Destruction: The December People, Book One

by Sharon Bayliss

  “It’s Thanksgiving,” she said.

  Amanda wiped her hands on her apron and chewed her mouth.

  “You said they would be home by Thanksgiving.”

  “They needed to extend their stay,” Amanda said.

  “Stop lying to me.” Those four words had more force than all the other words David had heard her say combined. He worried things would start breaking.

  “I’m so sorry, honey,” Amanda said. “They checked out of Magnolia Terrace and haven’t contacted me.”

  “Where are they?”

  “I don’t know.” Amanda pulled Samantha in to her arms. “I’m sure they’re fine. We’ll find them.”

  “They didn’t say anything about me? Did they leave me here for good? What exactly did they say?”

  “They love you. They didn’t want to leave you here at all. They fully intended to get better and come home. I’m sure they still do intend that. But you can stay here as long as you need to.”

  After the kids came back from the Oppenheimers, David overheard Emmy and Jude talking to Samantha in Emmy’s room.

  “If they won’t do anything, we will,” Jude said.

  “We’ll find them and we’ll fix them,” Emmy said.

  “You don’t know how,” Samantha said.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Emmy said. “There’s always a way.”

  “Don’t even worry about it,” Jude said. “We can handle it.”

  His kids were loyal friends, but so clearly… just kids. They believed they could do anything.

  If you want your kids to do magic, forbid it. Patrick wondered if his parents meant it to happen that way. As if that was the game; wizard parents didn’t tell their kids anything about magic because they were supposed to figure it out on their own, or something. His parents revolved in their own world a lot of the time, but they couldn’t possibly be that stupid. They might as well have given them all new cars and told them they could drive them.

  “No, that’s wrong,” Evangeline said.

  Patrick sat with his legs crossed, facing Evangeline, and she had her hands hovering over his as if they prepared to play that slap-hands game. They had found a good spot tucked behind the house, concealed by trees. Xavier leaned up against the air conditioning unit.

  “I have no idea what you want me to do,” Patrick said.

  “It’s not that hard,” Evangeline said.

  “For you, maybe.”

  “Ready?”

  “No.”

  “Just defend yourself.”

  She pressed her palms against his. Her hands burned cold and hot at the same time. He pulled his hands away.

  “You’re not trying,” she said.

  “I don’t even know how to try. This doesn’t make any sense.”

  “You’re not really hurting him,” Xavier said. “He doesn’t feel like he needs to defend himself. It’s not going to work unless you are more aggressive.”

  “I don’t want to hurt him,” Evangeline said.

  “Exactly. That’s the problem,” Xavier said.

  “I think it’s a good instinct,” Patrick said.

  Evangeline picked up one of Patrick’s hands and read his palm, as if he came with instructions.

  “Are there any kind of spells I can learn that don’t involve hurting me?” Patrick asked.

  “I guess,” Evangeline said. “Those are harder, though. Dark magic is easy. You have to start with that.”

  “Maybe the problem is, I don’t want to attack you,” Patrick said. “I should practice on Jude.”

  “You shouldn’t practice on Jude,” she said kindly. “He’s a lot better at magic.”

  And sports. And talking to girls. And he’s taller and better looking. He can also drive with his eyes closed.

  “Maybe this isn’t his kind of magic,” Xavier said. “What kinds of things are you good at?”

  “You mean magic things? Uh… none.”

  “A lot of wizards have one special thing they’re good at,” Evangeline said. “Have you ever done magic by accident? It may not be as obvious as you think. Is there anything you’re just a little too good at?”

  “I suppose you’re looking for an answer other than Call of Duty,” Patrick said.

  Evangeline wrinkled her nose. Yes, she wanted a better answer.

  “Maybe not,” Xavier said. “That’s like fighting, right? Maybe you’d be good at fighting.”

  “I don’t know…” Patrick didn’t like what that might lead to. He had no interest in wizard Fight Club.

  “Or maybe you’re clairvoyant,” Evangeline suggested. “Really good fighters are. And I saw you pull your sister out of the way of the truck.”

