Wyatt didn’t respond and didn’t move until the squeak of tennis shoes faded. A moment later the cacophony of voices faded to a distant murmur and Wyatt hazarded a single eye open. Hardwood floors, scratched and tarnished, greeted him. Darn. He grunted and pulled himself to his feet. It felt as if he were in a fog, everything blurred and disfigured. His head swam and he stumbled back onto his bed. A sharp pain dug into his leg and, shifting, he unveiled his glasses. He sighed and put them on. The fog lifted. He was back in his clothes, the brown habit gone but not forgotten. He sighed again.
Wyatt gaped as Ms. Abagail and Mr. Alec passed out bowls of brown stew, but he recoiled and wrinkled his nose as the tendrils of steam drifted upward. It smelled nothing like the molten lava the Children had served. He stirred it cautiously with a plastic spoon that was far too shallow for stew and sighed again.
Seven other residents had already begun eating, spooning the thin gruel into their mouths and holding hushed conversations. Wyatt surveyed the scene from the corner seat at the back of the dining room. There were three long tables in parallel rows flanked by padded benches, but only Ms. Abagail shared his.
“So, what do you think so far, Wyatt?” she asked between spoonfuls.
“Well, it’s no Métra, that’s for sure.”
“Métra?” she said, tilting her head in an exaggerated manner, her hair nearly dipping into her stew.
Wyatt chewed thoughtfully on a roll and took a swig of milk. “Yeah, Métra. The Children made stew for breakfast, though it smelled way better than this stuff, no offense.”
Ms. Abagail shrugged. “I didn’t make it, but it tastes better than it smells… What do you mean Children? And what’s Métra?”
Wyatt didn’t dare sample the dorm stew, partly because of the odor and partly because he could still remember his last attempt at tasting stew with too much fervor. His tongue still burned with phantom pain. “Métra is where the Children live. They’re these short people that are sort of made out of rock.”
“Dude, you’re insane,” someone shouted from the first table.
“Cut it out, Scott,” Ms. Abagail said.
Wyatt looked up from the roll he was picking over. Everyone was staring at him. Craig was leering from the first table, his eyes communicating nothing but hate.
“Ignore them, Wyatt,” Ms. Abagail said, smiling reassuringly. “You have a great imagination. Nothing wrong with that.”
“I’m not making it up,” he protested, pulse quickening. “It was real.”
Laughter erupted and it took several moments before Mr. Alec and Ms. Abagail could settle them. When peace was restored Ms. Abagail returned to her stew without meeting Wyatt’s eyes.
He frowned, first at her, then at the rest of the group. A shaggy-haired boy stuck out his tongue.
“It’s true,” Wyatt said loudly, nearly shouting. “Before lunch, I went… well, I got like… transported to a place called Hagion and there was this fruit that wanted to eat me and a wolf with ferns growing out of it and a tall girl called a Draygan and-”
“Freak,” someone called.
“Psycho,” another bellowed.
Again, laughter rippled over the tables and all eyes fell on Wyatt. He could feel his face burn, not with shame, but rage. Mr. Alec’s voice rose above the rest, shouting for control. Some of the boys listened and fell back to their lunch with silent smiles, others continued to berate Wyatt with calls of “freak,” “loser,” “crazy,” and “nut bag.”
His heart thundering, Wyatt bolted upright, spilling his stew across the table. Ms. Abagail slid aside just in time to avoid the stream of thin broth and undercooked carrots.
“It’s true!” Wyatt screamed, eyes darting between each resident, praying they burst into flames. “You are all lucky I haven’t figured out how to cast my spells here. But, I will and you’ll all be-”
A wet carrot bounced off his forehead, breaking his concentration and filling the dining room with unrestrained mirth. Waves of laughter washed over Wyatt and his skin crawled.
“Fireball!” he bellowed, jutting a clawed hand at the other tables.
The laughter renewed and even Mr. Alec was smiling, a weak laugh escaping his lips. Wyatt glared at him, then looked to Ms. Abagail. She was turned, waving a ringed hand and yelling for quiet. The room continued to swell and Wyatt’s body went rigid, blood thundering at his temples.
