by Becca Fox
He made a choking sound and clamped his mouth shut.
I turned back to Allan, who wasn’t smirking anymore. “I have a tattoo but it’s on my shoulder. Sorry to disappoint. I ain’t easy either. Stop giving me skeezy looks.” This comment I aimed at Winston, who scowled. “Yes, I smoke and I drink, but I ain’t hanging with people I don’t like so don’t bother inviting me to any of your lame-ass parties.” I tapped a finger against my chin and pretended to think about it. “Hmm…What else? Oh, yeah.” I leaned in until I was nose to nose with Allan. “Apologize to my friend and get the hell outta here.”
The trio stood there and gaped at me for a second before everything I’d said registered in their little brains.
Allan shoved me away, his face contorted in rage. “What the hell is your problem? All we wanted to do was talk!”
“You’ve talked. Now go.”
Cole stepped forward. “Do you even know who you’re talking to?”
I gasped. “Are your mommy and daddy on the school board? My bad. I didn’t know you were so much better than me. I’m sorry. By all means, keep objectifying me and treating my friend like shit.”
“If you think we won’t beat the shit out of you because you’re a girl, you’re wrong!” Winston snarled.
I tried to hold in a laugh and ended up blowing a raspberry. “You’re a real man now, ain’t ya?”
Winston grabbed my arm. I reached into my bra with my free hand and whipped out the switchblade. Charlie was there before I could slice a chunk out of Winston’s nose. He shoved me aside and slugged Winston across the face. I hit the concrete, switchblade flying. Winston went down, but Cole and Allan were on Charlie in a second. Allan shoved Charlie back. Charlie fell down hard over the bench, ball cap sailing into the library wall behind him. Cole rushed at Charlie, but Charlie kicked Cole’s knee out the second he was in range.
Cole screamed and crumpled to the ground. Charlie was on his feet again and ready to face off with Allan. Winston stood and came to Allan’s rescue. I scrambled up from the sidewalk and leapt onto Winston’s back. He almost lost his balance but stayed standing somehow. He twisted from left to right, reaching behind him and grabbing a fistful of lace. I lost my grip along with my zipper and came sliding down Winston’s back. As he whipped around, he elbowed me in the mouth. I stumbled back with a shout of pain but I wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot. I lunged back into the fight.
* * *
Chapter 12
Charles
Any other day and the scene laid out before me might have been funny. Dean Jackson sat behind his desk, a bear of a man that barely fit into his suit. He looked like a Terry Crews doppelganger. Allan, Cole, Winston, Esmer, and I sat in chairs across from him. The two campus security guards who had escorted us into the office were guarding the door somewhere behind us.
“It’s his fault. He punched Winston,” Allan shouted, jabbing a finger in my direction.
Esmer lowered the ice pack from her lip. “Only because Winston grabbed me.” She turned to the dean. “Charlie was just trying to protect me. I’m sure he never would’ve gotten involved if—”
“But you started it!” Winston insisted. “We were being perfectly nice to you and then—”
“Perfectly nice?” Esmer jumped to her feet. “You called my friend a psycho!”
“’Cause that’s what he is and everybody knows it,” Cole whimpered, still holding onto his knee, which had been wrapped in a bandage by the school nurse earlier.
“Enough!” Dean Jackson raised his voice to say. “Everyone be quiet. Sit down, Esmeralda.”
Esmer fell back into her chair and raised the ice pack to her lip again, still staring daggers at Allan.
Dean Jackson addressed the campus security guards. “Were there any witnesses?”
“Yes, sir,” one of the guards said. “A girl exiting the library said she saw Campbell throw the first punch.”
“Ha!” Allan said, making a face at Esmer.
“But the same girl also said Esmeralda was on the ground when Charles threw the punch. She could only assume Esmeralda had been assaulted first.”
“Assaulted?” Winston twisted around to glare at the guard. “I barely touched her.”
