by Ben Reeder
“In over my head much?” I asked myself as I leaned against the wall of Dante's. My ribs ached but I could feel them grating together as the strength charm's reinforcement enchantment pulled them back into place. My left hand felt like it was being pounded back into shape with a dozen ball-peen hammers. My stomach growled as my body began the process of healing. The strength charm made me stronger by ramping up my metabolism, so it was like my body was on a constant adrenaline rush. It drained the body, and using the charm for too long would kill me. Not of old age, like most people thought. No, I'd die of starvation or dehydration way before my body had a chance to age too much. By putting the body in overdrive, it made the whole body work faster, and that included healing. I should have deactivated it. What I was doing was dangerous. It was stupid, but it was important. If Mom saw me looking like I probably did, she'd freak. How could I explain that I'd gotten into a fight with a guy who could probably bench press our house? And I couldn't walk around school with busted ribs and a broken wrist, either. So I was about to sit through about a week's worth of healing in the next half hour or so.
The back door to Dante's swung open and spilled my two friends into the alleyway before I could get back on my own two feet.
“Chance!” Wanda called out when she saw me.
“Dude! Brad came in looking all busted up! You don't look so hot either.” Lucas pulled up short when he caught sight of me. In the distance, the high-pitched whine of sport bikes rose.
“You hear that? We better get him inside, Lucas,” Wanda said. She cast a nervous eye toward the opening of the alleyway then at Lucas.
He nodded, and came over to my left side. “Can you walk on your own?”
“Yeah.” I stood up, didn't like it, but I started for the door anyway. Walking hurt in places that I didn't think had anything to do with the fight, and my pace turned into this shambling limp. My left arm curled up against my side, and every step made pain cascade down my sides.
Wanda held the door open and Lucas stayed beside me as I stepped back inside Dante's. I felt the thump of the bass from the speakers through every bruise and broken bone as we walked across the floor. I leaned in the direction of the counter, and dug my wallet out as I went. The sandy haired guy behind the counter came up out of his bored slouch when he spotted us.
“What'll it be?” he asked.
I took one of the plastic menus from the rack and opened it. “Burger…no, double cheeseburger…four of 'em.” I answered through swollen lips. He turned to relay the order through the opening in the back wall, and I went on. “Four orders of potato skins…load 'em up with everything. Fries, onion rings and four strawberry shakes…biggest you make.”
He turned back and looked at me with a wary eye until I laid cash on the table. The bills disappeared, and he shoved the order slip though the opening in the wall. The fry cook did a double take when he saw it, then he shrugged and went to work.
“You guys want anything?” I asked. Lucas gave me a look, but Wanda added another order of cheesy fries and a Diet Coke to the order. Lucas and I gave her a stare of our own.
“It's not like you're not going to mooch half my fries, Lucas,” she said off our look. Her head tilted to one side, and she put a hand on her hip, challenging him to contradict her. He gave her a shrug and a nod and slumped onto the stool next to me.
The guy behind the counter planted a pitcher full of pink goo in front of me and handed me a straw and a spoon. “Dig in,” he said, and I did.
As fast as the food appeared, I made it disappear. The strength charm had to get its power from somewhere, and in the case of Dulka's, and, for that matter, most demons' charms, it came from the user's body. If I fed my body fast enough, my accelerated metabolism would digest it almost as fast as it hit my stomach, and I wouldn't burn my body out while it healed itself. As I downed the first pitcher of milkshake, I felt my temperature start to climb, and my heart started pumping faster.
Even as I wolfed down the food, I hated having to rush through it. I wanted to take my time to enjoy the new tastes I was experiencing, but my stomach had different ideas about things. Wanda and Lucas talked while I shoveled it in as fast as I could, trying to enjoy each gulp for a few seconds, at least.
“The jocks cleared out of here just in time,” Lucas said as he reached over my plate to snag one of Wanda's cheese covered fries.
“No doubt,” Wanda agreed. “I wouldn't want to be on the road when the Wolf Pack was around. Monique's brother said they ran him off the road a couple of months ago.”