“ENOUGH!” The single word reverberated off the large windows of safety glass, and the room fell to eerie silence.
Only the squeak of strained tennis shoes could be heard as Mr. Gerald entered from his small office that adjoined the dining room. The fat man was red faced and scowling. Wyatt was still standing, his face contorted in a similar rage, but the rest of the room was occupied by nervous expressions and furtive glances.
“What do you not understand about a quiet lunch?” Mr. Gerald said, addressing the group through clenched teeth.
Wyatt bristled. “It wasn’t my fault. They-”
“SILENCE!” Mr. Gerald turned on Wyatt, eyes bulging and sweat dripping from the tip of his comically small nose. “I said no more problems and what do I hear from my office? You screaming and casting spells at your fellow residents.”
“It wasn’t my-”
“I don’t want to hear it. Just because you’re new here doesn’t mean you won’t be held accountable. Head back to your room since it’s obvious you can’t handle yourself in the larger group right now.”
“It wasn’t-”
“GO!” Mr. Gerald jabbed toward the back of Dorm B with a pudgy finger.
Wyatt gave the room one last passing scowl before stomping down the side hallway. They are so lucky, he thought. I’m Wyatt the Mighty Druid. When I get my powers…
* * *
Wyatt was sitting at his desk, surrounded by colored pencils, when Ms. Abagail rolled into the doorway. She had another brightly colored can in one hand and her phone in the other. Wyatt could hear the rest of the residents and staff leaving through the mudroom door, passing his window.
“You know, you could have gone with them,” Ms. Abagail said. “If you hadn’t starting yelling at lunch.”
Wyatt shrugged and didn’t look up from his work. “I don’t care. They’re all dumb. I hate them all.”
“Oh, don’t say that. It can be tough adjusting to being here. It’ll get better, I promise.”
Wyatt grunted and swiped aside the picture he was working on. He tore another page from his notebook and attacked it with a green pencil.
Ms. Abagail stooped and picked up the fallen page. “This is really good,” she said, leaning back into the office chair and propping her legs against the door jamb. “What is it?”
Wyatt felt his chest swell at her compliment and he turned to her with an excited smile. “That’s Mareck and Gareck. They’re the Children.”
She nodded slowly and took a draw of energy drink. “Creepy eyes.”
“Yeah, they’re all white. Wicked creepy. I can never tell where they’re looking.”
“You have a great imagination.”
Wyatt reared back as if he’d been slapped. “They. Are. Not. Imaginary,” he hissed. “They’re real.”
Ms. Abagail looked back, nonplussed. “Seriously? Come on, Wyatt. You can’t really think that. I mean there’s nothing wrong with pretending-”
“It’s not pretend,” he nearly shouted.
“Hey, take it easy,” Ms. Abagail said, her eyes narrowing. “It’s just you and me here, chill it.”
“But, it’s real,” he insisted.
She said something else, but Wyatt didn’t hear. Something at the end of the hallway had moved and stolen his senses. He stood and squinted over Ms. Abagail’s chair. Brief movement around the last doorway stole his breath. What was that? The shadowy form flickered again, this time near the bathroom door in the middle of the hallway. His heart froze as terror clutched at it. Was it calling his name?
“Uh, uh,” he stammered.
“What is
with you?” Ms. Abagail said, her voice distant and muddy.
Wyatt couldn’t take his eyes from where the figure had been just a moment before. It had no form, but seemed solid all the same. It was just a brief glimpse, just a passing flicker of smoky darkness, but it had turned his blood to ice. What was it?
When it burst from behind Ms. Abagail in a flurry of smoky tendrils Wyatt cried out and stumbled back over his chair, falling to the hardwood floor with a yelp. He scrambled away from the doorway, hands raking at the floor, socked feet kicking helplessly. Only when his back pressed against the wall did he stop his frantic retreat and raise his eyes to the doorway. It was gone.
“What is your deal, Wyatt?” Ms. Abagail said. Her legs were still propped in the doorway, her face scrunched.
“I, uh,” Wyatt began. His eyes flitted around the room. No shadow. Had it even been there to begin with?
Ms. Abagail sighed and turned back to her phone. “You had better get yourself together. If you think today was long, just wait ‘til you pull this crap in school tomorrow.”