“And only because she provoked him,” Allan quickly added.
Dean Jackson gave Winston a severe look. “Are you incapable of ignoring a careless jab, Mr. Singer?”
Winston crossed his arms and sagged into his seat.
Esmer smirked but hastily dropped it when the dean turned his fierce gaze on her. “I’ve heard enough complaints from your teachers to know you have a smart mouth. These boys should’ve had the willpower to walk away from you, but you shouldn’t have gone looking for a fight.”
“I didn’t! They approached us with all their attitude and pervy misconceptions. Charlie and I were just eating our lunch and minding our own business.” Esmer turned to the guards as if asking for help. “Ain’t there any witnesses who can corroborate that?”
“You could’ve just answered our questions like a normal person and we would’ve walked away,” Allan snapped.
“Yeah,” Esmer said with a snort. “Okay.”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear any more out of you two.” Dean Jackson turned to me. “Campbell, you’re being awfully quiet. What’s your side of this story?”
I shrugged and stared down at my shoes, keeping the ice bag pressed to my nose. I felt Esmer’s eyes burning holes into the side of my face. If she expected me to defend myself, she was going to be disappointed.
The dean stared at me for a little while longer and then sighed. “Fine. You leave me no choice.” He glanced at Allan, Winston, and Cole. “For your parents’ sake, I won’t hand this over to local authorities. Charles will be suspended for two weeks.”
“What?” Esmer shrieked.
“And the rest of you will serve fifty hours of community service here on campus,” Jackson continued, causing added shouts of protest. “The next time you decide to behave like children, I’ll be involving the police. Dismissed.” He nodded at the campus security guys who stepped forward to herd us out of the room.
Cole shuffled back into the nurse’s office. Allan and Winston elbowed past me, stalked around the receptionist’s desk, and shouldered through the front office exit. I tossed the melted bag of ice into the trash can and tentatively touched my nose.
Esmer marched after me and snagged my arm once we were in the hallway. “You just sat there and let them walk all over you. Suspension? Come on! You don’t deserve that! Why didn’t you fight?”
I shrugged out of her grip. “Well, since that’s what got me into trouble in the first place—”
She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, so now you’ve got something smart to say?”
“You guessed right earlier. Allan’s mom and Winston’s dad are on the school board. I’m the freak, a nobody. Whose side did you think the dean was going to take? Doesn’t matter what actually happened. There was nothing I could’ve said or done to change the dean’s decision.” I spotted a dribble of blood on the hem of my shirt and groaned. “Great. Jasmine’s going to be pissed.”
“Unbelievable,” Esmer said. “The guy cares more about his Goddamned shirt than being suspended. You’re already in trouble with your uncle, ain’t ya?”
I laughed. “Yeah. So what? It’s not like I have extracurricular activities or an amazing social life that’ll be hurt by my double grounding. Worst case scenario? You don’t get to meet my sister until next month.” I did jazz hands and tilted my head to the side. “Bummer!”
Esmer glared at me for a second. Finally, she exhaled. “Fine. You don’t care, I don’t care. Jesus, why do I even bother?”
“You’re welcome,” I said when it looked like she was going to march off.
She spun back around to face me, her book bag swinging wildly. “I’m sorry, what?”
“If I hadn’t punched Winston, he’d have a knife in his face right now and you’d be in ja
il. So, you’re welcome.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said with a snarl.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
Esmer gave me the finger and walked away.
I tugged the skateboard from my backpack and rolled it onto the sidewalk. I was going to step onto it and let it take me off campus when the vision hit me. Fresh pain blossomed around my nose as the world around me faded. Suddenly, I was underwater, watching a child in an overturned inner tube, struggling to right himself. He must’ve been strapped in or something because he couldn’t get free of the plastic tube no matter how hard he thrashed. He screamed but nobody seemed to be nearby.
