried out, waving her hand in the opposite direction. They both seemed to realize, simultaneously, that this was a major mistake. The man tilted his head in her direction, seemingly seeing her for the first time. An eerie grin spread across his face before he sprinted directly at her, knocking her to the ground.
She awoke, hours later, surrounded by shadowy figures. Her head ached from the impact. Among them, the same man from before. But this time, his skin held no flame- just the remnants of ash, smeared on his face in ritualistic symbols. He was raising his hands to the heavens, crying out words she couldn’t quite decipher. He looked down at her, smiling placidly, and continued his diatribe. She shut her eyes, trying desperately to understand what he was saying.
“Brethren, we have been crushed under foot for too long. We will no longer be made to serve the greater populous. We will rise up. And with us…a new kind of warrior!” He looked
down at her- his eyes ablaze with a holy passion beyond her comprehension. She wanted to cry out under the weight of his gaze- wanted to wriggle off of the cement slab they had tied her to. “My children…come and witness the holy sacrifice. We will bestow a gift upon her. And in return, this Upperworlder will know our pain. She will become our voice, our righteous right hand. She will bring the city to its knees.”
She struggled against her restraints to find them horrifically intact. He noticed her movement and held her down under his knee, crushing her lungs. “Soon, little one, you will understand your purpose. You will know your own power. You will become one of us.” She did not understand, did not know why she of all people, had been chosen for whatever gift they wanted to bestow. She was under no allusions that this gift would not be a pleasant one.
He reached down to cup her face. “Little one, do you desire a better life?” She licked her cracked lips, swallowed in an attempt to wet her barren throat. “Do you?!” He called out, leaning so close that his spit landed on her cheek. She nodded, trying to appease, terrified of the outcome. “Do you tire of your gilded cage? Of the prison to which you were born?” “Yes.” The sound escaped her lips before she had time to think.
“Good!” He grinned, a terrifying, devilish short of grin. He stood again, addressing the crowd. “Then, gather close, my children and witness transformation; witness freedom.” The crowd drew closer, their eyes full of wonder. Amongst them there grew a terrible hum- a droning buzz that overwhelmed her senses.
“My children, come. Offer your hands to this great mission. Let us give her our gift.” She watched, her lungs full of terror, as the crowd surged forward- shoving at the cement slab, pushing it upright. She found herself facing an acidic pool- bubbling with numerous toxins. A scream erupted from her throat as she realized that this gift was no gift at all: it was certain death. They had convinced themselves that she would somehow rise out of his pool with powers unknown- like their leader- and offer them freedom in the form of destruction.
She began to beg, pleading with them to let her go. But they would not hear her. Their droning hum became louder and louder by the second until the leader raised his right hand high in the air. Silence settled like a knife shredding through a string- breaking the tension.
“The Gift… We give it freely,” He proclaimed. The crowd responded in turn, repeating his words until it became a chant. “Let this gift sustain, let this sacrifice rise again.” Raising his mighty hands, he cried out: “Witness!”
Like a flash of lightning, they slashed her ropes free and dropped her into the pool. She struggled against the goo that ate at her like quicksand. Finally, it devoured her whole. Her lungs burning, her eyes going blind with the neon green muck that surrounded her. She tried to scream but couldn’t, thrashed against the oppressive liquid until her limbs were sore from exertion. She sank further and further until her feet touched the bottom of the pool and the acid settled around her, crushing her.
She thought she would die after too many pills or maybe a bad hookup. But being killed by a cult was not on her bingo card. She thought of Miracle and her parents- wondered if they’d search for her or write it off as just another failure. Perhaps they’d be happier without her. Finally becoming the perfectly formed family they always hoped they could be. She shut her eyes tight, feeling the life beginning to leak from every pore as the poison overtook her, bonded with her, became part of her DNA.
She began to write a eulogy in her head that no one would hear- for a funeral that would never occur. Here lies Mallorie Kline- she died like she lived: unfortunately. She would have laughed if she could’ve. She felt the toxins enter her bloodstream, noticed how dizzy her brain
became- almost euphoric. This is death, she thought, quiet and anticlimactic with no fanfare or family to send her off.
Until she felt the muck begin to shift. She wondered, bemused, if perhaps her soul was ascending. She hadn’t given much thought to the afterlife. She merely hoped it would be like an afterparty- full of never-ending booze and laughter as old friends reunited and new lovers kissed in the corner.
