by LJ Rivers
“You just stay away, slag!” said the other girl.
Her short black hair made me think of that punk rock woman. What was her name? One of Dad’s old vinyl album covers flashed before my eyes.
“I’ve had enough of you edging in on my man!”
“Your man?” Charlie spat the words out with a laugh. “If he is your man,” she drew air quotes with her fingers, “then he really shouldn’t come on to me like that.”
The punk girl closed her fist and aimed for Charlie.
I didn’t stop to think. In an instant, I had sent a magic push through the air. The force field was small, just enough to encapsulate Charlie’s head, but it did the job. Punkie’s hand hit the field, snapping Charlie’s head backwards. To the hitter, it would hopefully appear as though she had landed the punch, though it would do no damage at all to Charlie, thanks to my force field.
I had closed in on the girls and was just eight or ten steps away. Charlie looked puzzled, which gave the punk girl enough time to throw a second punch. Or rather, a kick. Her black boot hit Charlie in the kneecap. I couldn’t react fast enough.
“Ouch!” Charlie screamed, and lunged at the other girl, toppling the both of them to the ground.
I withdrew the force field as I came up to the fighters and grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. From the corner of my eye, I noticed a few people had gathered around us. With all my strength, I managed to pull my friend off—Siouxsie Sioux! That was the name of the punk rocker. For a split second, I could hear Dad telling me to pronounce it “Suzy Su” before my mind returned to the brawl.
“Let go!” Charlie shouted, trying to wiggle out of my grip.
The girl on the ground was halfway up on her knees, getting ready to throw herself, and her fists—or worse, her boots again—at Charlie. I couldn’t use any more magic. Too many people; some were bound to see the nearly invisible force field if I used it.
“Right, that’s enough,” rumbled a voice. A man came forward, splitting the crowd like Moses and the Red Sea with an elaborate cane in his hand. He looked like he had come straight out of an 18th-century colonial film, with his long stylish coat and black buckled shoes. “This is not how we celebrate Freshers’ Week, ladies. Come on!”
He grabbed the punk girl and helped her to her feet while still holding her flailing arms away from Charlie. Charlie backed up a couple of steps, but only because I dragged her that way.
“We’re not done, bitch,” the punk girl yelled, waving two fingers in the air towards Charlie.
“Piss off. Go take care of your man, dimwit,” Charlie retorted, turning the air quote fingers into the same obscene gesture.
The crowd parted just as quickly as it had assembled when the fight was over, and I heard a couple of boys complain as we walked past. “Not much of a fight,” one of them said, the other laughing in response.
“What the hell, Charlie?” Jen sat her already stuffed canvas bag on the ground, letting out a groan of relief.
Charlie just pulled a whatever face and shrugged. “Just an insecure tosser not being able to keep her bull in tow. Well, not really a bull, more a donkey to be honest. He hit on me at a party last night, and I guess the news reached her.”
She turned to me, squinting her eyes for a second. “Thanks, I guess. Although I’m pretty sure I’d have taken her.” She tilted her head ever so slightly and beamed at me. “Her jab was weak. Like butterfly kiss kind of weak.”
I held my breath.
Charlie winked and gave herself a mock punch on the chin. “Guess it pays to have had your face punched a lot. It is bound to harden even the softest of baby cheeks eventually.”
I wasn’t sure why Charlie would have had her face punched before, but I didn’t press. As the three of us restarted the quest for more vouchers, USB-sticks, mugs and whatever valuables to fill our bags with, I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. I was such a muppet.
Charlie knew!
Chapter Eight
I sat cross-legged on Charlie’s bed, twisting my fingers. The girl rummaged through her wardrobe, chucking t-shirts and jeans on the floor.
“What are you wearing tonight?” she asked, her voice muffled as she spoke into the almost empty shelf where her head was.
