Ria's Web of Lies: A Ria Miller Urban Fantasy (Ria Miller and the Monsters Book 1)

by Nigel Henry

  “Thank you,” Mom says as she leans her head on his shoulder. Dad’s still pursing his lips, so I return to my phone. Something tells me I’m going to find out what he’s dreading in just a few minutes. That same something tells me I’m probably not going to like it.

  The car pulls up to our house, a stoic red brick single-family home in East Flatbush. Mom gives us both a kiss before leaving the car, and I pass her the bags of weapons to take inside. It’s standard protocol for us: no use getting pulled over with a bag of knives, batons, and crowbars in the car if you’re not hunting. I’m never really unarmed, anyway, I’ve got a small wooden stake in the sole of my boot. No, it’s not for vampires, they don’t exist. At least, I don’t think they do. The stake’s just in case I need to get through metal detectors to kill something. It wouldn’t be fun, but being caught completely defenseless would be even less fun.

  I slide into the passenger seat and Mom kisses my forehead before she heads in.

  “Can I refuse whatever you’re planning for me?” I ask.

  She smiles and shakes her head no. “I don’t think you’ll want to,” she says as she heads inside. At that Dad steps on the gas and we’re off.

  TEDDY’S IS my favorite burger place in the entire city. It’s run by this guy from Australia, so all of the burgers have silly names like “Matey” and come with extras like fried eggs and stuff. We only come here three or four times a year, usually when we have something to celebrate. Monster kills don't usually count, so obviously, the fact that I’m here tonight makes me suspicious.

  I’m eyeing Dad skeptically as he fumbles with the menu. He’s pretending to still be trying to decide what to eat. I’m tired of this dragging out.

  “How is it that you can ask tough questions to the mayor but you can’t just spit out whatever it is you’re trying to tell me?”

  His face flashes with surprise and then amusement. “Straight and to the point, huh?” he says.

  “What can I say, I’ve got a crime reporter for a father,” I reply. “I hate spin.”

  “All right,” he says finally. “I really wanted to do this with your mother, but here goes: we wanted to talk to you about your senior year of high school.”

  Now it’s my turn to look surprised. That was NOT what I was expecting.

  I’m supposed to be starting my senior year at Kennedy High School in Flatbush next month. But here’s the thing: I hate Kennedy. I hate the stupid depressing metal detectors you have to walk through every morning—you wouldn’t believe how hard it is to sneak a weapon through those. I hate the feeling of hopelessness that floats through there as if everyone expects to either be dead or homeless by twenty-five. I told Mom and Dad I didn’t want to go there back when I started high school, but they said they wanted to keep me close by in case anything ever went bad. Now the only thing that’s gone bad is my education.

  “Okay,” I say slowly. “What about it?”

  Conversation pauses as the waitress comes over with our sodas—a delicious orange soda for me, a disgusting Coke for Dad. We put our orders in and I sip on my soda. He then unfolds a piece of paper from his back pocket. It’s a clipping from the New York Chronicle. I read the headline: THIRD STUDENT GOES MISSING FROM INWOOD HIGH SHCOOL.

  I look up. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve been talking to Perkins,” he says. “The three kids that went missing from this school were straight-A students. Their relatives and friends say they were all the happiest kids around. All of them vanished during the last year, no trace or clue or reason.”

  I look from him to the paper and back as I slowly start to understand what he’s getting at. My neck gets hot as my temper starts to rise. “You want me to transfer to this school so I can check in on missing kids?”

  “You’re always saying that you hate Kennedy,” he says.

  “Yeah, but that’s because it’s a shit-hole where futures go to die. Now you want me to go someplace where futures literally die.”

  “Language,” Dad says.

  “Sorry,” I grumble as I sit back in my chair, arms crossed. The waitress arrives with our burgers, but I’m suddenly not hungry. I glare at Dad from across the table.