“I figure we'll just wait for a little bit before we take off,” he said around a mouthful of fried potato and cheese. “You good with that, Chance?” I managed a nod that didn't interrupt my eating, grateful that they hadn't asked me what had happened, yet. Between eating and whatever they were talking about, I'd dodged that bullet for now. Most of the bruises had healed, but bones took a little bit longer to mend. Midway through my forced feast, I laid another bill on the counter. I could already feel my body getting hungry again as it digested almost three days’ worth of food, nearly as fast as I could eat it. The sandy-haired guy was in front of me in a heartbeat.
“Do it again,” I mumbled through a mouthful of food.
“All of it?”
I nodded. “And a pitcher of water, too.”
He nodded and relayed the order to the guy in the kitchen, and I settled down to some more serious eating. The water showed up, and I swear nothing ever tasted that good to me. I drained half the pitcher in a single, long pull, and relished the icy pure liquid nirvana that coursed down my throat. I finished the last of the second round, and took a careful breath. My ribs still hurt, but it was bearable. My face had almost stopped hurting completely, and my back just felt stiff and sore, instead of like I'd just been body-slammed by a building. I was going to be sore for a few days, but at least I didn't look I'd just gone toe-to-toe with a golem.
I whispered the charm’s deactivation command, “Cessare,” and felt a week's worth of tired fall on my shoulders like a dead horse. It wasn't even nine, and I was ready to go to bed. Lucas and Wanda were just as ready to get out of there, and my fuzzy brain kept trying to tell me that there was something important about that, but it was too tired to tell me what it was. I promised myself I'd figure it out later, and took myself at my word for the moment.
Chapter 8
~ When faced with the unexpected, keep your wits about you. Fear profits a man nothing. ~
Halfdan the Grim, 7th century mage
Morning stole up on padded feet and dropped an anvil on my head. I woke up beside my bed, sore from head to toe, which was about the way I'd gone to sleep. For a few seconds, I fooled myself into thinking that things hadn't gotten any worse. That delusion went away as soon as I tried to move anything but my eyelids. Sleeping on the floor hadn't helped the stiffness in my muscles, either.
A hot shower sounded really good just then, so I crawled to my feet and shuffled across the hall to the bathroom in my bare feet. The sweat pants and t-shirt hit the floor, and I groaned as I bent over to start the water. All I managed to get out of the faucet was a lukewarm spray, and that only lasted for about a minute and a half before it went straight to frigid. I knew a spell that would heat the water, but I didn't have the focus for it. And while I could get my hands on a thimble full of salt, I didn't want to explain to Mom why I needed it. “My little sister is gonna have to die,” I thought as I shivered under the water. Muscles screamed in protest as I tried to rush my shower, and there were parts of me that weren't gonna be reached with a washcloth no matter how slow I went. By the time I finished and shuffled back across the hall, I knew no amount of cuteness was going to save Dee from cruel and unusual revenge.
I managed to make it through breakfast without killing my little sister or letting on how much I hurt, but the last part was harder than I thought it would be. Mom kept stopping to just look at me with a distracted smile on her face. It wasn't any different from the moments
I spent just looking around at Mom's place and marveling that I wasn't back in Dulka's lair, but it sure made it hard to hide the aches and pains from the beating I'd survived last night. But the bowl full of hot oatmeal went a long way toward making me feel human again, especially with the tangy little bits of apple and the zing of cinnamon that Mom had put in it.
As I slouched in the seat on the way to school, I got a few things worked out, but the list didn't seem much more encouraging than it had been last night. Alexis had to know that there was more to Brad than met the eye. She was his girlfriend; there was almost no way she couldn't. Plus, she’d been trying to warn me about him both times we’d talked after school. Somehow, it cast her in a different light. It made me wonder what she put up with, being with him. Guys my age aren't famous for our self-discipline, and if he got pissed, he could snap her neck, easy. If he lost his temper, a slap from him might break bones.
To make matters worse, I was pretty damn sure there was another warlock working my school, trading on people's misery for little bits of their souls. That meant another demon. I sure as all Nine Hells didn’t want that. And, as much as I hated to admit it, he was better than I was, if Brad's strength was anything to go by. If I tried to take him on myself, I was going to be in way over my head. I needed help. I needed a full-fledged wizard. Fortunately, I knew where to find one.
