Thus, the punch in the mouth that put his front tooth in its current precarious position.
If he’d only reigned in his temper, for once, he wouldn’t be facing the possibility of a gapped-tooth smile. He was meticulous about his appearance, even though we both had to bathe in public restrooms and the occasional shelter—fulltime shelter living would separate us, so it wasn’t a long term option. Going toothless would really hurt Trey’s self-esteem. How could he get an upscale beauty salon job, his lifelong dream, with a smile like that?
I sighed.
We both need a spa day, I thought wryly as I hopped off my board, gripped it, and lifted up the cut chain link, entering our humble abode.
Our abandoned building was pretty standard as far as buildings like it went. It was five stories of boarded-up windows, graffitied walls and tumbling brick. Near the center of Atlanta, the crime was pretty bad, but our corner was relatively quiet, thanks to the string of empty buildings and the lack of any tourism, employment, or anything particularly interesting to steal.
And yet, we did have one thing going for us. Our buildings hosted many famous drawings, elaborate graffiti art paintings created in the early 2000s before the city put a stop to it. Sometimes, artists and brave tourists drove by, marveling at the multicolored drawings and tagged brick sections before speeding out, the stench of poverty sticking in their air vents.
Our building’s claim to fame was one drawing by a semi-famous artist known as Gin Minister. His clever name accompanied his clever art. I walked past his now-fading painting of a trippy, psychedelic owl, the word “Never” spreading out on either side like wings.
Everything in my world lately was freaky and psychedelic, and I didn’t even use drugs. Lucky me, not living up to the homeless stereotype.
I gave our Never Owl a pat as I walked along the side of the building, dodging Styrofoam take-out containers, a soggy pillow, and an empty ten-gallon bucket with the stench of human waste wafting from inside.
I definitely did not want to know what that bucket had most recently been used for.
Entering the side door where the particle board had been pried away, I called up so Trey knew it was me and not Homeless Randy who sometimes stopped by to harass us for cash.
“Trey, it’s your favorite person!”
There was a shuffling down the hall and a head peered around the corner.
“Angelina Jolie? Is that you, here to adopt me? All my dreams have come true!” He pantomimed running toward me and then stopped, putting his hand to his chest in exasperation. “Oh, it’s you, Charlie. Dream shattered.” He flopped against the wall dramatically.
I chuckled despite myself. Trey was hilarious. Seriously, he was the reason I didn’t spend my nights crying myself to sleep. He always had a joke or a biting quip that made me forget how damn depressing life was.
“Angelina has enough trouble on her hands without the likes of you,” I said. “She and Brad broke up. Or was that a rumor?”
“Angelina can handle anything. Did you see her red carpet look at the 2009 SAG awards? If she can pull off a blue potato sack, and own it, she can parent the likes of me. What’d you get at the store?”
I set my skateboard down, my stomach churning with the knowledge that I had to tell Trey I’d failed him. I could already deduce from his muffled speech that his tooth was still hurting. I hated letting him down. Absolutely hated it.
“So here’s the thing…” I dug my toe into a clump of paper trash, scattering loose pieces and hoping not to expose any pink rat babies like I had last week. “Something happened at the store.”
“What? A sale on Flamin’ Hot Cheetos? What could have possibly happened at the store?” His eyes narrowed. He could read me like a book.
How could I say this? That I ran into a hag that transformed into some weird tree person and she’d called me a witch? That I almost got arrested and made the evidence disappear just in time to save my ass?
Nope.
“The cops…” I started.
“Cops? Harassing you? I swear to God, the cops in Atlanta can kiss my—”
“Trey, it wasn’t that. They thought I stole something. I guess I did. Accidentally. There was a lot going on. I just… walked out holding it. But then…”
He strode over and put his hand on my shoulder. “Babe, you don’t need to steal for me. If you went to jail, who would stop the rats from taking over this place?”
I gave a sad smile. “Rat exterminator is not my only life skill,” I murmured.