  “I think I would know if I could see the future,” Patrick said.

  “Not the future future,” Xavier said. “It could be seeing things a millisecond faster than everyone else. Just by knowing how your opponent is flexing his muscles or positioning his body, you know when and where they’re going to strike.”

  “Why do I think this conversation ends with you punching me in the face?” Patrick asked.

  Xavier quickly expelled a breath. He never got much closer to laughing than that. “If you want me to.”

  “I guess that’s what Jude is good at,” Patrick said. “He could anticipate the cars on the highway, but he didn’t even have to see them.”

  “That’s pretty serious magic,” Xavier said. “Or he just got lucky.”

  “Your magic probably is like his,” Evangeline said. “Related people have related magic.”

  “Maybe I should try to break a wine glass then.”

  Evangeline shrugged. “That might be good.”

  “I can do other things,” Xavier said.

  “What did Samantha do to you?” Patrick asked Xavier. “Right before Jude crashed the truck?”

  “I don’t know,” Xavier said. His cheeks turned red, which would gnaw at Patrick for a while. “I don’t know that spell.”

  “Yeah, but what did she do? How did she get you to stop?”

  “She confused me, I guess. I felt sort of happy. I forgot what I was doing. It only lasted a few seconds.”

  “What are you guys doing?” Emmy came around the corner with Jude and Samantha.

  “Hanging out by the air conditioner,” Patrick said. “What are you guys doing?”

  “If we’re all out here, we’re going to get caught,” Emmy said.

  “So go inside,” Patrick said.

  “It’s our turn,” Emmy said as if they fought over an invisible swing set. “Go inside and distract Mom and Dad.”

  “They’re not paying attention,” Patrick said.

  Patrick didn’t know when they had split into teams, but they had. Since Patrick disowned Jude as a brother when he had almost killed them, and Evangeline and Emmy couldn’t talk for thirty seconds without attacking each other, they had to split this way. He didn’t mind, except for the obvious problem… Samantha had chosen the wrong team.

  “I’ve been spending the whole day baking while Mom yells at me for doing it wrong,” Emmy said. “Time to switch.”

  “Fine. I suck anyway,” Patrick said, and he and his team went inside.

  The meal that required the combined efforts of eight people—although mostly Mom—cooking over the course of about six hours took about ten minutes to eat. This time, they all managed to eat together without yelling or magic.

  After eating, Mom, Dad, Jude, and Emmy sat in the living room watching football, although Mom did more sleeping on the couch than actual watching. Xavier and Evangeline went upstairs to do something weird, no doubt. And Samantha did dishes alone in the kitchen.

  Patrick suddenly had the desire to do dishes.

  Samantha did dishes as she did everything, gracefully. Patrick heard only the occasional splash of water.

  “You don’t have to clean while everyone else sits around being lazy,” Patrick said. “It’s very Cinderella.”

  She smiled. “I don’t mind.” />
  “Want help?”

  “If you want to.”

  Patrick took the plate from her hand and dried it. Somehow, he made more noise with a dishtowel than she did stacking plates.

  “Are you upset about your parents?” he asked.

  “Of course, I am,” she said.

  “I guess it was a stupid question.”

  “A little.”

  “I’m sure they’ll come back.”

  “I suppose so,” she said flatly.

  “I don’t think Evangeline is a very good magic teacher,” Patrick said. “Either that, or I just really suck.”

  “You want me to teach you?”

  “Yeah.” He hadn’t thought about it until she asked… but that worked.

  “I probably can’t. I can’t seem to teach Jude and Emmy anything. It’s like I’m practicing ballet and they’re practicing rugby. We can’t connect.”

  “Because your magic is different from theirs.”

  “And yours. Maybe you should ask Jude. He does fine without anyone ever having taught him anything. That’s pretty rare, I think. He’s a powerful wizard.”

  Yeah, yeah, I get it. He’s a god among men.

  “Maybe my magic isn’t like his, either,” Patrick said. “I can’t connect with my other siblings, anyway.”

