Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  “Why would my dad…” He stops, frowns, and starts again. “Calder doesn’t like you. Are you a…” He glances around and moves closer to me. “Are you a witch, Crystal?” His voice is hardly audible.

  “Stop trying to turn this back on me.” I jab my finger into his chest and force him to back up. “You and your family are no longer welcome here. Go and find somewhere else to live.”

  I brush past him. At the last second, something makes me turn back.

  Gavin is staring at me, his face an array of emotions—disbelief and betrayal.

  And pain.

  He hangs his head and leaves through the nearest exit.

  Like a popped balloon, all of my anger and the magic field around me dissipate. Gavin has no control over his father, just like I have no control over the fact that I was born through magic, that I am magic.

  He only wants to find a place to fit in, maybe even started to hope it might be here. And now I’m trying to run him and his family out of town.

  Even so, my guilt does not begin to compete with the fury I feel toward his father. Mrs. Fuller almost died. He terrorized and threatened Mom.

  I have more pressing matters to worry about than whether or not to trust the witches. I have a witch hunter to deal with.

  * * *

  AFTER SCHOOL, VINCE and I go to his house. “My mom should be home by now,” he says as we walk to the front door. “Last week, she went back to work part time. She’s going back to full time now.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Dad’ll be home in about a half hour. We can get started on the memorial planning then.”

  Mrs. Fuller opens the door for us and gives me a hug. “Crystal, it’s so good to see you.”

  “You too.”

  “We’re gonna do some homework until Dad comes home,” Vince says.

  “Go ahead and use the dining room table.” She sweeps her arm toward the dining room.

  Vince pouts. “Do we have to?” he whines comically.

  “Yes. I trust Crystal, but I don’t know if I trust you.” She rubs his hair, the same way I do, then shakes her head. “That just doesn’t have the same feeling anymore,” she complains. “Not since you cut it.”

  “Don’t you like his new look?” I ask.

  His mom grins. “It matters more what you think. I’ll be in the kitchen making dinner. You’re more than welcome to stay, Crystal, if it’s okay with your mom.”

  Vince hands me his phone before I can say anything.

  “I’ll mention it to her again tonight,” I promise.

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  “But you were thinking it.”

  He winks. “You know me well.”

  Smiling, I call Mom and ask for permission to stay.

  “That’s fine. Just try to be home before dark.”

  No set curfew? Wow. That’s unbelievable. And on a school night too. “I will. Thanks, Mom.”

  For the next half hour, we study history for our test tomorrow. As soon as Mr. Fuller comes home, dinner is served—amazing chicken piccata. Finally, it’s time to work on the memorial planning.

  My papers, laid out in order, cover a good portion of the table. “Mrs. Pullman said she would be willing to donate some baked goods. I already called the fire department. The hall’s available.”

  “Sounds good. Do you know how much it is to rent it out?” Mr. Fuller asks.

  I consult my notes. “Two hundred to rent for four hours. I did check out a few other places, but some were booked already or were kinda pricey.”

  “Money’s no object,” Mr. Fuller says. “I’ll write out the check for the fire hall right now.”

  “I talked to the grocery store. They’re willing to knock a percent off the food purchased for the memorial.”

  “That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Fuller says. “I wouldn’t have thought to ask.”

  “I used to be a bag boy, and sometimes Tommy tagged along,” Vince points out.

  “True.” Mrs. Fuller beams. Only her eyes look a little sad, but she seems to be hanging in there. I don’t know how she can be so strong. All of them.

  “I’ll need pictures of Tommy to decorate the fire hall. I’ve already purchased some other decorations, just little things.” I used the little money I had to get Mom a birthday gift. Next week, I’ll get my first check, and I’ll use it to buy her something nice.

  “How much?” Mr. Fuller hands me the check for the fire hall and poises his pen above his checkbook again.

  I wave my hand. “If you don’t want to purchase food from the grocery store, we can use the food from the fire department.”