Steadily, his flailing limbs began to weaken. His face grew slack. The stream of bubbles coming from his lips lessened until his eyes slid closed. Then someone was diving into the water, grabbing the child’s arms and pulling him up. The boy was torn out of the inner tube and laid on the ground before someone performed CPR. He was spitting up water and gasping as the vision ended.
Then I was on the ground on all fours, gasping for breath myself. My skateboard rolled lazily away from me at the end of the hallway. Staggering to my feet, I quickly looked around to be sure no one had seen. New blood dribbled down my lips. I wiped it away and dashed after my skateboard with my heart in my throat.
◆◆◆
My uncle found me on the couch, watching a documentary on killer whales and chomping on some Captain Crunch cereal. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat down next to me and stared at the TV.
Jasmine had pelted me with questions as soon as I’d stepped out of the elevator, but had given up trying to get answers from me after a few minutes of the silent treatment. She and Anthony sat in their “school” corner now, their heads bent over a chemistry textbook and a few sheets of lined paper.
“What happened to your nose?” Uncle Victor asked as if he didn’t already know.
“Some guy slugged me at lunch.”
“Why?”
“Because I hit his best friend.”
“Why?” he patiently repeated.
“Because he threatened my friend.”
“I see.”
Silence.
I spooned more cereal into my mouth and waited.
“The dean said you’re suspended for two weeks.”
I finished chewing and lowered the bowl onto my lap. “Sorry.”
“This friend of yours,” Uncle Victor said. “Does she happen to have red hair?”
“Technically it’s red-orange, but whatever.”
He turned away from the TV to purse his lips at me. “Should I be concerned?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to be jumping to her defense again anytime soon.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m oddly proud that you have a friend to defend”—I scowled up at him. He made me sound so lame—“but this girl is starting to sound more and more like trouble. I can’t help wondering if you’re better off friendless.”
“Yeah.” I turned back to the TV. “Me too.”
Jasmine rose from her desk, drawing both of our gazes. She was trembling in rage, her nostrils flared, as she stared at us.
“Nobody is better off friendless, Uncle Vic. I should know,” she said through stiff lips. “Charlie’s been alone for too long. You all have!” She made a sweeping gesture that included her doctor and tutor. “What do you do? You work, you take care of me, and you hang out in here where it’s quiet and safe and convenient. You use our abnormal situation as an excuse to shut out the rest of the world, including people who care about you.”
Anthony shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“I may not have a choice in the matter, but the three of you do.” She waved a hand at me. “Live a little more! Get into trouble. Keep talking to people. Find out what you like and what you don’t like. Experience.” She scowled at Uncle Victor, who cringed into the couch. “Date. Hang out with other detectives when you’re not on the clock. Visit your family for heaven’s sake. When’s the last time you saw your mother?”
“Well, I—”
“And you,” Jasmine said, spinning around to glower at Anthony. “You wonderful, selfless man; how could you give up your life for me? I’m so thankful I want to cry whenever I look at you, but I’ve never been angrier in my entire life. Fight for your family, dammit! I know you still love Georgina. Those boys need you more than every other weekend. Would you make amends and steal her away from that worthless fiancé of hers already?”
Uncle Victor and I both sat up. “Fiancé?”
Anthony sighed. “Jasmine—”
She held out a hand. “You all need to forget about me and start taking care of yourselves. What happens the day I don’t come back from the dead? What will you have then? Nothing!” Her voice cracked.
Then she burst into tears and the rest of us rose from our seats, reaching out to her, offering words of comfort.
She backed away from us, summoning another reproachful look even through her tears. “There’s something really wrong with this family and it has nothing to do with the curse.” She stumbled over to the bathroom and slammed the door.
We stood there and stared at each other, two grown men and a guy with a broken nose, thoroughly scolded.
Then the door flew open. Jasmine poked her head out. “Charlie, if you stop talking to Esmer, I’ll never forgive you!” Then she slammed the door again.
