Paranormal After Dark

by Rebecca Hamilton

  Only two adults watch all of the children. The younger one approaches us. “Glad you’re here early today, Vince. I need to jet. Sam isn’t feeling well, and I want to see if I can get him in to see his doctor before the office closes.”

  “No problem, Kim.”

  Kim picks up a four-year-old who has bright flushed cheeks, says goodbye to the other kids, and is out the door within thirty seconds.

  “Vince, Vince, want to see what I drawed today?” A short, chubby boy runs up to him and tugs on his arm.

  “Sure thing, Ryan.” My boyfriend turns to me and glances around. “Mrs. Davis is… Huh. Maybe she’s in her office.” He nods toward the door on the right. “Don’t worry. She doesn’t bite.”

  “Mrs. Davis doesn’t, but Betty does.” Ryan points to a cute girl with high pigtails.

  Vince nods and mouths, “Ouch.”

  I smile. “I’ll try to stay away from her teeth. Thanks for the warning, Ryan.”

  As I head toward Mrs. Davis’s office, I overhear Ryan say, “Who is she? She’s nice.”

  “Can you help me?” a soft voice asks.

  I turn around to see a little girl sitting on the ground, one shoe off.

  “I don’t know how to tie my shoes.”

  “It can be tricky.” I kneel down and loosen the laces so I can easily slip the shoe on and tie the shoe.

  “Thanks!” The girl beams, revealing a few missing teeth.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Finally, I reach the closed door and knock. No response, at least none that I can hear. The children are being really noisy so I open the door.

  Mrs. Davis sits behind a small desk covered in paperwork. She stands and holds out her hand. “You must be Crystal. Vince has told me so much about you.”

  “Thanks.” I shake her hand and sit down. Butterflies flutter in my stomach. My first official job interview. The bakery doesn’t count. I rub my hands together. They’re sweaty. Wonderful. I just shook her hand.

  Mrs. Davis also sits. Should I have let her sit first before sitting? Fingers moving quickly, she fumbles through some papers and pulls one out. She brushes back loose strands from her ponytail and clicks open a pen. “Crystal Miller, right?”

  “Yes.” I make a mental note to ask Mom if my name had been legally changed to Miller.

  “Do you have an experience working with children?”

  “I’ve babysat over the years, since I turned twelve.”

  “Do you enjoy working with kids?”

  There’s a loud crash and some wailing. A low murmur, maybe Vince’s, and the crying stops.

  “I do. I think kids are a miracle.”

  Mrs. Davis laughs. “After a few days here, you won’t always think that. Don’t get me wrong, they’re all great kids, but when you have so many young children in the same room, there’s bound to be fighting.” She writes on the sheet. “We use a time out chair. We never hit the children, not even small taps on the rump.”

  I nod.

  “If we see someone playing nicely above and beyond, there’s a small chest they can pick something out of, stickers, small gooey creatures, things like that. There are a few babies, so the small toys have to be kept out of the playpens. Mostly Kim and Val will be taking care of the babies, so you won’t have to worry about diapers and bottles.”

  “Babies make me a little nervous,” I confess. “I hadn’t been around a lot of them. All of the kids I babysat were at least three years old.”

  She leans back in her seat. “Have you held a baby?”

  I think a moment. “Not that I can recall.”

  “If you want to, you can. Have a seat on the couch, and Kim can bring one over to you. It helps to be sitting if you aren’t comfortable holding one.”

  “I think Kim left for the day already.”

  Mrs. Davis snaps her fingers. “That’s right. Sam’s sick.” She touches her temple with the end of the pen. “I forget things sometimes. It can be so hectic here. Normally, help watch the kids, but today, there have been so many phone calls and parents wanting to drop off their kids early or pick them up late.” She wags her finger at the phone. “Don’t ring again until we’re done talking.”

  I laugh, already liking Mrs. Davis. Working here will be a lot of fun.

  After a moment, I will the phone not to ring. It’s almost like a habit.

  “I brought on Vince because a lot more kids have been enrolled lately, but we need even more help. You’ll be working the same hours as Vince. No time off, I’m afraid, unless it’s an emergency. State law requires a certain child to staff ratio, so the more notice you can give me the better.”

  I nod. “That sounds reasonable.”

  “Do you want the job?”