  A job. That’s all this is to my parents. They ignored my pleas for three years to leave Kennedy and they’re only listening now because they want me to find out what’s making kids go poof. Listen, I know they say teenagers are chock-full of more hormones than a Perdue chicken, but I don’t think I’m being unreasonable here.

  “Just try it out,” Dad says. “It’s supposed to be a good school. You can stay an extra year and graduate with an associates degree for free.”

  “How is it a good school if people are actually vanishing from it?” I flick my eye back to the newspaper. “And where is Inwood anyway? That sounds like it’s in the Bronx.”

  “Close,” Dad replies. “It’s at the top of Manhattan.”

  “Oh come on!” I slam my soda down in surprise, rattling the table and drawing stares from the folks seated next to us. “Sorry, sorry,” I mouth to everyone around before turning back to Dad. “The top of Manhattan? That’s like an hour-and-a-half away on the train. I’d have to leave at the crack of dawn just to get there on time!”

  “I know,” he says. “That’s why your mother and I have come up with a compromise. And I think you’ll be on board if you stop shouting long enough to actually listen.”

  Well, that’s enough to get me to shut up for a moment. I slink back, holding my soda as he continues.

  “As I was saying, this current outburst aside, your mother and I realize that you’re almost eighteen. And you’ve shown enough maturity these past few months to warrant some extra freedom.”

  “Go on…” I say. What’s he getting at here?

  “What I’m trying to say is that we know getting to school in Inwood would be difficult by train. So, if you’re willing to work with us, transfer to the school, check it out and give it a chance, we’ll give you the Honda.”

  Once again I explode out of my chair, but this time it’s to hug him tightly. “Deal! Thank you, Daddy! I’m in, I’m so in!”

  “Teenagers,” I hear the guy behind me snicker to his friend. I ignore him as I let go of Dad and pick up my burger. All of my anger gone, I take a bite, relishing the taste of beef and eggs and sauce as I picture myself cruising down the street in my very own car. Listen, I don’t care if this is completely at odds with the person who just jumped off a roof to kill a troll, a girl’s gotta be able to dream of something other than monster hunting, right?

  I frown after a moment. “But wait, what will you and Mom drive?”

  “We’ve actually been talking about getting a new car. But the Honda would still be a great starter car for you.”

  I’m taking another bite from my burger when he says his next words. “But here’s the deal: you have to actually give the school a shot. If there really is nothing behind the disappearances, we think it’s a great way to get a head start on your college education. So no complaining, no pouting, no getting in trouble with the principal. You do any of that and the car’s gone. Understand?”

  A bite gets caught in my throat at that. How exactly does he expect me to find whatever’s snatching up these kids without getting in trouble? Parents. Every thing’s so simple to them.

  But it’s fine, for the chance to get my own car, I'll smile while tap dancing to every class. I’m game.

  “Understood,” I say as I take another bite.

  TWO

  “OKAY,” I say aloud as I close the car door, “I'm giving this a shot. This is me giving it a shot. Holy shit is that a castle?”

  It was a castle. That’s the first thing you need to know about the High School for Technical Innovation: it’s a freaking castle set right in the middle of a Manhattan street. Well, actually, it looks like it's only half a castle. From what I can see there’s two parts to the building: one side is all old stone and castle-y, and the other is ugly yellow brick and green-paint
ed metal. It looks like someone built a castle only to realize they needed more space. They then said to themselves: “You know what would go good with this? Something unrelated and shitty looking.”

  I’m still staring at the school building as I lock the car. True to their word, my parents gave me the Honda a few days before the first day of school, and believe me when I say that driving is better than jumping off any roof or killing any monster. Except when there’s traffic. Traffic sucks. And parallel parking. That also sucks.

  Anyway, my folks lived up their end of the bargain, so I suppose it’s my turn. I keep that in mind as I give my book bag a once-over for any stray knives or slingshots before throwing it over my shoulder and heading across the street and up the steps into the building.

  The metal detectors are the next thing you notice about the school. I sigh when I see them; I guess it was too much to hope for a school without weapons screenings.

