Emotionless: (Prototype: Zero book 1)

by Shaina Anastasi

  “A rune,” I answered, and he released his light grip.

  “We will talk when I get home.”

  “Ok,” I responded and then walked off.

  I could see Isilies was struggling to detach himself away from being my carer to being a teacher. He’d like to know why I was leaving earlier again this past week but because we're at school, he needs to act professionally. The only times that I see him get worked up at school is when he notices Donte and Nixon were doing things they’re not supposed to be doing.

  Standing at the bus stop at the corner street of the school, I waited for the bus to arrive. Underneath the shelter, hidden from the continuous rain, I reached for my phone. Flicking through settings, I went to the server on the internet and switched accounts. The lady seated beside me leant over, and her eyes widened when she glanced at the account I was logged into. She noticed that I was looking at her and stood, grabbed her purse and decided to walk in the rain rather than be seated next to me.

  Changing from Google to Speggle, I Speggled ‘jump runes’ to create on the soles of shoes and scrolled down to find a mobile-friendly site that wouldn’t give my phone glitches.

  The last time my phone had glitches, I had to sit with tweezers for well past an hour to pull them all out.

  With pursed lips, I screenshotted the runes that interested me the most as I stepped on the bus that rumbled to a stop. Lifting my arm, I dropped the gold coins in the slot, walked down the thin walkway and sat into an empty seat near the back. Shuffling towards the window seat, I leant against the mouldy white frame. I didn’t look at who was on the bus. I was too absorbed with runes. I flicked through page after page, finding the ones that interested me the most.

  Looking at runes always reminds me of how I fell in love with them in the first place. I was so proud of my first ever rune, even knowing it wasn’t done perfectly. It was horrendous, but it was drawn by me. The rune was an easy kid-friendly one from one of my mum’s children books. I replicated the drawing from one of the pages. The rune was tiny, and it confused me because it was from a picture book of a little girl that drew the rune. Thinking back now, I know that the rune was never designed to be learned from, but I still did it. It was a summoning rune, and I summoned butterflies that flitted out of the page. Astounded, I remembered showing Mum and Dad. It was then that they decided I was old enough to read runes from the shelf. From then, I practised my drawing and became skilled at making my own runes.

  “Hey, kid,” called the bus driver. I looked up and noticed we were at my stop. “It is time to get off.”

  I rose too quickly, hit into the seat in front of me and winced at the throbbing pain that pulsed at my hip. As I struggled to walk normally, I limped down the aisle and out the door. A pitied look came from the bus driver.

  I was grateful that I lived close to the bus stop because the rain grew thick and dark. I quickened my pace up the corner street towards the round villa-like residential street. I Lifted the gate lock, pushed it aside and walked through. I kicked the gate back so that the latch would fall down and secure.

  Every time I look up at my home, I notice the smaller houses beside it and realise how dominant mine really is.

  Going up the stairs to the front door, I took three steps up, one step backwards and back up to tap against the red brick in the centre of the brown ones twice. Afterwards, the door to the home unlatched and opened automatically.

  To be told to do that every time I wanted to get inside the house annoyed me. Donte and Nixon happened to have, ‘misplaced’ the doorknob just so I had to use their secret technique.

  Two gargoyles in the form of deformed bats perched on the veranda on the second floor for security. The sound of grinding cement that was struggling to move crumbled and groaned as their heads shifted to me when I walked towards the front door.

  I shut the door, shrugged my bag off and walked down the white hallway. Around the corner, I went past doors that opened by themselves. A vacuum was doing its rounds in the lounge room. There were bubbling pots and pans in the kitchen on the opposite side of the lounge rook. They clattered together and were making loud noises that bothered me.

  Exasperated, I stopped short of the kitchen and leant towards the wall that had a small dial. The knife that was hacking away at the vegetables tuned down to a moderately slow-paced rhythm when I twisted the dial.

  Blinking slowly, I stepped back out of the kitchen, across the hallway passed library, Mum and Dad’s bedroom and up the stairs that spiralled to the second floor. Going up the glass steps, several bursts of vibrant colours lit up from the pressure of my boots.