“But, love, it definitely isn’t your fashion sense.” He gestured jokingly to my ripped jeans, dirty Vans and thrift store T-shirt, then patted my arm. “It’s okay if you didn’t get it. It’s fine. The tooth doesn’t even hurt anymore. I think it’s fixing itself. Like I’m an X-man or something. Or one of those warlocks.” He twiddled his fingers as if casting a spell. “Tootho repairo.”
I froze. It was too unnerving to joke about magic after what happened. “That’s not funny. Those Supernaturals are creeps.” I thought about the hag and the way she’d reeled back from me.
“Okay, Miss Sensitive,” he said lightly. “Now, come on. I panhandled enough at the college to buy us a Hot-and-Ready and a two-liter of Mountain Dew.”
“I think Mountain Dew’s slogan is ‘The best thing for a busted tooth.’” I rolled my eyes. “Did you get water too at least?”
“Yes, yes, mother. Don’t ruin my pizza party vibe. Can we do hairdos tonight? That would cheer me up at the disappointment of my dreams deferred as Ralph Waldo Emerson would say.”
“It was Langston Hughes who said that, and sure. Hairdos it is.”
Trey was an amateur hairstylist and, frankly, my tattered ponytail could use the attention. Whatever it took to cheer him up after I’d failed him so badly, all as long as he didn’t burn a hunk of my hair off like that time he used that curling iron he found in the trash.
He took my arm, strolling with me down the debris-filled hallway like we were a royal couple at the ball. We lived on the third floor, farthest away from the aforementioned rats, and high up enough to flee if anyone broke in. The fourth and fifth floors were waterlogged from the non-existent roof. Mildew and mold ran rampant. Not good for respiration.
Still, our situation wasn’t particularly safe. A handful of times we’d been woken by people rifling through our stuff, the last one a few months ago where we literally had to punch our way out. Once, someone had set fire to trash on the first floor, nearly burning down the south half of the building before the fire department put it out. We spent a few weeks in shelters and church basements until we couldn’t stand to be apart anymore and made our way back here.
Be it ever so abandoned, there’s no place like home.
Up the creaky stairs we climbed. At the third floor, he pulled me down a hallway and into the open space we used as our apartment. When I rounded the corner, I could see the set-up he’d concocted.
A few candles flickered in the center of the room, creating a welcoming ambiance. On a blanket on the floor, he’d placed the pizza box and the soft drinks to make it appear like an outdoor picnic. Quiet, acoustic guitar music played from an old boombox that had been recently out of batteries. Newspaper garlands hung in loops from the rafters, reminding me of old Christmas streamers my fourth-grade teacher used to hang as we counted down to the big day. He’d even cut paper hearts and butterflies and taped them to the walls to cover up the peeling drywall.
The effect was magical. Transformative.
“Oh, wow,” I whispered, gaping. “How did you do all this?”
He smiled, proud of himself. “What can I say? I’m a god with paper crafts. And, really, I have a lot of free time on my hands. I’d been storing it for a few weeks, waiting for the perfect opportunity. And it seems like today is that day.”
I strode in, feeling the weight drop off my shoulders. The windows glittered with candlelight. The mood was jolly and festive even though it was only September.
“
Trey, this is really amazing.”
He led me over to the blanket and popped open the pizza box, the gooey cheese and spicy pepperoni making my mouth water. It had been nearly a full day since my last meal and that pizza smelled to-die-for.
I sat beside my best friend, grabbing a slice. He poured me some Mountain Dew into my favorite Harry Potter mug, then filled his metal tumbler.
“A toast,” he said, sitting cross-legged, and tossing his dark blond hair out of his eyes. “To the best friend a guy could have.”
I held up my mug. “To the best interior decorator a girl could ask for. Thanks for making our night magical.”
He winked at me and clinked his glass into mine.
“About that tooth,” I said, but he held a hand up.