  “Yes!”

  “Excellent.” She grabs a few more forms. “I’ll need you to fill these out, and then we’ll be all set. How soon can you start?”

  I accept the forms and the offered pen. “As soon as you need me to. Today, if need be.”

  “Go for it. Fill out the forms first, though. Oh, and you’ll have to bring in your birth certificate and social security card to be added to payroll.”

  The phone rings.

  Mrs. Davis smiles. “Perfect timing.”

  I stifle a giggle. Sometimes, using my magic, using myself, is almost becoming second nature.

  * * *

  I’M SURPRISINGLY SORE when I ease into Vince’s grandmother’s car after we finish working.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” Vince asks eagerly.

  “Yes.” I stifle a yawn.

  “I was exhausted at first,” he says as he starts the car, “but you get used to it.”

  “It’s amazing how much energy they have for being so little!”

  He laughs. “I know. Samantha really took a shining to you.”

  “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “She normally hates new people. She never comes near when I read the stories.”

  “Maybe you scare her.” I love teasing him.

  “Me? Scary?” He wrinkles his nose. “Nah, that can’t be it.”

  “Well, you did kinda have the loner look going on before you got your haircut.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “Uh… I’m glad you got it cut.”

  “Me too. It was a pain, always falling in my eyes. Girls never seemed to go for the head flip.”

  I giggle. “That’s because they were too busy getting out of the way so your hair didn’t poke them in the eye.”

  “Oh, so that explains it! No wonder they didn’t find it hot.” He shakes his head. “Silly girls.”

  We laugh. I love how we can joke and laugh and how we can also be serious at times.

  “Do you think I might be able to come over to your house tomorrow?” I ask. “I need to talk to you and your parents before I start to make all of the final arrangements for the memorial service.”

  “I don’t see why that would be a problem.”

  “Great.”

  He parks in front of my house. “Crystal, I like hanging out with you. I really do.”

  Uh oh. This doesn’t sound good. My stomach sinks.

  “I like hanging out with you too,” I say slowly.

  “It’s just that… I’m glad you told me about your real parents, but ever since, you seem closed off. You can tell me anything. I swear I’m not going anywhere.” He squeezes my hand.

  This noticing means so much to me, but how can I tell him the truth? He’ll think I’m a freak all over again. I swallow hard. “I’m not going anywhere either. You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “That’s the thing. I worry all the time. I don’t know if it’s because of the accident, but I can’t… I don’t want to lose you.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” I repeat softly.

  “Good.” He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to. I didn’t after Tomm
y.”

  I trace the seam of my jeans. “I always wondered if I should have tried talking to you more back then, if stepping back and giving you space was the right thing to do.”

  “It was what I needed. I didn’t talk to anyone, not even my parents. Eventually I opened up to my therapist. Every so often, I’ll call him. He’s kinda cool. We talk about sports and other stuff. I just want you to know I won’t bring up your parents again unless you do first.”

  “Thanks, Vince.” I pat his arm.

  Deep inside, I want to blurt everything out, but telling him the truth will forever alter our relationship, and not necessary for the better. Can I risk us when we only just got together? But can our relationship ever move forward if he doesn’t know every aspect of my being?

  “I’ll take you up on that,” I promise. “Soon.”

  “Whenever you’re ready.” He opens his car door and gets out.

  I open mine but close it before climbing out.

  Vince opens my door and leans against it, shaking his head. “I’m gonna have to break you of that.”

  “Guess I’m just not used to have a boyfriend,” I say shyly.

  By the time we reach my porch, Mom stands by the front door. “Hello, Vince. How’s your mom doing?”

  “Much better, thanks. I’ll tell her you asked about her.”

  “Come on inside, Crystal. Dinner’s waiting.”

  She makes no move to leave, so I look pointedly at her then the door.

  With a wink, Mom tussles my hair and goes inside.

  Vince glances at the window and pecks my cheek. “See ya at school tomorrow.”

  “See ya.”

  Thanks a lot, Mom.

  Chapter 22

  THAT NIGHT, I climb into bed, yawning and rubbing my eyes. I have the nagging feeling that I’m forgetting something.

  Or someone.

  With a start, I fling the sheets away.

  God.