  Vince makes a face. “Alan’s birthday party was there. The food was gross.”

  Yeah, the food had been greasy and undercooked. First time I left a party hungry. “There is one other option. If you want it catered, Mrs. Simpson said she would be more than willing to do it, but she needs to know by Wednesday. Catering would be more expensive, though.”

  “Yes, but it’s worth the convenience of not having to cook the food and keep it warm.” Mrs. Fuller looks at her husband. He nods.

  I hand them Mrs. Simpson’s catering brochure. “I don’t know if she’ll give a discount or not. The service will be next Saturday at eleven. Father Joseph will talk some, and I thought you all might. I also asked some of Tommy’s friends. Heather will sing, and Mr. Jackson will play the piano, like they do every week for Mass. Once it’s done, everyone can go to the hall for food and refreshments.”

  “And my slide show,” Vince says.

  I gasp. “I thought you wanted to keep that a surprise!”

  He shrugs and rubs the back of his next. “I’m not telling anyone else.”

  “That’s wonderful, Vince.” His mom beams, any trace of her earlier sadness gone.

  “Yeah,” he mumbles.

  I shuffle through my papers. “I think that’s everything.”

  “Great. Let us know if you need us for anything else.” Mr. Fuller half-smiles, the line around his lips stretching in happy sorrow.

  “How can we ever thank you?” Mrs. Fuller hugs me. She smiles at Vicne and I then gestures to her husband, and they leave the room.

  I look out the window. “It’s getting dark. I should be going.”

  Vince sticks out his lower lip and heaves a sigh. “Already? Fine. Mom, I’m gonna drive Crystal home.”

  “Wait a minute. I’ll come with,” his mom calls form another room.

  “Lovely,” Vince groans. “Why now?”

  “It’s not for much longer.”

  “I know.” He leans back in his seat and clasp his hands behind his head. “I’ve been meaning to ask you… Prom is coming up. Wanna go?”

  “Dances aren’t your thing.”

  “Nope, but I’ll try not to step on your feet… unless you don’t want to go.”

  “I love you.” Wait. What did I just say? “I mean, I’d love to.”

  Vince colors, but I’m sure I’m a brighter shade of red. “Great. Love to too.” He grins recklessly. “Love you too.”

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “So you don’t love me?”

  “It’s a little early to be talking about love. Right? I… Don’t you think?” I want to sink into the floor and melt away.

  He holds out his hands. “You’re the one who said it.”

  “I misspoke.”

  Sighing, he clasps his hands to his heart. “You wound me. First you confess your love for me, and then you take it away. What evil must fill your heart to be so cruel.”

  I swat his hands away. “You should try out for the school with your flair for the dramatics.”

  “And here I was going for comedy.” He hangs his head. “I’m losing my touch. What have you done to me, girl?”

  I gather my papers and shove them into my backpack. “All I know is that I’m glad you stopped trying to shove a thousand french fries into your mouth.”

  “Hey, now. That was Brian and Ned.”

 
“So you’ve never tried that?” I tap a finger against my cheek. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”

  “It was a long time ago,” he protests.

  “Like last month?”

  “More like two months ago.”

  I giggle. “You’re so mature.”

  His chest swells with pride. “I am a working man, after all. Been saving up. Don’t know what I’m gonna buy with it though. Maybe a dog. Do you know Gavin has one?”

  I force myself not to shudder. “Yes.”

  “It’s a karelian bear dog. Know why it’s called that?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Because they’re trained to hunt bears.”

  More like karelian witch dog.

  “There aren’t any bears around here,” I point out.

  “I know, but wouldn’t it be cool to have one?” He rolls his eyes. “Doubt I’ll get Mom to agree. She’ll want me to save up for college.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.” I really don’t want there to be two karelian bear dogs in town. While I might be able to enforce my will on Vince, I’d never do that. Never ever. Even if it meant dealing with a dog that reminds me of one that wants to rip out my throat.