“I don’t want you to worry about it anymore,” he said dismissively. “It’s going to be fine. I haven’t been to a dentist in ten years and I haven’t died yet.”
“Trey,” I whined, sounding very much like the mother figure he’d complained I was trying to be. Maybe it was because my mother died when I was so young that I was always throwing myself in her role. Or maybe I thought others should have the benefit of some mothering since it had been tragically ripped from me.
“Char, honestly. It’s fine. I’d rather talk about something else. Oh!” He waved his free hand excitedly in the air. “I saw that guy I want to set you up with on the quad today. The one who looks like a young Heath Ledger.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. I’m sure he’d be super interested in all this.” I gestured to my dirt clothes and waggled my shoulders in mock seduction.
“You’re a babe, little sister. If he can’t see beyond the superficial, he doesn’t deserve you.” His eyes glowed in the candlelight as he smiled at me. It wasn’t just flattery, Trey meant every word.
There was nothing romantic between us. He always called me his little sister, and he sure felt like the big brother I never had. Both of us had such a great need for a family that we didn’t want to mess up what we had with a stupid boy/girl relationship. As brother and sister, we could always count on each other no matter what, and we would never have to be alone again.
“The only person I need in my life right now is you.” I leaned toward him, letting my head rest on his shoulder.
Suddenly, the building around us shook. The floor rattled, knocking the Mountain Dew over the picnic. The sound of breaking glass echoed up each floor until the windows around us exploded in sharp shards that pelted our bodies. Bricks tumbled and boards clattered as they snapped off wobbling foundations.
I grabbed Trey’s hand, staring up at the swaying paper garlands. What was happening? An earthquake? In Atlanta?
Trey’s terrified eyes locked into mine. This building couldn’t withstand an earthquake. It was already structurally unsound. If we didn’t get out of here, we’d die under a pile of rubble.
We didn’t need words. Standing up, we tore toward the staircase.
Just as a group of people was running up toward us.
Trey and I skidded to a halt, clutching each other as we took in the invaders crowding the stairwell. Our only exit. But that wasn’t the shocking thing.
They were Supers.
The first man wore a black trench coat to cover his body, but there was also something disguising his face, though he wore no mask. As I stared, I realized his features were shifting and blurring as if I was viewing him through a camera lens that could not find focus. What the hell was wrong with him? His nose and eyes were nothing but a blur.
The next person coming up the stairs didn’t make me feel any saner. Beside Mr. Smudge Face was a freaking werewolf, though, at the moment, he was walking erect like a man. He was eight feet of muscle and fur, a snarling wolf snout and glaring red eyes. Large ears tilted toward me as his eyes narrowed. The growl that pushed between canine teeth sealed the deal.
We were going to die.
Behind him, a shimmering shape hovered, made entirely out of darkness, as if a human’s shadow had separated from its body and was now hovering in my stairwell. But that was the least of our worries.
My heart pounded in my ears. I wanted to scream, to run, but I was frozen.
What the fuck? More Supernaturals.
I’d only ever seen two warlocks in my lifetime, but never a werewolf, nor hag, nor whatever else the other two were.
All looking like they were about to rip us limb from limb.
The man with the blurry face stepped forward, legs akimbo and arms out as if to snatch us up if we made one false move. Three of his fingers were missing on his right hand, letting me know this was not his first fight. I wanted to scream at him or give him a punch in the mouth, but I couldn’t really pinpoint his features since they oscillated faster than a hummingbird’s wings.
“Who...” he growled, his nasally voice vibrating as if it too were out of focus, “Who used magic?”
My mouth fell open. What were they talking about?
I tried to speak, to tell them it was all a big mistake, but then Trey attacked.
He ran toward them, his fists raised, a battle cry tearing out of his throat.
He was going to fight them just as he had done with that meth head. Only this group was not one strung-out, old man. These were three freaks of nature. They had magic.
“Trey, no!”