When she dared to open her eyes, she realized she was floating high above the onlookers, her feet dripping with slime. They looked up at her, clasping their hands as if to pray. Some of them wept tears of joy while others cried out in victory. For a moment, she felt hope- felt relief. She gazed at their faces and felt sympathy for them. She considered, for the first time, that maybe she could be the hero they hoped she would be.
And then Miracle appeared to rescue her, in all her glory, and Mallorie tumbled back down into the pool. She awoke in the hospital a few days later to find her sister at her side, anxiously waiting her return to consciousness.
It didn’t take long for the toxins to reveal their work. It was small, at first. A muscle spasm or an electric shock when she gripped metal. But when a nurse touched her arm and wound up electrocuted into an early grave- the doctor confirmed her worst fears: the poison had changed her genetic makeup completely. Whatever this ability was, it was part of her now. She had to learn to control it, to mask it, to smother it completely.
Miracle brought her back to her dingy apartment- stayed with her for days. She begged her not to tell anyone, not to use her powers until they knew more about them and could find a cure. And when she finally took her leave, she left Mallorie to her own devices. The doctors insisted she stayed in bed for at least a month while they ran various tests on her blood samples, trying desperately to find any way to reverse the damage.
But Mallorie wonders if maybe it isn’t a curse at all. She wonders if, maybe, she could find a way to use her powers to do something useful.
An idea forms in her head. She slips off her socks and pads over to the window, sliding it open. Outside, the rain pours down on the pristine streets, catching like pearls in the street lamps. She places a delicate foot onto the fire escape and steps out into the night air. She climbs the ladder until she reaches the roof.
The rain pours down- soaking her hair and clothes. She unwraps the gauze around her hands, slips it into her pocket. As expected, the weather makes it easier to feel the energy coursing through her veins. Sparks dance over her skin, enticing her to use her newfound abilities. She stamps her foot down, watches as the electricity travels underneath her skin. A set of sparks emit from her foot and travel through the puddles to fizzle out into the ground beneath her.
She takes a running leap off of the roof, hurling herself into the air. She panics, for a moment, and then wills the electricity to shoot through her fingertips. To her shock, it obeys. Her fingers burn deliciously from the jolts that spread out in a mass of directions, connecting to the buildings around her. The energy pulses, pushing her up into the air and safely onto the next roof.
The feeling is unlike anything she’s experienced before. It feels like she is a part of the ecosystem. As if, there was a part of her that always was more powerful than her human body and, now, it is free to escape its confines. The cage door is open and the animal within her can finally reach its full potential.
For the first time, she feels powerful, capable. It strikes her as ironic that she has unimaginable powers- where her sister merely pretends. She wonders what her parents would say but knows all too well that they’d respond with doubt, concern and confusion. They would not celebrate her power. They would not consider the positive changes she could create. They would be afraid that she was incapable of using it and therefore unworthy.
The feeling makes her sick.
She looks down at the ground. She knows the Marrites can relate to her plight. She can glimpse the movement just below the surface, through various cracks and crevasses that make up the spotless skin of Sterling City. Beneath it all is a teeming underworld, cramped alleyways of people selling their wares and seedy denizens jostling this way and that- all lit by dim lamp light that casts an eerie glow on the weary faces passing by.
Her heart pangs. She feels for them- those faceless people who can only live as servants, simply because they were not born rich. Meanwhile, Sterling profits off of their blood, sweat and tears -growing more and more swollen with indulgence because of it. Very few of these stragglers get the opportunity to escape their imprisonment and the few that do are barely able to make a life above Marr because of people’s prejudices. Most of them have slunk back below to be with their families- unable to withstand the gossip behind people’s hands, the wary gazes and the refusal of service. Sterling offers them one option: turning to a life of crime to survive only to be punished for it.
And her sister help enforce this, gleefully handcuffing criminals and leading them to their jail cells.
She tries again, launching herself off the roof and using the electricity to help her flip mid-air before she slams down onto the third rooftop, rolling to break her fall. She’s beginning to think she may have found something that she is actually good at. The thought fills her with an unfamiliar burst of enthusiasm. She knows this feeling will become an addiction for her. She already cannot imagine living without this insatiable energy that brings her to the brink of overload in the most delightful way.