“I figured I could just wear what I’m wearing now.” I had not spent a second worrying about what clothes to wear. I had, however, spent the last few hours turning the day’s events in my head. I could almost hear my mum yelling at me, picture her coming to London to drag my ass back to Cheshire. And uni hadn’t even started yet. How dumb could I get?
Jen strode into the room and propped herself next to me. “Nope. You’re not wearing the same thing you wore all day. You know there will be boys at the party, right? And you really need to wear your hair down. I think I might have exactly the thing for you. I need to change too, so I’ll find it for you. Back in a beat.”
She bounced back up and disappeared into the hallway. The sound of her door shutting behind her left a heavy silence in the room.
“Charlie,” I said.
“Ru,” Charlie said, extending the sound of the u for an extra second.
“Can we talk?”
Charlie leaned out of the wardrobe, turning to me. “Sure you’re ready? You know, we don’t have to.”
“I need to know you’re good with this.” I gestured at myself and Charlie stood to close the door.
She pulled out the chair by her desk, straddling it the wrong way around, and folded her arms on the back of it. “I do have questions, but only if you’re ready.”
This was probably a worse idea than to use my magic in the first place. Perhaps I should have tried convincing Charlie that it was all in her head, but that would be a mean thing to do. Even though I was reluctant, there was a part of me that wanted to tell Charlie everything. I had been hiding for so long it might be good to tell the truth for once. Stupid or not.
“Shoot,” I said.
Charlie rested her chin on her arms. “What was that you did to me earlier? Was that a force field? Is that your power, I mean, or can you do more? I’ve never met a Mag in person before. Not that I know of anyway.”
I sucked in a breath and my body tensed. I didn’t know where to begin to explain. What would happen if Charlie told on me? We had only just met. Could I trust her to keep a secret like this? Did I have a choice?
“That’s a lot of questions with longer answers, but yes, that was a force field. But Charlie, you can’t tell anyone.”
“I think it’s cool.”
“I don’t. It’s just a part of who I am that no one else can know about. Promise me. Please!”
Charlie lowered her forehead, looking at me over the rim of her glasses.
“If it’s that important to you, I won’t. It seems tiring, though, always hiding what you are. And if you don’t mind, what exactly are you?”
I hesitated. The cat was out of the bag, however, so I might as well let it stay there. “Fae,” I whispered.
“Fae? As in, you’re a fairy?” Her head popped up and the corners of her mouth drew wide.
I nodded.
“That’s awesome! I didn’t know there were Fae. Sorcerers and Shifters I know about, but Fae?” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Do you have wings under that top?”
I giggled. It wasn’t as absurd as Charlie clearly thought it was. I didn’t have wings, but I would have if I had been born on Avalon—or so I imagined anyway.
“Nope. No wings, I’m afraid. I’m pretty much like you, with a bit of magic attached.”
Charlie extended her hand. I returned the gesture and she wrapped her pinkie around mine. “I swear not to tell a living soul.”
I exhaled with relief as the door swung open again, and a lanky boy stumbled into the room.
“Ready to get your boots on?” Dark circles framed his brown eyes and he didn’t look like he had washed for a week. His jeans were tattered, and the faded, once-black Led Zeppelin t-shirt had definitely seen better days.
&nbs
p; “Dunc,” Charlie said, narrowing her gaze at him.
“Char,” he replied with a sharp edge of sarcasm.
“This is Ruby, our new flatmate. Ruby, this is Duncan. Remember I told you about our fourth flatmate?”
“Cool, another girl.” Duncan grinned.
Charlie shook her head at Duncan. “You look like shit, Dunc. Maybe you should sit this one out?”
“Nuh-uh. I have a date tonight.” He scratched his neck and continued to wipe his eyes with the heels of his hands.
“With a girl?”
“Let’s call her Harvey.” He smirked. “It’s really more of an exchange than a date. You up for it? I can ask for a couple extra.”
Charlie shifted her head back and forth between Duncan and me. “Nah, not tonight. I’m good, thanks.”
“Let me know if you change your mind. My supplier says she’s got a fresh untainted batch. Don’t want to miss out.” He ruffled Charlie’s hair and wobbled back outside.