I reached for him just as the werewolf stepped forward and raked his paw through the air.
Claws hit Trey in the chest, two quick slashes. The sound of ripping fabric and flesh rent the air. Blood splattered the wall, hitting one of his precious paper butterflies. Staining it red.
Then Trey crumpled to the ground and didn’t get up.
Chapter Three
FALL SEMESTER
EARLY SEPTEMBER
I was on my knees, my hands on Trey’s chest, blood seeping through my fingers. His eyes were open. Blank.
He’s not dead. Not dead.
It was all a nightmare. I just had to wake up, and he would be humming a Janet Jackson song, folding his bedroll to keep the rats out of it.
“It was her,” the man in the trench coat said, walking closer.
I kicked back, trying to pull Trey with me but he was too heavy, and I fell on my butt barely moving him an inch. The creature loomed over me, growing blurrier the closer he got.
“Yeah,” he said with satisfaction, his voice vibrating as if he were talking through a running fan. “It was her.” He extended a hand in my direction. “I can feel it now that she’s truly spooked.”
The werewolf growled deep in its chest, its red eyes growing brighter as it dropped its forepaws to the floor. It began walking on all fours, claws clicking as it advanced.
Feet scrambling desperately, I slid back, putting a few yards between me and the creatures. Trey. My gaze lingered on him for a moment. The freaks were after me, not him, so he was safer back there. I would come back to help him as soon as I could.
I rolled to one side, jumped to my feet, and ran. I hadn’t gotten far when a sheet of darkness spread before me, shimmering like an oil spill. My heart leaped in my chest, almost jamming itself into my throat. A strange coldness slithered over my skin, worse than taking cold showers at the shelters. I clawed at my arms, trying to get rid of the awful sensation that now seemed to be filtering all the way into my bones.
“Don’t struggle, girl,” the rattling voice said from behind me. “It’s useless.”
Teeth clenched, I fought against the numbness that was spreading over me, but despite my efforts, it seeped into every corner of my body, like water soaking into dry soil.
The werewolf padded into my field of vision, leering at me with its evil eyes. I tried to take a step back, but my legs remained nailed to the spot. I tried again to no effect.
I was paralyzed.
What the hell was going on? Why couldn’t I move?
A throaty laugh sounded to my left as the blurry guy appeared behind the werewolf, his face a smudge. “I told you it was useless.�
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He gestured down toward my feet. I followed his gaze to my shadow on the torn floor. It was dark with a well-defined shape, even though there was no proper light to help cast it. The shadow lifted a hand and waved at me. A gasp caught in my throat, my eyes darting to my raised hand. I hadn’t moved it. Yet, my fingers were up in the air, wiggling as if saying toodle-oo.
It’s just a hallucination, Charlie. A bad dream.
“I told you there was no reason to come,” Smudge Face told the werewolf. “Easy as walking through a ghost.” He leaned into me, laughing. “The noobs always are. She doesn’t even know how to use magic yet.”
Repelled by his undetermined face, I tried to move away from him, but my muscles didn’t respond.
“Probably never heard of a Shadow Puppet,” he said, just as my arms and legs started moving out of control as if some master puppeteer were pulling on invisible strings. The movements felt real, even if I hadn’t controlled them.
Maybe this wasn’t a hallucination, after all.
Shit, I’m in trouble.
I tried to scream for help but no sounds escaped my throat.
He laughed again and so did the werewolf, if the convulsive semi-growls could be called laughter.
Suddenly, the werewolf went still, his ears perking up and tilting in the direction of the stairs.
“What is it?” Smudge Face asked.
The two supernaturals exchanged a glance and, as if they could read each other’s thoughts, they sprung into action. The werewolf took off down the staircase, jumping over Trey. At the same time, Smudge Face turned down a side corridor and took off running. Against my will, my legs pumped, following. I fought to stop, but my body wasn’t my own.
Supernatural Academy: Freshman Witch Page 2