  “I guess, but that’s just so…”

  “Mature?”

  “Boring. College is two years away.”

  His mom comes downstairs. “Sorry for making you two wait.”

  “It’s no problem, Mrs. Fuller.”

  Vince dangles the keys in his hands. “Let’s hit the road.”

  The three of us chat about inconsequential things during the ride. I insist on sitting in the back. If Gavin’s father wants to hit us again, I’m not going to let Mrs. Fuller get hurt again. But what if he thinks I’m still in the back? Well, I’ll just have to keep my guard up and be ready to give him a flat tire if he tries to hit us again. Or maybe stall his engine.

  My planning and worrying is pointless. We arrive safely.

  Vince parks and unlatches his seat belt. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Drive home carefully. I’ll see you tomorrow. Take care, Mrs. Fuller.” I reach forward from the backseat to squeeze his shoulder. As much as I enjoy kissing Vince, I’m uncomfortable locking lips in front of his parents.

  I wave as they drive away and climb the front porch steps.

  My hand touches the doorknob. The hairs on the back of my neck rise. Goose bumps spread on my arms. Someone is watching me.

  One of the witches?

  Or a shaman?

  Chapter 24

  I DON’T FEEL afraid, only curious. Without hesitating, I step away from the door. The feeling of being watched increases as I approach the side alley. My hand tingles, warming almost to the point of discomfort. Okay, so maybe I’m a little wary. I’m ready to call forth fire if I need to.

  A tall man rested against the house, a hat covering his face.

  “Who are you?” I keep my right hand behind my back and bring up a flame. Is there a way to tell just by looking at a person if he or she is a witch or a shaman? I might have mastered fire—at least somewhat—but there’s so much I still don’t know.

  The man straightens. He’s a giant, nearly seven foot. He adjusts his hat, but the brim shadows his face. “No one of import.”

  “Why are you here?” I keep my hidden fire burning.

  “I only wanted to see you for myself.” He takes a step toward me.

  “I wouldn’t if I were you,” I warn. I extinguish the flame and bring my hands forward. Until I learn for sure that he knows who I am—what I am—I can’t risk exposing myself, but I’m confident I can bring it back like that.

  “Pure magic. I can smell it on you.” He sniffs.

  The icy tendril of fear wraps itself around my rapidly beating heart. Only a shaman would sniff like that, like a dog. “Who are you?” I repeat.

  He retreats a step and shoves his hands into his pockets. Although he might have a concealed weapon, I doubt it, and my fright vanishes. “It’s a shame, really.”

  “What is?”

  “You’re being born. It’s against the law of nature for you to even exist. So many will come for you and will try to use you for their gain.”

  “Does that include you?” I thrust my chin toward him.

  He laughs cynically. “My magic has been stripped. I can do you no harm, not that I would.”

  “Who stripped your magic?” I don’t think a shaman could do something like that, and besides, why would one do that to another shaman?

  “A witch.” He spits onto the ground.

  “Why did you come here?” Not that I know how to give him his magic back, if that’s what he wants. Not that I necessarily would either.

  “I want nothing from you. Be careful, Crystal Wynter. They will come for you.”

  “Other shamans?” I press, wanting him to confirm my suspicion.

  “Yes. Witches too. All those who know magic are called to you. There’s no point in running. You can’t hide.” His voice is oddly devoid of emotion. I can’t figure him out.

  “You came to warn me?”

  “I haven’t had any contact with magic for twenty-five seasons now. I only wanted to be in your presence. I’ll go now.” He starts to walk away.

  “Wait. What’s your name?”

  He pauses but doesn’t turn around. “Why? So you can tell your witchy friends?”

  “No. So I can pray for you.”

  The ex-shaman glances back. “Pray?” At my nod, he says, “My name was once Stormtide.” He plods away, as if he doesn’t want to leave my presence.