As Mom pulled away from the curb, I saw Brad drive up in his cherry red truck. Like I expected, he didn't have a scratch on him. No cast or splint on a broken hand, no limp or stiffness from broken ribs, no bruises from being kicked in the face. Nothing. Our eyes met as he crossed the lot toward the group of jocks clustered near the door. He glared at me as he went, and stabbed a finger at me from across the lot. Oh, yeah, this was going to make today, and probably the rest of my life, interesting. Alexis went to him and he wrapped an arm around her and kissed her. Her whole body seemed to melt into his as he reached down and grabbed her ass.
My lip curled at that, if for no other reason than it felt like he was marking his territory, and that bothered me. Less than a week ago, I'd been someone else's property. It shouldn't have surprised me how much I hated to see anyone, even Alexis Cooper, treated like someone owned them. And if I wanted to be the one doing the kissing, well I was taking that particular dirty secret to Hell with me. Maybe it would have bugged me less if she didn't seem to be enjoying the way he was manhandling her.
“Yo, Chance!” Lucas voice cut across the background chatter, and I scanned the front of the school for him. He and Wanda were surrounded by the Goth crowd, standing under a tired-looking tree that was in the middle of shedding red leaves. Something in my head said “maple tree,” and the uses for its wood came to mind as I wove through the other kids.
“Hey, guys,” I said when I got to them.
“Hey!” Wanda said. She was almost bouncing up and down, and if she got much more excited, she was likely to vibrate right out of her clothes. “Did you hear?”
“Not yet,” I told her slowly.
It was like the floodgates opened. “The Wolf Pack hit three convenience stores last night. Half the cops in the city were trying to chase them down! It was all over the news this morning! Stacy Pettijohn said she saw them on her way home from Dante's, she stayed later than we did, and Melanie said they ran her brother off the road and made him crash out by the lake!” The words tumbled out of her mouth like they were late for dinner.
I interrupted her as she took a breath, “You'll have to tell me about it at lunch. I need to find Mr. Chomsky before school starts.” I tried not to chuckle at Wanda's look as the thought of waiting four more hours to tell someone else what she knew flashed across her face.
“Dude, you're in luck. First period is his conference time, and he writes tardy excuses if you're gonna be late,” Lucas volunteered. “He's usually in the teacher's lounge about now.” I grunted my thanks and headed for the doors.
“Nerd much?” Wanda snorted.
“The term is geek,” I heard Lucas say.
Then I was out of earshot and threading my way through the other kids clustered by the front doors. Brad gave me a glare as I got close to his spot on the front steps, but that was as far he seemed willing to go. Each of us knew the other had more going on than met the eye, and he didn't seem any more willing for a rematch this morning than I was.
Alexis had draped herself along his left side, with her arms folded over his shoulder and her head laid on her hands. Pink sweat bottoms covered her legs, and I could see an inch of pale skin between the low-slung waist of the sweats and the white tank top that pasted itself to her curves under the light blue hoodie she wore. Her hair was pulled up behind her head in a loose bun, and her lips were shiny with some pale gloss. The thought of kissing them to see how they tasted came to mind, right before my eyes found hers.
It felt like her eyes were trying to bore their way into me. With her head cocked to one side like it was, I got the feeling of intense curiosity, like she was studying me. There was a trace of desperation in that look, and just a hint of pain. I wondered what she saw when she looked at me, and forced myself to keep going. If there was any chance of making things better for her, it was with Mr. Chomsky. I pushed the fantasies of Alexis and me together to the back of my head and pushed the doors open. It was a stupid thought, anyway, I told myself, as I went from the overcast October gloom outside to the warm, quiet space of the front hall. My blue jeans, black t-shirt, and beat-up leather jacket all together probably didn't cost as much as any single thing she had on today. And there was no way I was playing football.
The teachers' lounge was right off the front hall, marked by a single plain wooden door on my left. I rapped on the varnished wood a couple of times, and the door opened to reveal Mr. Strickland's pinched little weasel face.