February 25th, 1934
Hungary this time of year was once pleasant but the world has changed. We’ve seen wars. Many huge and many insignificant battles in the records of history. They all tend to run together. One massive blurry vision of gore, fear, and destruction. But this is different. Wars are fought for land, people, freedom, enslavement. These massacres done simply from hate are just—there are no words to express it. It’s spreading through Europe, perverting the land we once loved so much. Chaos, devastation, ruin. It is no wonder the whole world is in an uproar over the injustice. I cannot bear it.
We are fleeing yet again. It is nigh impossible to leave the country, but fortunately for us, we do not fear Death. She did make us a promise, one we are living to the greatest capacity. We are heading first to Africa, then Mexico, and eventually back to America. It would seem America is the safest place to be at the moment. But time changes everything and we will return someday, when Europe heals and reverts to its original beauty. Although, no one and nothing reverts. There is no going back from any decision once made.
The paragon of this truth: our immortal brethren. We still tremble at the thought of meeting them. For three immortal couples the world is too small. We could find each other on any given day and it would not be unexpected. But what choice do we have? Stand and fight? Against our own kind? The thought makes me ache. I have no doubt we could if necessary and it may very well come to that. I still pray it never will. But never and forever are both figures of very long periods of time. We have no control over time. But we have control over ourselves. We still have the power to run or stand, fight or fly, destroy or be destroyed. And no one, not even Death, can take my Dymeka away from me.
* * *
Chapter 13
Esmeralda
Aunt Dinah didn’t talk to me the entire drive home. I told her what actually happened—as opposed to whatever version of the story she’d been told by the dean—and proceeded to rant about the injustice of small school politics until my throat hurt. Then I joined her in stony silence. Once we’d arrived at her mansion, we marched up to our respective bedrooms. I spent the next hour pacing, running my hands through my hair, cursing, and missing my afternoon smoke. It literally hurt my insides.
The more I paced, the warmer I felt. The more I thought about my cigarettes, the more my hands tingled, like they were falling asleep. I shook them out at my sides but it didn’t help. Suddenly, I was coughing. Once I started, I couldn’t seem to stop. I almost threw up. After yanking the window open, I leaned out. It would be easier to clean vomit off the shingles th
an my carpet. I stayed there, with half of my body hanging out the window, taking big gulps of city air, staring at the grassy front yard below. I wasn’t pissed at Charlie for not defending himself or at Dean Jackson for going so easy on the three douche bags.
I was furious with the nicotine for making me feel like shit. I had allowed myself to get addicted to it. And now I was paying the price. When I was sure I wasn’t going to throw up, I leaned back into the house. Then I left the room and went hunting for the cleaning supplies. Maybe chores could distract me from how terrible I felt.
Today’s assignment was the third and final guest bedroom. It had a pair of twin beds, a small closet with a sliding door, and a long dresser planted below the window. Unlike the other two, this room’s thick layer of dust seemed to have been disturbed. I could barely make out a series of footprints over the white carpet. They trailed around the room, leading to the rumpled blankets on the beds and the dresser—some of the drawers of which hadn’t been closed all the way—and to the closet’s door. Aunt Dinah must’ve been searching for abandoned family memorabilia so she could hide it somewhere else. Somewhere I wouldn’t find it.
I was tempted to be annoyed. She’d made it painfully clear that she wouldn’t be answering any of my questions. Did she think I was stupid enough to go to her again if I found anything that used to belong to a member of her family?
Mostly, though, I was intrigued. What was she trying so hard to hide? What happened between her and the rest of her family? Where was the rest of her family? How exactly had she ended up being the owner of this manor?
I came up with potential theories as I worked, each more far-fetched than the last. But they were distracting me from the horrible coughing and stomach cramps, so I rolled with it. Once the carpet had been vacuumed, the furniture surfaces dusted, and the window cleaned, I carted the bed sheets and curtains downstairs. Aunt Dinah sat in her chair, knitting and watching her show. That woman kept to her schedule like a drill sergeant.