I gawked at my new friend, not able to keep my mouth closed. Not her too. Was everyone on MagX these days?
Charlie averted her gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve only done it a few times. Always at a party, and never more than a tiny drop.”
“Are you insane?”
I sucked my lips between my teeth. I had to stay calm. The fire burning in my veins didn’t agree with me, however. I wanted to slap Charlie for her sheer idiocy when a small flame ignited in my palm. Gasping, I slapped myself instead and the flame disappeared. What was I doing? And what was that feeling of my veins catching fire? I stood, shaking, then rushed into Charlie’s bathroom and splashed water on my face.
My mascara ran in black rivers over my cheeks but at least I was cooling off. This was new. I had never done anything like that before. It didn’t feel right. Although, a fire power was kind of awesome, if I could control it. Crap. This was not the best time to learn how to control a new power. If that was even what this was. Mum had never said anything about the Fae having fire powers.
“You all right in there?” Charlie called.
I stepped back into the room. “Got some cleaning wipes?”
“Sure.” It took Charlie a few seconds to grab the wipes and hand them to me.
I started cleaning my face. “MagX isn’t fun,” I mumbled.
“How would you know? You’ve got magic all the time. Is it so wrong of me to want to feel like a better version of myself? MagX makes me feel. Alive.”
We sat quietly for a long time. How could I convince her to stop taking something that gave her these amazing feelings? There was only one argument that came to mind, one I did not share lightly.
“Sit with me?” I gestured at the bed and we sat opposite each other. I took Charlie’s hands.
“You won’t burn me?” Charlie asked.
“You saw that?”
“It was a bit scary,” Charlie said. “And fudging awesome.”
“Well, I would never burn you.” Would I, though? “Not on purpose, at least.”
“I think I’ll keep my hands to myself then,” she said, letting go of mine.
Though I understood, it still felt like a stab to my heart. Charlie was scared of me.
“Listen.” I had to start somewhere. “What just happened has never happened before. I didn’t know I had this in me. But that’s not why I got angry, or why I cried.” I curled the sheets in my hands. “My dad. He died seven years ago.”
She gasped. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“It still hurts like hell. But here’s my point. He died after he OD’d on MagX. I don’t know how it happened but sometimes the blood doesn’t agree with a human host. I’ve been tracking incidents ever since I started interning at my local newspaper. We’re talking about advanced chemistry to get the blood from a Mag to become MagX.”
“Yeah, something about reducing the number of blue blood cells, right?”
Although that was a simplification, I nodded. “The ratio between our blue cells and the human red and white ones, yes. Problem is, not all dealers can get their hands on clean MagX, or they do the separation and mixing themselves. The blood is often diluted—or worse, tainted—and when it is, it’s deadly. I don’t want anyone else to die from this. Especially not you.”
Another long pause followed before Charlie folded her hands in mine, making my shoulders relax. “I get it. You have to understand, though. Magic, to a human, is intoxicating. The thrill of it is unlike anything any human can ever hope to experience in their lifetime, a sense of godliness. People are not going to stop taking MagX because of some random cases of people dying. There are a bunch of other reasons why that might happen to someone.”
“I just—I want it gone,” I said. “The revelation of magical beings in the world was supposed to make it easier. We were supposed to be able to be who we are. Instead, everyone still has to hide. And to top it all off, there are people harvesting our blood so that others can have a moment of—what did you call it? Godliness.”
Charlie pushed her glasses up the ridge of her nose. “You’re pretty but I wouldn’t peg you for a goddess.” She gave me a half-smile.
The door opened again and Jen pranced back inside. Her hair was down, and she had changed into a tight navy-blue one-piece with no bra on, and a cleavage so deep it was a surprise her belly button wasn’t showing.
“Here,” said Jen, sending a top through the air to land on my head. “Wear this.” She went to sit on the windowsill, staring at me as I tried to figure out which way the top was meant to be worn. “Oh, poppet, your face. You’ll need an entire makeover. Lucky for you, I’m an expert.”