Wyatt wanted to answer, but his tongue was a brick of ice. He clutched at the pendant hidden beneath his shirt and silently prayed for sanctuary.
Chapter Eight
WYATT SKIPPED DOWN the hallway, pirouetting from wall to wall, twirling the bathroom pass, and hurling imaginary spells from the tip. The thick wooden dowel was a far superior wand than the stick he had been forced to leave on dorm. He had tried to convince the morning staff to allow it, but Mr. Howard called his bluff, stating that he wasn’t allowed to bring any item to school without prior approval, especially a stick that may or may not conjure fireballs. Insisting that it could do just that likely did not help Wyatt’s case.
He shot out kicks and spins and provided a full complement of sound effects; zaps, booms, and whooshes. His foes fell at his feet like autumn leaves bowing to the wind. Their death throes only fueled his fervor. The hallway clouded with smoke and spinning dust, laced with snaps of lightning and the concussion of exploding fireballs.
His feet caught something solid and he was catapulted forward with a loud cry. The wand leapt from his hand and his glasses fell even further askew. A wizard should never cast blind, he thought in vain.
“Ah, what the hell?” a voice shouted. Someone pushed at him with both hands.
Wyatt rolled wildly, swinging his legs in a hopelessly clumsy fashion. His foot caught the girl’s temple as he stumbled upright, grinning, and poking at his crooked glasses.
“Ah, son of a bitch,” she said. “What the hell?”
“Rozen?” he said, squinting at her red hair and golden eyes. Her skin was equally as dark as the Draygan’s.
“What?” she said, rubbing at the side of her head. “No… I… uh… fuck.” She winced and massaged her bruised temple with greater care.
Wyatt cocked his head to the side and thumbed his glasses. Her hair was red, but far too bright to be Rozen, and she was not nearly tall enough.
“Ah, you’re right. Rozen has longer hair and it looks like fire,” Wyatt said thoughtfully, his bushy black eyebrows dancing like cartoon caterpillars. “My bad, but you have the same cool eyes.”
“Contacts,” she said with a grimace. “Seriously, what the hell? You need to watch where you’re goin’. Shit, man.”
Wyatt shrugged apologetically and grinned lopsidedly.
“Well, what you starin’ at?”
Wyatt put on his best debonair smile and gave a curt bow. “You, pretty lady.” He attempted a wink, but it came as only a lazy blink.
She scrunched her face in disgust. “Ugh, freak, get out of here.”
He shrugged and skipped off, grinning. He could feel her golden gaze on his back. He hazarded a double kick, stumbled, and righted himself without looking back. He knew she was watching. The grin slapped across his face spread so wide it hurt.
* * *
Wyatt could not have been less surprised when the vibrant, red-haired beauty slumped into the seat directly across from him in the cafeteria. He smiled winningly and thought to say something, but she stopped him with a wave of her hand. Her nails were each painted a different color and neatly trimmed. Wyatt wondered if she could handle a bow.
“Don’t even talk to me, freak,” she said. “Got no place else to sit.”
Wyatt turned to survey the cafeteria. Every table was packed elbow to elbow, it was true, but Wyatt’s table, nestled into a corner, was entirely open. She had to sit at my table, but didn’t have to sit right across from me. An incorrigible smile crept across his face. He thumbed his glasses and ran a hand through his shaggy, unkempt hair.
“This is our second date,” he said. “On the third we can kiss.”
The rainbow of fingers dropped the chicken tender as if it were aflame. Her lips curled. They shone with lip gloss and Wyatt wondered how they tasted. As sweet as false fruit I bet.
“Are you mental or some shit? I heard you was some retard from downstate. Don’t go thinkin’ I’m your girl just ‘cause you fell on me earlier and I’m sittin’ here now.”
“Actually, I’m a genius,” he said and, deciding he couldn’t help himself, added, “and a Druid.”
“Oh yeah? What’s five-sixty-eight broke three ways?”
Without hesitating he said, “One-eighty-nine and a third. Or one-eighty-nine point three three three three three-”
“I got it, jeez.”
Wyatt grinned. “I’m Wyatt, by the way. We didn’t get a chance to properly meet, uh, earlier.”