  Nixon probably turned the lights on again. He did consider himself old enough now to go to the downstairs bathroom without being frightened of the golem under the stairs at night. I guess he’s still scared after all.

  Down the hallway, passed Isilies room and study, I turned another corner opposite the stairs to the garage and into a small hallway. The second door on the right was mine. The door was already opening on command. The large blue neon sign blinked on and off rapidly while the tweet bird screeched, ‘YOU HAVE MAIL!’ as soon as I walked through.

  The slot underneath the neon sign spat out one single letter that flopped on my desk near the laptop. Going to the desk, I leant forward and noticed the familiar stamp at the front of the note. I raised my arm and let the veins throb as I pointed my index finger at the letter.

  Narrowing eyes, I mumbled, “Destroy,” and the attack rune on my finger lit up, causing a small fireball, the size of a pebble, to shoot out and burn the letter. “Release,” I spoke once the letter was nothing but ash. The fire dispersed, and the smoke vanished with it.

  Because of the tiny pile of ash, Mr Vacuum, the hungry small handheld electronic, vroomed in dramatically, its nozzle targeting the stack. Mr vacuum launched itself towards the mess when a small cloth floated in with the lavender spray. When the ash was gone, the bottle sprayed purple disinfectant and afterwards, the cloth wiped. When they were done, they dramatically departed in search for another mess.

  I waved my hand, and the door slammed shut, and the latch for the lock clicked. Rolling the computer seat back, I sat down and took out the book that was in the first drawer. I flicked through the pages of random runes, scribbled out, or ones that didn’t work and went to a blank page. I grabbed my phone from out of my pocket and went to the picture of the jump rune. Taking out a pencil from the first draw, Istared at the cursive of the flickering ‘J’symbol that I would have to replicate for the agility jump rune. When I finished with the symbol, I did strange cursive loops, dots and points that and joined with the outer circle.

  Because I hadn’t created this rune before, I decided to do the activation circle last. That way if the rune goes astray and doesn’t work, I wouldn’t blow up whatever I was drawing on.

  I looked at the ugly scar on my skin and grimaced at the unhealed wound. Worst mistake I had made. The rune didn’t join properly and didn’t connect at the end. It sent a painful sensation up my arm. I ended up in a cast for a few months. When it was taken off, I had a long ugly burn mark that is now wrinkled. I will never be able to put a tattoo on it since the skin would have to be smooth.

  I frowned, flicked the curved semicolon around into a circle and made sure that every design and symbol joined with the outer ring. Satisfied, I lifted the tip of the pencil off the page and leant back. It’s hard for me to tell if runes are right by looking at them, especially the more intricate runes. The best thing for me to do, to see if the rune was done well, is to try it out.

  I reached into the second drawer, and a few marbles rolled to the end and clunked against the white wood. I grabbed the small one and stared at the tiny cat’s eye marble. The yellow slit in the centre represented the iris while it had a mellow soft green outer layer that surrounded the marble and made it glow in the darkened light.

  I leant back towards the rune on the page and raised my hand so that it hovered over the page, and let the marble
drop. Once it hit the paper, the rune lit and the marble flew up in the air and hit me in the head. Flying backwards, the wheels on the chair flicked up and I slammed on my back. Rolling on the white carpet, I mumbled complaints as I rubbed my forehead.

  “Too much agility,” I moped as I sat up on the carpet. “I will fly out of my boots if I try with that one.”

  I crawled back to the table and grabbed the pencil beside the book and drew a single line through the rune. The light faded and the connection died. Now it will be just like the old runes on my walls. There was no link with the pulsing magic. Isilies says that is why I am so overprotective of my skin and hide my runes – because a singular cut can break the connection and sever my attack, defence or healing runes. He is probably right.

  My healing rune worked its magic and healed the throbbing pain in my temple from the marble that smacked into it. Luckily it was just a marble. If I had a more severe accident that dismembered a body part, I would never be able to gain it back. Mage magic will probably never be that advanced that it could give me a new kidney or a new heart. We’re still mortal after all.