  “You just aren’t thinking about things in the right way,” she said. “You’re still thinking Mundane. At some point, you’ll just get it, and then it’ll be easy.”

  He moved closer to her, and her hip touched his. One way or another, he would probably end up breaking some dishes.

  “Jude says you have a crush on me,” she said.

  His stomach lurched. Thoughts came at him like bullets. His first instinct—deny everything. No, what? That’s crazy. I don’t even like you. You’re gross. And why the hell did Jude tell her? Someone had finally noticed how much he stared at her, but Jude? Magic fighting started to sound pretty good.

  “Maybe,” he said.

  She sucked on her cheeks as if she tried to hold back a smile… or to keep from laughing at him.

  “Is that okay?” he asked, feeling like an idiot as soon as he said it.

  “Yes.”

  She handed him a clean dish and wiped her hands on the towel he held. “I think I’m going to go to bed early,” she said, then left.

  Patrick woke up, then heard Emmy’s door close. The sequence seemed out of order. The door closing should have woken him up. But had he heard another noise before that which actually woke him up, or did he anticipate it, as Evangeline had said? Then, he heard Jude’s door open and shut. He looked at the clock. 2:00 a.m. exactly. A pre-set meeting time? His insides hardened with a mix of anger, hurt, and disgust. Did he hear Samantha sneaking into Jude’s room?

  Patrick’s room touched walls with Jude’s. He couldn’t imagine anything worse than hearing them together… except maybe hearing the same thing from his parents’ room. Although, not likely anymore. He tried to go back to sleep but knew that wouldn’t happen. As long as she was in there with him, a band might as well practice in that room.

  He heard whispered voices. He put the pillow over his head and then took it back off. The voices didn’t have a romantic tone. And he didn’t hear the sound of the bed creaking, or rustling sheets. Emmy had snuck into Jude’s room, not Samantha. Patrick should have known. He thought Emmy sneaking into her brother’s room in the middle of the night was still creepy, but they must have wanted to break a different rule.

  The tone of their voices shifted. They argued in whispers. Patrick crawled out of bed and entered Jude’s room without knocking.

  “What do you want, Patrick?” Emmy asked.

  “What are you guys doing? Magic?”

  “So what if we are?” Emmy asked.

  “You don’t have to be like that. It’s not like I’m going to tell Mom and Dad. I do it, too. I try, anyway.”

  “Let me help you,” Jude said. “I’m a good teacher.”

  “Like how you taught me to drive?”

  “Absolutely,” he answered seriously.

  “Did you have your eyes closed when you almost killed us?” Patrick asked.

  “I wouldn’t drive drunk with my eyes closed.”

  “So responsible of you.”

  “I obviously feel like total shit about that,” Jude said. “What do you want me to do? I miss you, man. You’re my brother. My real brother. At least let me teach you magic.”

  “How long have you known you were a wizard?” Patrick asked.

  “Since Mom and Dad told me a few weeks ago.”

  “Bullshit. You knew you could do stuff. You did the driving stunt before that. Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “And what exactly would I say without sounding crazy? I didn’t know wizards were real. I didn’t know what was going on. I just knew I was different. And I did tell you. Lots of times. Like the driving with my eyes closed thing. And the time I had Emmy push you out of that tree because I said I could catch you. I mean, I did, didn’t I? And when I threw the knife in the air and caught it by the handle with my eyes closed. All the crazy stuff I’ve done that you hate. I’m trying to show you what I can do.”

  “Our conversation isn’t over,” Emmy said to Jude. “Don’t try to change the subject.”

  “What was the subject?” Patrick asked.

  Emmy looked at Jude and hesitated.

  “I don’t care if you tell him,” Jude said. “But don’t expect him to be on your side.”

  “Jude is depressed,” Emmy said.

  “I am not depressed,” Jude said.

  “Patrick, tell him he’s depressed,” Emmy said.