A few yards away, the train screeches- drawing her attention. She can feel the white lightning traveling through the wires beneath the metal structure. It calls to her. She steps off of the rooftop and lets the city’s pulsing electric grid lift her into the air and off towards to train.
She slams down onto the tracks, feeling the energy flowing through the metal. It enters her brain. It fills her lungs and makes her feel even more powerful than before. A laugh escapes her lips and a new idea forms in her head- an awful, evil, malicious idea that sends a chill down on her spine. If it was any other day under any other circumstance, she would ignore it- let it drop through the floorboards and pretend she never thought it.
But instead, she feeds it like a pet. She indulges it, lets it grow bigger and bigger- taking up more space in her head. Her first step? The shopping district. She has a few items to pick up. When she arrives, she makes a beeline for the most swanky boutique in town- a place that has denied her entry more than once.
And there, in the front window is a large poster Miracle- grinning ear to ear- holding a magnificent bag aloft. The text above her reads: “Our Millennium Makeup Bag : Mage Approved ™!” Anger wells up inside of her. Miracle’s smile- peeking out from beneath her blue latex mask and brown hood- seems to laugh at her, goad her. She wants to punch through the wall of glass and tear it down. And maybe, with her new abilities, she can do just that.
She can feel it buzzing inside her exoskeleton- zipping anxiously around her spinal column like an insect. She wills it to rise up through her ribcage, passing through her organs leaving a delightful tipsiness in its wake. It slinks up her throat and she holds it there. She places her fingers on it- feels the warmth of the blue energy fizzing underneath her skin. She gazes at the poster again and lets her rage pool within her- starting at the pit of her stomach and hurling it up into her chest.
She opens her mouth to scream- letting out every insecurity, frustration and rejection in her bones- releasing the electricity from her throat. It crackles out of her lips shattering the window pane. She smirks to herself and places a delicate hand on the window frame to step into the boutique.
The coat has been calling to her for weeks now- but she hasn’t been able to figure out how to nab it. But now, it’s hers for the taking. It’s a long, red overcoat with lush black fur trim. Its delightfully gaudy. The sort of thing she has no occasion to wear- but she’d love to find an excuse to take it clubbing at the very least.
She snatches the coat, leaving the mannequin naked before she flicks it with two fingers, sending it toppling to the floor knocking down a jewelry display in its wake. Earrings and necklaces litter the linoleum, glittering in the soft light from the street. She scoops them up tenderly, pleased with her spoils. On a whim, she starts to weave the trinkets into the fur of the coat before slipping it over the gentle curve of her shoulders. She decides that if she’s going to be called a magpie- she may as well look the part. Strut around the city in her stolen goodies, mocking the rich while flaunting their most precious items right in front of their very eyes. She gazes at herself in the mirror, turning to and fro, more than happy with the result.
She fishes the gauze from her pockets and grips it between her fists. She starts to wrap it over her eyes. Once, twice, three times until all she can see is darkness. As she suspected, she can see the power grid pulsing- the electric lines weaving through the back of her eyelids like neon blue spiderwebs guiding her through the city. The power is begging to be drained.
She can feel it, even now, threatening to rattle through her teeth and burst out of her mouth. And she loves it. She loves feeling dangerous. After all these years of people treating her like a fragile animal that could bite at the slightest provocation, she can finally give them something to be afraid of. Maybe she can peel back the layers of this city and destroy the system that locks everyone in place. Maybe she can burn this city to the ground and they can build a utopia in its place where everyone can truly be equal. She wonders if perhaps The Magpie within her could morph into something else entirely. Something that could bring Miracle to her knees.
Author Bio:
Stix Eris is a drag performer, trans rights activist and writer in the Cincinnati area. She is known for her eclectic signature style, outspoken political platform and a flair for theatrics. She is grateful to have won several titles in her drag work including Cincinnati’s Best Drag Performer in 2022, among other things. Earlier this year, her work was recently featured in the Cincinnati Fringe Festival- a two week long festival of theatrical works from all over the nation. Her play, “Traitors” was picked to perform on the main stage and was awarded the Critic’s Pick. Most recently, she won first place in the 2025 Books by the Bank adult prose competition for her queer horror piece entitled “The Clan.” By day, she’s a librarian and loves to help other people find materials that unlock their imagination and make them feel seen. When she’s not at work, she enjoys iced coffee, hanging with her cat Charlie and engaging in any creative endeavor she can get her hands on.
Navy Pen 