  Dragging my hand through light brown shoulder length hair, I sat back on the seat and started the agility jump rune again. I made it less complicated so that I could place them on the soles of my boots.

  After a few hours, the neon sign blinked again and the squawking sound of the tweet livened up the silent room. Startled, I moved the slightest from the noise and the pencil dragged along the paper. With a deep sigh, I glared daggers at the bird until it noticed I wasn’t happy. The chirping muffled and the yellow bird flew into its little perch when a letter spat out and landed over the book I was drawing on.

  I lifted the letter up and grimaced at the familiar cursive of my mum’s handwriting. The first letter in four months and three days. She never writes socially. If they had it their way, they wouldn’t keep in contact at all and randomly show up at home as if they weren’t gone months on end.

  I curled my thumbnail underneath the envelope flap, tearing the sticky glue away from paper, and I took the small card from inside. It was one of those cheap Ordinary--Human cards you could get at news agencies that have the picturesque views of beaches or forests. This card was a picture of the Great Wall of China. I flipped it over,puffed out cheeks and stared at the singular cursive demand.

  Go downstairs.

  Her demand instantly made me drop the card and stare at my door. I rose my hand and made a slight swishy motion. The latch unlocked, and the door creaked inwards. Outside of the bedroom, I placed hands behind my back and walked down the rainbow steps. Downstairs I peeked into the kitchen. The knife seemed flustered as it hacked away at nothing on the chopping board.

  I reached for the dial and pressed the reset button. The knife stabbed into the board, and I walked in at a slow pace until I reached the counter that the knife was working on. Under the clear chopping board, there was a list of ingredients that needed to be sliced up: zucchini, tomatoes and carrots. In the bowl, there were only zucchini and tomatoes. No wonder the knife was distressed. It had the task of chopping whatever Donte clicked on from the list on the fridge door. When it couldn’t find any carrots, it became disorientated.

  I opened the fridge, pulled open the tray the vegetables were stored in and saw nothing but the empty bag of carrots. As I leant in the refrigerator, I dragged a finger along the back, and a holographic shopping list came up. Going into the vegetables and fruit section, I tapped on carrots. The fridge light shut off when I closed it. I counted to five, opened it again, pulled out the tray and reached for the full bag of carrots.

  Being a mage seems oddly lazy sometimes. With that thought, I am grateful that I don’t have to drive to the shops, buy a bag of carrots and drive back home. I find that it would be a waste of time and instead, I would rather have finished the homework that is due next week.

  Twisting the dial, the knife on the bench lifted up, and two carrots came out of the bag and placed themselves in front of the knife for slow accurate chops.

  As I rubbed my eyes and yawned, I went past the living room when something moved on the white sofa. If the ear hadn’t twitched, I would have assumed that it was part of the white sofa. I paused and took in the environment. Chewed carrots on a plate on the glass table, a fluffy animal on the sofa opposite it. One of its ears was alert and pricked up while the other flopped to the side. Sitting up like a dog who waited for a treat would, a white furry bunny sat on my sofa and stared at me expectantly.

  This was the reason Mum wanted me to go downstairs.

  Chapter 2.

  Eileen – The bunny is evil.

  Seating myself on the opposite side of the coffee table, I tucked legs up on the sofa and wrapped my arms around them. I have been sitting in this position for nearly an hour. I did not dare to move back into my bedroom.

  The bunny is evil.

  He sat there, and those red orbs stared intently at me. Every part of that rabbit is cool calm and collected. With the passive look that was on his face, and there wasn’t even a twinkle of a nose or twitch of a whisker. Both ears pricked up and were on high alert when the loud notorious voices of my siblings came through the entrance. It became clearer the closer they were to the living room.

  I had my back towards the entrance so I couldn’t see the looks on their faces when they noticed that I was sitting down and staring at a rabbit. Nixon squealed, clearly the most excited to see Hopper in our house, and was intruding into our privacy.

