On the Verge (A Charmed Life Book 1)

by Joseph Bonis

  “I noticed you, girl. I noticed you - you're fine,” said the one she had looked at, a white boy with dirty blond hair. “I could feel you, baby. Blocks away, yo hotness called to me.”

  The other boys chuckled. “Thought he was crazy,” said one of them.

  “Wanna go ride the tornado?” asked the first boy of her, grinning, and she feared he wouldn't take 'no' for an answer.

  They closed in around her, and it seemed the mists were closing in around them, too, heightening the unreal element of the whole situation. It felt like a dream, like a fantasy, as if it didn't exist. It wasn't happening, not to her. Please, not to her!

  They were reaching out to her, and it was like there were more than four – dozens of assailants, all reaching out to her - she couldn't face them all.

  Then a shadow fell across her eyes, fell across the boys. Just a shadow that flicked past, nothing more, but when the shadow flicked past the face of one of the thugs, that boy's face snapped to the side as if he had been struck, complete with the meaty sound of impact.

  The sound was so far away, delayed, as if she was watching the events from a great distance. The shadow flickered rapidly over the boys around her, striking them, pushing them aside, scattering them, sending them fleeing into the mists except for one which was battered down to the ground as the others ran, fled, were gone, into the mist, past the concrete corners of buildings, down the street, even their voices disappearing as they fled the shadow that was now also gone.

  No, another shadow came from the mists, except this one was man-sized and it wasn't flitting, it was walking, walking out of the mists and resolving into that young Native American man, the one that had been following her, and now she recognized that he had also been the one at the supermarket, the one that had seemed so confused, as if he had recognized her.

  He looked at her, eyebrows lifting. “Huh,” he said in surprise, “I would have thought it was you, not him.” She didn't understand a word he was saying. The words were English, but they didn't make any sense, put together.

  He leaned over the groaning boy, the one she had focused on, the blond-haired boy she imagined had made the ground shake with each step. The man shook his head and picked up something from next to the boy, looking at it. “Huh,” he said, again. “Earth.”

  What was he talking about?

  “Well, I guess that's that,” he said. He reached out his hand, and shadows came from the darkness to flit around him like they had flit around the boys, but instead of attacking they settled into his palm, formed into a overly large knife.

  “Ah,” said Tracy, finally understanding. “I'm asleep.” She knew she was asleep - this didn't happen awake - but still she was terrified, terrified of what had almost happened, terrified of a man with a knife of solid shadow. A thrill, despite the terror, moved deep inside her, and the mists reached out for the coalescing shadows and scattered them, tearing them apart, tossing them away.

  The Native American man looked at her in shock. “You are!” he exclaimed in amazement.

  There was a weight on her wrist, a light weight, but unfamiliar, and when she looked it was a charm bracelet, gleaming silver in the light filtering through the mists, with a single round charm hanging from it. She had no idea where it had come from.

  “Let me see that!” he exclaimed, reaching forward for her wrist. She reacted without thinking, her muscles moving before her brain even realized what was happening. She grabbed his elbow, grabbed his hand, the hand that had a dagger of shadow in it just moments ago, and gave it a twist and a push, pulling the wrist down, pushing the elbow up, against its joint, twisted awkwardly for the man, centimeters from breaking his elbow, making him dance in pain at the end of her grip.

  He was shouting something, something she couldn't quite understand. She doubted he knew exactly what he was shouting, himself, but it sounded something like an apology, something like a surrender, and she let him go. He fell back, clutching at his arm, amazed at the pain that had almost receded but not quite. She knew from experience the arm would be sore, a memory of pain running up and down it and into his brain, a memory of helplessness that would be even more terrible than the pain, the knowledge that she could have done anything to him.

  For herself, she had never used it to quite that extent before, used it on someone who hadn't expected it already, and the fear in his eyes, the fear of someone being hit with that when they hadn't been expecting it, that scared her. It scared her what she could have done.