I didn’t have it in me to argue. Part of me wanted to skip the entire night and roll into bed, but I wanted to keep an eye on Charlie to make sure she didn’t get in any trouble. Or take anything she wasn’t supposed to.
“I’m all yours, Jen,” I said with as much enthusiasm as I could muster.
Jen clapped her hands and retrieved her makeup bag. It was three times the size of the one I had in my room. I didn’t know what half the stuff inside was even for, but surrendered to the so-called expert. It took a full half-hour before Jen was satisfied with her creation.
“Now, lose the braid and let me see that hair.”
I did as I was told. As predicted, my hair fell in thick waves around my shoulders, and Jen smirked.
“No need to do anything with that gorgeous mane. You’ll have boys falling left, right and centre just from that.”
Boys? I wasn’t going out to meet boys. Although there was an Irish bloke I wouldn’t mind seeing.
“Hey, you with us?”
Charlie and Jen stood in the doorway and I got to my feet.
“Sure am.”
Jen held her phone up. “Get in here. Give me your best strong woman face.”
With no idea what kind of face that would be, I gave her my best fake smile.
Jen took a bunch of pictures before she pocketed her phone.
“Hashtag Feminism,” she said before we all strolled outside like Charlie’s Angels on a mission. “First stop, the Old Willow. That’s going to be our pub.”
Chapter Nine
Intense chatter and loud banter sounded from the pub, making my head spin already. I had never been comfortable with large crowds. There was a slight autumn chill in the air and we decided—that is, Jen decided—to find a table inside. I regretted it the moment I laid eyes on the busy throng of people. There was hardly any air left to breathe. It didn’t help much that people were smoking inside, even though there was a ban on smoking in public places.
Jen turned her head from the bar stretching across the back wall to the clusters of round tables. “There. Someone is leaving.” She linked her arms with Charlie and me, rushing us forward. As we neared the table, she sped up, let go of our arms and all but lunged into the nearest chair.
Another group of girls gawked at her and received a lopsided grin from Jen in response. “Sorry. Got to move your feet ne
xt time. This table is taken.” She turned to Charlie and me as the other group strutted off. “Sit.”
“I think I’ll go get us some drinks,” Charlie said. “Three Coronas all right?”
We nodded and Charlie shimmied off to the bar.
Two large screens on either side of the counter were on, and most of the boys had their eyes glued to the football match. I smiled as I recognised the red colours of the home team. Dad’s team. No—our team! I wrinkled my nose at the white shirts and blue shorts of the opposing players, in the way I remembered Dad would whenever United walked out on Anfield. I rarely watched Liverpool play anymore. It hurt too much, but maybe that part was getting easier at last, as I found myself cheering along when Firmino put the ball between the legs of the goalie and into the net.
“You like football?” Jen asked.
“Used to watch it all the time with my dad,” I said.
“Huh. Would not have guessed. I honestly don’t understand the fuss.” She raised an eyebrow as Roberto Firmino pulled up his shirt, sliding forwards on the grass on his knees. “Although, it sure has its moments.”
He would get a booking for that one, I thought.
The channel changed, and a woman news anchor filled the screen.
“Get off!” someone yelled. “Who has the remote?”
It was too loud to hear what the anchor said but a blue text banner, which ran across the bottom of the image, delivered the message clearly enough. There had been a robbery at Tiffany’s in Old Bond Street. A series of images of empty shelves and two cashiers being treated by medics followed. The robbers had taken everything. I sighed heavily as I read on. One of the robbers wasn’t human and had used his magic to compel the staff to do everything he asked. What a tosser. Like it wasn’t hard enough for Mags as it was.
A bottle crashed to the floor and a group of guys started whistling. And there he was. Brendan. He sat two tables apart from me with a group of boys. His eyes were exactly as I remembered, and a slight tingle rose in my chest.