  Patrick opened his mouth to say who knew what, but Emmy continued, “You quit football. You don’t do your schoolwork. You broke up with Avery. And you’ve spent most of the Thanksgiving break in bed.”

  “You got drunk and drove your truck into the house,” Patrick added, and Emmy gestured toward him as if to support this point.

  “See, he’s worried about you, too,” she said.

  “I didn’t hear him say that,” Jude said.

  “You never do anything or go anywhere,” Emmy said.

  “I’m grounded.”

  “That doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to take showers or shave.”

  “I shower and shave. Occasionally.”

  “And it doesn’t mean you can’t talk to your friends at school. Why are you eating lunch alone around back like some kind of loser?”

  “My friends go out for lunch. I can’t drive.”

  “But you’re allowed to be inside cars while other people do.”

  “You should play football again,” Patrick said. “You’re going to lose your scholarship.”

  “See, he’s on my side,” Emmy said. “Don’t you want to feel better?”

  “You won’t be able to do it,” Jude said.

  “Don’t tell me what I can’t do.”

  “All right,” Jude said. “You can try.”

  Emmy placed her hands on Jude’s chest and took a deep breath.

  “Hang on… what are you doing?” Patrick asked.

  “I’m going to try a spell,” Emmy said. “Samantha taught it to me. It’s for depression and anxiety.”

  “Wow, that’s so… useful,” Patrick said. “I was beginning to agree with Dad, that magic is all breaking stuff.”

  “Shut up, Patrick. I need to concentrate.”

  Emmy moved closer to Jude and kept her hands on his chest. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Jude closed his eyes too. After a moment, Patrick noticed Emmy trembling. She scrunched her face and bit her lip, but she didn’t pull away. Patrick moved next to her and touched her arm.

  “Emmy?” he asked.

  At the sound of Patrick’s voice, Jude opened his eyes too. He gathered Emmy’s hands in his and threw them off him.

  “Are you okay?” Jude asked.

  “Yes,” she said flatly. She continued to tremble. She wrapped her arms aroun
d her chest, leaned over and moaned.

  “Emmy?” Patrick asked again.

  Jude reached out to her but she stepped back, out of his reach. Without a word, she turned and left the room. Patrick and Jude followed on her heels. She headed for the stairs. Evangeline had been right. Patrick did know what would happen next, but only a second before. Too late for it to be worth a damn thing.

  She turned around and looked back at them, then threw herself down the stairs.

  avid watched Amanda stare at her water glass with an odd urgency. She could have been watching Emmy’s surgery on the surface of the water. Could she actually do that? No. She would have let him watch, too.

  David didn’t know what had woken him, at first. He turned over and listened, trying to figure out if the sound had come from a dream or not. Then he heard his oldest son’s voice. One word, dripping with more fear and alarm than a bomb warning: “Emmy.”

  The fear in this son’s voice infected David. He stumbled into the dark hallway and found the source.

  His sons knelt over something at the bottom of the stairs. Halfway down the stairs, he saw her. Emmy—unconscious, her arm twisted under her at the wrong angle. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. David made it down the stairs with the urgency reserved for a parent making their way to their hurt child and toppled his sons like bowling pins as he tried to get between them.

  Then it all happened fast. They waited in the ER again. For Emmy, again. Wondering why they had freaked out so much about a little cut. This time she had a broken arm. Broken ribs. Dislocated knee. Internal bleeding. Head injury. Critical condition.

  Jess had gone to the house to keep an eye on the other kids, but Jude and Patrick refused to leave the hospital. They hadn’t said much. Except for one conversation: “No, I didn’t push her. How can you even ask me that?”… “Then how did she fall?”… “She jumped.”… “Why?”… No answer… “Why?”… “Magic.”

  Magic.

  David guessed Amanda had no space left in her for anger. Worry filled her to capacity. Once Emmy got better… if she got better… no, she would get better… then there would be hell to pay.

  The surgeon estimated an hour and a half. He took three hours. This was routine for him. Another night putting someone back together. Did he have any idea what it did to the people in the waiting room when he took twice as long as expected?