  The small metal … whatever … that the Native American man had taken from the thug shimmered and lifted into the air from where he had dropped it in the disabling pain Tracy had inflicted on him. It floated in front of her, spinning slowly in the light refracted through the mists.

  “Awwww, geeeeze,” groaned the man. “I just won that!” He sighed and gestured at her. “Go on, take it.”

  Tracy wasn't sure what else to do. The small metal diamond floated there, glittering, majestic despite its simple shape, as majestic as only those things that defy the laws of physics can be. It just … hung there in mid-air, as if thumbing its nose at the universe, waiting for her to claim it.

  So she did.

  Her fingers closed slowly around the smooth, cool metal, and it shifted and grew a little smaller in her palm, shrinking a bit in size until, she noticed, it was the same size as the one on the mystery bracelet about her wrist.

  “What do I do with it?” she whispered. Somewhere in the back of her brain, the screaming heebie jeebies threatened to send her running, shrieking, down the street from this violation of reality, but there was also a childlike sense of wonder that was shouting over the panic. This is awesome!

  “You use it. I guess you clip it onto your … charm bracelet? And keep it for when you need it.” He looked down as Nameless licked lightly at his wrist, looking concernedly up at him, then walked over to twine around Tracy's ankles.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, even as her hands followed his suggestion. The charm was a small diamond marked with a jagged line suggesting a mountain. She thought of what he had said when he picked it up. Earth. The tremors as the boy walked. What if it wasn't her imagination? It was impossible, of course, but … but then, it had been floating in mid-air, waiting for her to take it. Impossible was relative just at the moment. The charm that was already there had the shape of a cat's head, and had two different sigils on it. One was soft curving wisps, suggesting a cloud … perhaps air … while the other side had a trio of wavy lines that could only mean water.

  “It's a token. It's concentrated magic. Congratulations, you're in the secret group of people who can't live a normal life because these things popped in on us,” he grumbled bitterly. “Look, I'll be happy to answer all your questions and fill you in on what's going on, but can we get out of the cold and wet? This weather's quite impossible. Is your place nearby?”

  Tracy stared at him. The man was so casual about this, so casual despite having just been in a fight - two fights, actually, one won and one lost…

  “No …” she murmured, softly, those panicky jitters suddenly swelling up.

  “Ah, rats, well, then-” he began to reply as he picked himself up off the concrete.

  “NO!” she cried, louder, and her feet were moving, fleeing, running, trying to escape the weirdness that she knew was already jingling around her wrist. Trying to escape the violence that had occurred, the violence that could have occurred, fleeing into the mists that closed tightly behind her and followed after her, muffling her footsteps and sealing her from sight. But most of all, she was running to try to get away from the part that had thrilled in the adventure of it, and wanted to find out more.

  She managed to run all the way to her apartment complex. The mist disappeared as she fiddled with the stuck lock, feeling about ready to scream as she nervously worked with it until finally the door clicked open. Nameless bounded in through the door quickly, avoiding her feet and leading her up the stairs to her apartment.
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br />   She was so glad that she had forgotten to open up the window, because right now she didn't want to deal with cold. She dialed up the heat and stripped out of her clothes, hurrying into the shower.

  The water was warm, soothing, cleansing. She stayed under the hot water until her fingers started to prune and she worried the steam would set off the fire alarm. The water sluiced off her, stealing away the nervousness, stealing away the stress, until the adrenaline finally wore off and the exhaustion that took over drove out everything else from her mind.

  She stepped out of the shower into the steam-filled bathroom, wrapping one towel around her hair, and using the second, larger towel to dry off the rest of her. The charm bracelet was lying in a metallic heap on the corner of the counter, glinting teasingly at her. She glared at it fiercely.

  “I'll figure you out later,” she muttered sullenly. “I am not ready for this tonight. I need a good night's sleep.”

  She curled up in her bed, pulled the blankets over her, and let out a deep sigh as she tried to go to sleep. She let out a small smile as Nameless curled up on the pillow next to her, one tiny paw resting on Tracy's shoulder, as every other night. “I'm so glad you're here,” she murmured to the cat. “Something normal and peaceful.”