  There’s four of them right after the front doors, along with about a dozen security staff running everyone’s stuff though scanners and padding us down. Of course, four metal detectors aren’t enough to deal with the crush of kids trying to enter the building, so of course, several lines are forming. I sigh as I settle in at the back of the longest one, some forty people deep. I then turn my attention back to the scanners and the security guards. If a monster really is snatching up students then I’m probably going to need something more dangerous than the thin wooden stake in my shoe to kill it. That means I’m going to have to get real familiar with the school’s security patterns.

  I watch as students run their bags through a conveyor belt, just like in an airport. I can’t see if those are x-ray scanners, but I’d have to assume they are. So that means no knives or slingshots are going in the bag. This could get tough, I might have to sneak my gear in through the roof. That would mean finding a tall enough building nearby and—

  The girl ahead of me huffs and turns to me. She looks Latino, with light brown skin, brown eyes, and straight black hair that comes down to her back. She’s dressed casually in a pink tank top, blue jeans, and sneakers. Unlike a lot of the other girls here she’s not wearing any makeup, so she looks a bit out of place. Then again, I guess I do too.

  “Three years and they still can’t figure this shit out,” she groans. “Can you believe it?”

  I feign a smile. “I wouldn’t know. It’s my first day.”

  She looks me up and down as if I’ve got a third head. “What do you mean ‘first day’? You mean someone actually chose to transfer into this hell hole?”

  Well, that’s certainly the kind of thing you want to hear on the first day of your senior year at a new school. “Guess so. Is it always this bad?”

  “Oh sweetie, this is a good day,” the girl says. “The weather’s nice and everyone’s in a good mood for the start of the year. Just wait till finals in December. You’ll wish for today.”

  “Good to know.”

  “So which school are you in?”

  “Excuse me?”

  I can tell I said the wrong thing by the way the girl’s eyes go wide. She then gestures at three banners: One for my school, Technical Innovation, two others for the Inwood Institute and JHS 641.

  “There’s three schools here?” I ask. My dad sure forgot to mention that.

  The girl’s polite enough not to laugh in my face. “Boy, you are new. You don’t look like you’re 13, so I’m going to guess you’re not in middle school. So that leaves the Institute and Tech. Which one are you in?”

  “Technical Innovation,” I say, and this time the girl does laugh.

  “No one calls it that except guidance counselors and the superintendent,” she says. “Everyone else calls it Tech. I’m in Tech too.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Ariana.”

  “Ria,” I say as I shake her hand.

  “That’s so cool,” the girl says, “My folks call me ‘Ria’ too. What’s your name short for?”

  Oh, God, that question.

  I feel myself blushing as I stammer out: “Just Ria.” I’ll set fire to an entire army of revenants before I ever have to say my full name.

  The girl’s smile fades before she notices something behind me and waves. “Will! Over here!”

  I barely have time to react before a tall white boy comes barreling past me to sweep Ariana up in a hug. She squeals until he puts her down and I look away, expecting them to kiss or something. Instead, Ariana gestures over to me. “Will, this is Ria, she’s new at Tech.”

  Will smiles as he waves and says "Hey" and I feel my heart thump a bit. I have to admit, he’s a little cute. He’s got one of those Disney prince faces, along with deep blue eyes, short black hair and really adorable freckles. I catch myself wishing he would pick me up.

  Focus Ria, you’re here for a job. And an education.

  “I haven’t seen you around the neighborhood,” Will notes. “You just move here?”

  “Oh no, I live in Brooklyn.”

  “Brooklyn?” Ariana's eyes bulge, and I wonder if literally everything surprises this girl. “Why the hell are you here then?”

  I shrug. “It got my parents to give me a car.” Technically it’s not a lie at all. I love not having to lie.

  “Whoa, you’ve got a car?” Will says before slinging his arms around me and Ariana. My heart races in my chest from his touch. “Listen, don’t let that get out," he says. "You don’t want too many people hitting you up for rides. Ariana and I will keep your secret safe.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I say, suddenly imagining that Will’s going to be the one hitting me up for rides.