“What do you want?” Strickland asked. If I had offered to give him a disfiguring disease, I don't think he could have looked less happy to see me.
“Need to talk to Mr. Chomsky,” I growled.
“Not here. Check his classroom.” The door clicked shut in my face before I could say anything else.
“Thanks,” I said to the door.
Chomsky's classroom was on the second floor toward the end of the middle of the school's three main wings. I was going to have to hustle if I was going to make it to his class and talk to him before the bell rang. The halls were pretty much empty, so it was just the sound of my boots on the stone floor accompanying me down the hallway. The only person I saw was a girl near Mr. Chomsky's door, with a black hoodie and jeans on. She caught sight of me as I came up and offered me a tentative smile.
“You trying to find Mr. Chomsky, too?” she asked softly.
“Yeah, figured I’d catch him before first period.”
“Me, too. The whole physics class is rough from start to finish, but especially…I’m sorry, I’m geeking out. Anyway, first period is his conference period, but he wasn’t in the teachers’ lounge. Mr. Strickland said he might be here.” I got to the door first and put my hand on the knob.
“He told me the same thing.” I opened the door for her to go in first, since what I had to talk to Mr. Chomsky about wasn't something I wanted someone else in the room for. She smiled and stepped past me, then stopped. Her face went pale as she staggered back from the doorway, one hand over her mouth, the other dropping her books to clutch at her stomach. That put her right next to me when she screamed.
There is something about a girl’s scream that can paralyze some people. Me, especially. Maybe it was the way the inside of my eardrums seemed to reverberate with it, or how it felt like there was a spike going from my ears to the center of my skull. I could only stare at her for a second while she gave a shrill, high-pitched screech that told the world a girl being horrifically murdered in the science wing. After a few seconds, she stopped, and I watched her face go green. Then, she went to her knees and threw up on the floor.
Belatedly, the same barbaric reflexes that inspired things like chiv
alry and other noble-sounding words kicked in, and I got myself in front of the door. The deep, hairy monkey part of my brain was saying things like “Woman in danger. Must protect woman. Ugh”; while the smarter, more civilized part of my brain was looking at it and saying “Are you stupid? We should be telling the feet to run like hell!” Of course, my feet were listening to the monkey brain, because I was getting hyped up on adrenaline to face whatever it was that could make a girl scream so hard she puked.
I looked into the room for a threat, and the next thought through my mind was, “But it’s only an arm.” Monkey brain isn’t too bright. The other half, however, figured out that it was an arm that wasn’t attached to all the things that you usually see them connected to. Like, shoulders, or anything else that resembles a whole, living human being. I took a step into the room, because I was wondering where the rest of Mr. Chomsky was, and I found him. Not the whole him in one place, just parts of him spread all over the room. His head was on his desk, looking out at the classroom, and one of his legs was over by the windows. His other arm was on the lab table where I had been sitting yesterday. His torso was in the center of the room, taking up a lot more space than a torso ought to because his insides were now outsides, and they were spread around on the floor. I barely registered the tingle of residual magick in the room through the numb feeling my brain was spreading liberally along the inside of my skull. Mr. Chomsky wasn’t the first dead guy I’d ever seen, but he was the first one I had met and talked to while he was a living, breathing person. And, he was the first dead person that I'd ever seen that came disassembled.
I looked around, searching for details, and my memory, well trained at picking things up quickly from serving a bad tempered demon, was cataloging the moment for later review. Bloodstains covered the wall: some splatters, some smears. There were deep, body-sized imprints in the drywall, and one of the windows was missing. Not shattered with pieces of glass pointing toward the center: the window frame was gone, wood and all. Desks were scattered all over the room, and I saw several burn marks on the walls. And slash marks. Most of them were on Mr. Chomsky’s body, but there were also four deep furrows in the concrete column by the missing window. Shards of glass lay below the window opening. I swallowed and tried hard not to join the girl outside in heaving up breakfast and a few less recent meals. If I stayed much longer in here, I was going to hurl, but I needed to do something before other people brought their energies into the room and made a mess of things.