  She thought it'd take a long time to fall asleep, but the exhaustion kicked her quickly into a fitful slumber.

  “Poor thing,” said Nameless softly, standing up to lick her face lightly as she slept. “But you'll be all right.”

  Chapter 3: Learning

  Tracy slowly stirred from her slumber with the impression that it had been a very long night. She had vague memories of waking up and going back to sleep, uncertain how much of it was real, and how much of it was the terribly frustrating dream of being awake and trying to sleep.

  Her nose wrinkled as a truly foul stench insinuated itself upon her consciousness, the coughing fit bringing her to struggle with her tightly wrapped blankets as she came fully awake. Something, somewhere, was scorched, and her brain relegated the latter part of last night to the same realm that dreams go, ignoring it for the moment to remind her that in her distraction, she had never taken the pot of soup off the stove.

  Half falling out of bed, Tracy stumbled a moment before her body caught up with her intent, her knees slow to support her weight. She caught herself with a hand on the corner of her dresser as Nameless let out an annoyed yowl and hiss. Recovering quickly, she ignored Nameless and hurried to the kitchen, finding the soup to be completely ruined. It had reduced itself to a brown-orange goo taking up half as much pot as it should have, the higher sides of the pot caked with burnt remains of the soup as it had receded and simmered away over the night.

  “Oh, come on!” Tracy cried in frustration, the minor mistake and wasted food just heightening the stress she had been feeling last night. Besides, that was a good recipe, and had come out nicely. Sighing, she turned off the stove to let the 'soup' cool a bit, pulling out a pair of paper grocery bags and three plastic grocery bags, lining them all inside each other so she could pour, scoop, and scrape the sludge into it without worrying about the bottom of the bag giving out.

  Hoping that she hadn't ruined her good soup pot, she set it in the sink and filled it with water to soak. She threw on a pair of jeans and tucked her nightshirt into the waist, then slipped her feet into a pair of slippers. Closing up the top of the layered bags, she made her quick way out back to the dumpster, glad that everyone was still asleep. Normally, she would never head out of the apartment looking as much of a mess as she was, but she really needed to get this stuff out of her apartment so she could start getting rid of the stink.

  She hated the dumpster. It always smelled like rot and filth and disease, a truly horrible funk that always assaulted her nose. Holding her breath as much as possible, she threw the bag into the dumpster with a sickening splat and the clanking of metal and glass as the trash already in the dumpster shifted around from the impact.

  A sudden impression of being watched struck her, and she spun around nervously, her hands up defensively before her. No one was there, and she quietly murmured, “Just my imagination,” to herself, only half believing it as she stepped back inside, keeping a wary eye up and down the alley.

  When she got back inside, she went right to the sink, scrubbing down at the caked on, burnt soup. She got off a good layer, then refilled the pot with more soap and water to soak some more.

  “Ugh,” she groaned softly, her nose wrinkling lightly as she considered the wretched smell throughout the apartment. One by one, she opened every window in the apartment, then remembered to turn off the heat. The cold infiltrated the apartment rapidly behind her, and the living room was chilly once more when she got back there. She went back to the sink and took another layer off the burnt soup, then filled it up for yet another soak.

  She then took a smaller pot and filled it up most of the way with water, then added a cup or so of vinegar to the mixture. She turned the stove on low, so that the watered vinegar would slowly heat up and disperse through the kitchen and apartment. It would stink for a little bit, but the vinegar scent would go away, taking the burnt smell with it, and on the low temperature the pot wouldn't run out before she got back from class.

  A glance at the time made her sigh. If she didn't hurry up, she was going to be late. She walked back to her room and paused at the bathroom door, looking in at the charm bracelet laying there on the counter, an intruder in her life, unexpected, unreal, but solid.

  Air … scents were air. Could that bracelet … Her apartment …

  No. That was ridiculous.