  A blurred flash dived to my left, over the coffee table and towards the bunny. Arms outreaching, he flopped pathetically while the rabbit hopped up and let his hind legs smack into the back of Nixon’s head. The bunny hopped away feverously. Hopper may be fast, but Donte and Nixon are tactical. Nixon was the distraction while Donte – mine and Nixon’s triplet – snatched Hopper up and lifted him in his arms. Seconds later, the bunny morphed, and Donte gave a strangled cry as he fell back. There was now a human adult sitting on his stomach and was staring daggers at Donte who now was sprawled on the soft white carpet.

  It was an odd sight, seeing a grown adult sitting on my brother.

  Mr Hopper came at a remarkable time, considering we all assumed he was following my parents as a good shapeshifter servant does. Hopper was the one who believes he can do all or more than having duplicate Shapeshifters. I think he has jealous tendencies and doesn’t like being outshined or foreshadowed in his abilities, so he works ten times harder. He used to be our carer when Isilies was underage. Now that Isilies is old enough to care for us, Hopper has had spare time to tail my mum and dad. He was doing what a servant does best, and that is to serve their actual lord and lady of the household. Hopper being back means something has come up, and he needs to talk to us or make us do something, and by the look on his face, as he stood up and brushed at his butler black and white uniform, it wasn’t something that we’re going to agree quickly upon.

  “Hopper!” Donte and Nixon exclaimed.

  From the look on Hopper’s face, he still doesn’t like his nickname. He tries his best to mask his hate for it, and I suppose that is why Donte and Nixon still persist in calling him that. Tormenting him is what they love doing best.

  Isilies and I are the only ones that weren’t exactly happy to see Hopper here. Isilies’s eyes narrowed with suspicion of the bunny. Nothing good comes with the bunny. Nothing.

  “Masters,” Hopper said. He smoothed his gelled silver hair backwards after it was messed up from the scuffle with Donte and Nixon. “Would you like to sit down and have something to eat while I speak?”

  “Nope,” Nixon and Donte declined and walked outside of the lounge room. “We have a list of potions to make, so we are going to our room.”

  “Masters . . .”

  “Bye, Hopper.” They raced out before they had to object further anything he was going to say.

  “Hopper, the boys just got out of school. Lectures right after don't sound so appealing to them. I am sure they will l
isten at dinner. Do you have time?”

  “Plenty,” he agreed while he walked to the arched doorway.

  “Hopper,” I whispered, and he stopped mid-step. I was leaning on my chair so that I could face him, but my eyes cast down as I murmured, “I’m hungry.”

  “My Mistress, as quiet as ever,” he spoke proudly. His words made me puff my cheeks. “What would you like to eat?”

  “Dragon eggs,” I answered and noticed the joints in his legs tighten. “Thank you,” I said as I straightened up and stared back at the glass coffee table.

  “My Masters, I will be back around seven for dinner,” he said. He must have morphed because I heard the soft pouncing paws as he hopped away. I could only assume that he dived down the rabbit hole he created.

  “You’re cruel, Eileen,” Isilies chuckled. He slumped on the seat Hopper was sitting at before. “Now, tell me what happened today during class.”

  “I drew a rune.” Tucking legs up to my chest, I rested my chin on my knees and stared at the chewed carrots on the plate. “She thought it was because of the betrayal, but I was bored is all.”

  “Did she finally call it, ‘The betrayal?’” he asked by surprise.

  “Rebellion. I tried to correct her. They don’t know better.”

  Isilies sighed and then asked, “I assume you got caught and sent yourself home from school so you wouldn’t distract your class for the remainder of the day?” I nodded. “I know these Ordinary-Human and mage rules are difficult to follow, but we can’t use magic in normal non-magic user’s schools. It is a distraction, and I will have a word to Donte and Nixon about their love potions they’re selling as well. The number of teenagers expecting it to work on me is worrisome.”

  “They think you’re handsome. You should take it as a compliment,” I mumbled.

  With a sigh, he straightened up out of the seat and walked towards me. He patted my head, and I looked up and noticed the similarities. Silver eyes, pale, sickly features, high cheekbones and shy of light brown hair that shined like gold in the sunlight.