  I rush back to the porch and open the door. Mom sits on the couch, the television on. “You’re home late.” She holds up her bowl. “I got some ice cream at the store today if you want some.”

  “No thanks.”

  Mom stares at me. “Did something happen?” The lines around her eyes tighten with concern. “Don’t tell me you and Vince are already done?” she asks in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.

  “Nothing like that.” I bite my lower lip.

  “Well then? I’m not a dentist. Don’t make me pull teeth.”

  No more secrets. I sit on the love seat, elbows on my knees, chin resting on my fists. “I just had an interesting conversation with an ex-shaman.”

  “Who? What? Where? When?”

  I give her a small smile. “You should’ve been a reporter.”

  “Crystal.” She glowers and sets her bowl on the coffee table.

  “Eat your ice cream before it turns into soup.” I’m deflecting, and we both know it. “Nothing happened. He just wanted to see me. A witch stripped his magic. He couldn’t have hurt me if he tried.”

  “Magic or no, he could have kidnapped you. People can be dangerous without magic.” Her voice is tight, high-pitched.

  At seven foot, he would have had no problem snatching me if he had wanted to. Maybe I had been a little reckless. “Relax, Mom. Everything’s so confusing.”

  “What’s there to be confused about?” She furrows her brows.

  “We know why the shamans want me, but I don’t trust the witches. I know Silver Tiger’s your friend, but there’s something about her I don’t like. While I think I can rely on Sapphire Belladonna, what about the other witches? I can’t help feeling they want to use me too.”

  Mom’s lips twist into the biggest frown I’ve ever seen. “Always trust your instincts.”

  I hardly hear her. “And then there’s the witch hunter…”

  “What witch hunter?” she all but shrieks.

  Oh, yeah. I never mentioned that to her. Whoops. “Finish your ice cream first.”

  “Stop trying to distract me!” Mom stares at the bowl as if it contains dead spiders instead of chocolate and peanut butter ice cream. She eats the rest of the bowl in two large spoonfuls then slams the bowl onto the coffee table. “There. Now you can’t stall anymore.”

  Here we go. Time to rip off the band aid. “A new student at sc
hool, his dad is a witch hunter. His dog, Calder, also hunts witches.”

  It scares me to see her so frightened. “This witch hunter… have you met him?”

  “Only in my dreams.” I snort and roll.

  “The mugger.” Mom shakes her head. “Wannabe witch,” she mutters. “He knows I’m not a threat. Crystal, I’m your mom. I should be able to protect you from all of this. Maybe he’s right. Maybe we should move away.” She covers her face with her hands.

  Any “advice” Gavin’s father gives I’m gonna ignore. “There’s no point. Wherever we would go, they’ll follow. There’s no escape.”

  She lowers her hands to her lap. “Maybe you working isn’t such a good idea, and you should come home right after school.”

  “Mom, we’ve been over this. I’m working, and there’s nothing you can say that will stop me. And… ah… Vince mentioned there’s an opening at the daycare center where he works, and it doesn’t conflict with the bakery, so… Regardless of all this…” I wave my hands to encompass everything. “I want to live as normal of a life as I can. That’s probably impossible, but I just want to plan the memorial service and figure out what I’m going to wear to prom.”

  “A second… Crystal, even under ideal circumstances, do you really think—”

  “My life isn’t normal, Mom, I know that, but that doesn’t mean I should just run away and hide and not live at all.” She has to understand.

  After a long moment, she sighs. “You won’t give up on this, will you?”

  “No. And you wanted me with Vince for so long, do you really want me to break up with him?”

  Her jaw muscle jumps. “You should be a lawyer,” she mutters. Tears swim in her eyes. “What do we do now?”

  “I practice. You practice. Once you get over your mental block, you should be able to use magic.”

  “A mental block? Who told you that?”

  “Silver Tiger.”

  Mom glares at the window above my head. “She could have told me that years ago.”

  “Now do you see why I don’t like her?” I huff.