  She went to her bedroom and pulled her gym bag out of the closet, filling it with her keiko gi and her smaller toiletries bag.

  “I'll be back,” she said to Nameless, tossing the bag's strap over her shoulder. “I need focus of mind.”

  Tracy was very quiet as she sat on the bus, caught up on her own thoughts. Normally she would have enjoyed people-watching, seeing all the assorted different folk that were riding with her, making up stories about who they were and what they were doing, but today her thoughts turned inwards and back to last night, though they skittered away every time they approached the worst of it.

  She very nearly missed her stop, and it was only because the driver recognized her and reminded her that she got off at the right place. “Thanks, Gus!” she called as she hopped off, the bus door creaking loudly as it shut behind her.

  It was a business area, with rows of bland glass-fronted stone buildings lining a cracked and slightly heaving sidewalk. A few blocks away the road opened up and gained a green median, but here the street was rather tight, without even parking spaces along it. Some people might have thought it somewhat run down, but Tracy knew many of the people around here, and knew that it had character and a strong community. The central intersection still had cobblestones from a past era, and behind these bland store fronts were hidden decades-old buildings with some very nice internal architecture.

  She walked down the street, her blue and white gym bag slung over her shoulder, breathing in the fresh air. It held a hint of something, something she hadn't smelled for months. Was that Spring? She hoped it wasn't her imagination, but the day seemed downright pleasant, warm enough so that she opened up the front of her puffy jacket and let the air in. There was that faint scent of energy that seemed to sing that Spring was right around the corner, and it helped to lift her frazzled spirits. By the time she left class, the day would likely have warmed up enough that she could go without the coat, though it'd be a little chilly.

  After two blocks, she reached the building she was looking for. Unimpressive to look at, its sign was a bland black-and-white plaque that simply read “Aikido,” alongside some kanji which she assumed also said “Aikido.” Several small plants lined the window, including a few bonsai. She opened up the door and climbed the four stairs up into the raised store area, breathing deeply of the incense and greenery and richly polished wood that rushed to greet her sense
s like a welcoming friend.

  The stairs were worn in the center, faded, though the corners of the stairs still bore most of the rich polish of years ago. The window sill upon which the plants rested also was old, cracks showing along the grain here and there, but it was richly polished and sealed to protect against splinters. The front area was very cramped, no more than a token presence walled off from the rest of the school with folding dividers painted with stereotypical Chinese landscapes. A few simple wooden chairs and some magazines and martial arts supply catalogs were piled on the one end table along with two small wooden chairs.

  Tracy walked past it with a happy sigh, feeling safe and secure for the first time since the previous night. “Hello!” she called, raising her voice a little bit so it would carry into the back. She was always the first one here - with the bus schedule as it was, she either came half an hour early or half an hour late, but she didn't mind having the extra time to focus herself and practice.

  “Hello, Tracy,” the deep voice of Grandmaster Lee called back, rich and pleasant and comforting. Tracy followed the sound of his voice past the practice area, circling around the floor pads already laid out. It wasn't a very large school, and they didn't have a lot of room, so this front area had to take many uses. This room held the definite scent of sweat and hard work, and her reflection looked back at her as she glanced in the fully mirrored wall, marred only by the two divisions between the three mirrors and the broken corner where someone had accidentally hit it with a staff during an exhibition.

  She went past the main room to Grandmaster Lee's office, where Grandmaster Lee was working on some paperwork. He stood and bowed to her, and she bowed back. “Shichidan,” she said, respectfully.

  Grandmaster Lee's bright white smile seemed to take up more of his chubby, dark face than should be physically or biologically possible, and his black scalp showed only a hint of the stubble that revealed his head was shaved, not bald. One would never guess, looking at his face, that he was in perfect physical condition and an incredible martial artist - but occasionally his wraparound jacket came open during class, when demonstrating a throw or a fall, and Tracy knew that his body was very lithely muscled underneath. “Jukyu,” he responded in kind, and then as always: “Is this the day you will finally accept the test for First Dan?”