“Uh, yeah, because you fell on me,” she said.
“It wasn’t my fault. You had your legs out and-”
“Athena,” she interrupted. “My name’s Athena. And it was your fault.”
“Druids don’t make mistakes like that.”
Athena stared back, but didn’t say anything.
“You know,” he said, raising his eyebrows. “A Druid. Protector and savior of Hagion. Caster of mystical spells and holder of great power.”
“Oh God,” she said and rolled her eyes so hard Wyatt thought she had passed out.
“Heh, you looked like Mareck and Gareck for a second,” he said. Not that you could ever be called creepy.
“You really are bat crap crazy, ain’t ya?”
Wyatt shrugged and straightened his glasses. They hung in place for a second before sliding awry again. “Crazy, maybe. But, genius and Druid, don’t forget.”
“You’re at the Shepherd’s Crook. That says you must be crazy or some shit.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I’m just here until my grandma gets better.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “Ain’t no hotel. You’re here for shit just like the rest of us, whether it’s your shit or not, you’re here for it.”
“Are you crazy?”
Athena laughed. “Crazy, no. But, some shit, yeah.”
“Is your grandma sick too?”
Athena’s eyes narrowed. “Pathological, ain’t ya? My grandma’s dead.”
Wyatt felt blood pool in his cheeks and his heart quicken. He didn’t like the feeling. “Oh,” he said. “What about your parents?”
Athena sighed and crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. She stared at Wyatt a moment, as if deciding whether he could be trusted or not. If he was being honest with himself Wyatt didn’t expect her to answer. When she did he had trouble keeping his nerves in line.
“Prison,” she said. “My dad’s in for beatin’ the shit outta me and Mama’s in for stabbing my dad in the stomach.”
Wyatt laughed. He shook his head. “That can’t be true. What really happened?”
Athena leaned forward, her golden eyes scanning his face and her brow in a deep scowl. “You callin’ me a liar?” she said through clenched teeth. “You, who is so full of shit your eyes are brown.”
Wyatt recoiled and frowned back. “My eyes have always been brown. Grandma says I get that from my dad.”
“And you’re only kickin’ here ‘til she gets better?”
Wyatt nodded.
Athena leaned back and took to her lunch, devouring a chicken tender in one mouthful. “So full of shit,” she said, spitting crumbs and pieces of half chewed chicken. “Fuckin’ stuffed with it.”
Wyatt bristled. “You can call me Master Wyatt.”
Athena nearly choked on her food. After managing to swallow she took a long swig of milk and said, “You’re kiddin’ me, right?”
He shrugged. “All my friends do.”
Athena made a show of looking up and down the empty table and smirked at him. “How ‘bout I call you ‘Wy’? Like why am I sitting with you?”
“Grandma says nicknames are a sign of affection,” he said, to which Athena scowled. “Well, why are you?”
She didn’t respond and immediately turned back to her lunch, though with far less interest. She picked over the broccoli and carrot medley, but didn’t put anything to her mouth. What a strange and beautiful creature, he thought.
Chapter Nine
IT WAS SHORTLY after midnight when the pendant woke him. The burning sensation swept over his body as if he’d been doused with gasoline and handed a lit match. He stifled a cry. There was a creak from the hallway, but nothing further. Wyatt attempted to roll from bed, but the thick green coils wrapped tighter and held him captive against the stained bed. He thought to fight or protest, but did not. What am I fighting? he thought. Do I want to stay here? His mind fled to Athena for a moment, but the feeling fluttering in his chest was foreign and difficult to understand. Light erupted and the corner room on Dorm B vanished before he could think further on the red-haired goddess.
Wyatt’s body twisted violently and something cold and wet washed over his face. He heard a loud hiss. He thought it sounded angry, or hungry, perhaps both. He couldn’t be certain. He opened his eyes and greeted the tip of Rozen’s spear with a familiar smile. The sky behind her had darkened. Night was falling. How long have I been gone?
He smiled sloppily at the snarling Draygan. Her hood was down and she looked ravishing against the pink and purple glow of the setting sun. He had never been happier to see something that could so easily kill him.
The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy) Page 6