  Ariana continues to play twenty questions until we mercifully get to the metal detector. Going through isn’t airport-level bad. I step through the scanner and then they sweep the little handheld one over me. I get through and I’m already forming a plan to get my slingshot past when Ariana pops up next to me like an energetic squirrel.

  “So what’s your first class?”

  “Dunno. I didn’t get a schedule in the mail.”

  “That means you’ll need to pick it up from the main office. Follow me.”

  She starts leading me away from security and Will catches up a moment later. I’ve gotta say this building is a little disappointing. There’s no castle feel inside, just the same bland white tiled floor of every other city school. Its even got a thick black line running down the middle as if they expect us to stay to one side while walking. Dark blue lockers line the hallway, broken up by the occasional brown classroom door or brightly decorated bulletin board. I wonder which locker is mine, and I wonder if I can get away with hiding my slingshot in there. Probably not.

  Ariana points to a set of blue double doors that open to a stairwell. “We’re on the fourth and fifth floors,” she says. “The first three belong to 641. The Institute gets the top two floors.”

  I groan. “There’s no elevator?”

  “For the teachers there is,” Will answers. I groan again as I trudge up the stairs to the fourth floor. Ariana and Will point the way to the main office, where I meet a friendly looking red-headed secretary. She passes me my schedule, although I have to speak my first name to make it happen.

  I start looking over the classes, but then my eye is drawn to pictures of three kids hanging from the back wall of the office. They all look around my age, two girls and one boy. The two girls look Latino, the boy’s Black. There’s a banner above the pictures that reads “NEVER FORGOTTEN.”

  I try to keep my face blank as I bring up the subject. “What happened to them?”

  The secretary’s smile fades. “You know, I wish I knew.”

  “It’s like that?” I ask, playing dumb.

  The woman bites her lip as if she’s looking for the right thing to say, before shaking her head. “Let’s not worry about that. It’s such a beautiful day. Now head to class, M—”

  “Okay, thanks! Bye!” I say, interrupting her before she can finish her sentence.

  I’m still thinking about the miss
ing kids as I walk out of the office. I didn’t expect this school to be split into three—really, who thinks it's a good idea to cram three schools into one building? But it looks like the students all went to Tech. That means I can narrow down my search to just these two floors. Maybe.

  Ariana and Will are waiting for me outside. “What’s your first period?” Ariana asks.

  I look down at my schedule. “AP Biology. Looks like my teacher’s named Birch.”

  Will grins.“You’re in AP? We are too. Come on, we’ll walk you.”

  He sprints off before I can reply and Ariana rolls her eyes. “He’s just excited to get there early so he can drool over Ms. Birch. Boys are so stupid.”

  I shrug and follow, trying my best to give non-answers to Ariana’s never-ending stream of questions.

  We’re among the first to arrive at the classroom. It’s set up like a lab, with three really long black tables facing the teacher’s desk and the whiteboard. There's a sink at either end of the tables and a bunch of tanks and beakers in the back. I start to head to the back—hey, I like science, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit in the front of the class—when Ariana tugs my arm.

  “Eww, don’t go back there,” she says. “That’s near the spider tank.” I follow her eyes and spot a tank that looks like it’s got four to five big hairy spiders in it. I fight back the shudder that threatens to snake its way down my spine and then sit in the second row.

  No, I don’t like spiders. Yes, I can burn a corpse and yet spiders still freak me out. Give me a break, who said I wasn't allowed to have contradictions? And what do you want from me; they've got eight legs and they're hairy. It's gross.

  Ms. Birch walks in and Will snaps to attention. I can see why: She’s hot, with long, brown hair, silky legs, a thin waist and dark brown eyes hidden behind a pretty sweet pair of blue cat-eye glasses. She’s wearing a pencil skirt and heels today, and I think I see Will drool as he looks her up and down.

  Ariana slaps him in the back of the head. “Close your fucking mouth and stop being gross,” she snarls.