  Faith has always been a huge aspect of my life. I know Mom thinks faith and magic don’t have to be exclusive, but I have been distancing myself from my beliefs.

  I never was one to kneel beside my bed when saying nightly prayers, but tonight I do. “Dear Lord, I know I haven’t been praying a lot lately, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve been busy, what with learning that I’m magic, and the witches and the shamans and that dog witch hunter.” I shake my head. “It’s a crazy world, isn’t it? I used to think magic was hocus pocus nonsense. Now I know that’s not the case.”

  My right leg cramps, so I shift my weight. “I’m magic. It’s so strange to say it out loud. Magic. Me.” I close my eyes and lean my forehead against my bed. “If I’m magic, it’s because You wanted me to be magic. So there’s no harm in my altering time or learning to set things on fire, is there? I guess it’s like everything else—okay in moderation, and if used for good and not ill.”

  Opening my eyes, I raise my head and look out my window. Stars shine, banishing some of the darkness of night. “But I don’t always know what’s good and what’s not when it comes to magic. I need Your help. And please look over Vince and his parents and my mom.”

  I make the sign of the cross. Tears sting my eyes. The feeling of peacefulness I normally feel after I finish praying—I don’t feel it. Did God hear me?

  Is my faith waning?

  I climb into bed, but sleep eludes me. I think about trying to pray some more. Then I think about Silver Tiger and how the witch played with fire in her hand. Now that’s something worthwhile to practice.

  Focusing on my palm, I open it, my thoughts on fire and heat. My hand burns, but no fire appears. I mentally picture the fire above my hand, but that doesn’t work either. Agitated and annoyed, I mime lighting a match and dropping it into my right palm.

  The fire appears. My hand literally feels like it’s on fire, so I lower my hand. The fire now hovers a few inches above it. Closing my hand extinguishes the fire.

  Immediately, I opened my hand again, willing the fire to return. It does. Ten times in a row, I open and close my hand, the fire reappearing and leaving each time.

  Take that, Silver Tiger!

  My doorknob twists suddenly, and the vision I saw in Vince’s car springs to mind.

  With a gasp, I jump to my feet. “Mom?”

  My doorknob jingles.

  “Mom!”

  No answer.

  I jump forward and turn the lock.

  The knob jingles some more and unlocks. The door slowly opens.

  Terror overwhelms me. Without thinking, I conjure the fire. Like a baseball pitcher, I wind up and throw the fire at the door.

  My door bursts into flames.

  Memorized by the flickering fiery tongues, I can’t see anyone, but I do hear footsteps.

  “Mom!”

  My attempts to return the fire to my palm fail. My door smolders. At least it hasn’t spread to the walls or the rest of the house.

  If I can’t quench the fire like I did before, maybe I can extinguish it another way. I try to bring forth water, but my fright, as well as never using that element before, prevents me from conjuring even a droplet.

  “Mom!”

  Again, footsteps sound.

  “Crystal?” she calls, maybe from the stairs.

  “I’m sorry, Mom.” My voice is hoarse. “I didn’t mean too.”

  “What in the… Your door’s on fire!”

  I wince at the panic and disapproval in her voice. Tears blur my vision. Magic is not a plaything. Hadn’t I just prayed that I use magic for good and not ill?

  “I’ll get some water. Stay away from the door,” she instructs.

  How can Mom be so calm? I rub my eyes to prevent myself from crying and sniff. The fire. Nothing smells like it’s burning.

  I creep toward the door. The heat of the fire stings my eyes, but I refuse to back down. Taking a deep breath, I press my hand onto the fiery door.

  The heat is immense, but my hand doesn’t burn.

  Closing my eyes, I withdraw the fire into my palm. It resists me at first, as if it wants to stay alive, but I force it to listen to me. Slowly, each flame trickles back, and the ball of fire in my hand is five times as large as the one I’d conjured. Once I retrieve all of the fire, I close my palm.

  “Here’s the… It’s gone. The fire.” Mom glances around, eyes wide, jaw lowered, a large bucket of water in her hands.

  “I’m sorry, Mom. I was practicing, and things got out of control…”

  She carefully places the bucket onto the carpet and hesitates before touching the door. “It’s still hot,” she murmurs, “but it’s not charred, and there’s no smoke either.”

  “Maybe I didn’t really conjure fire. Something like fire.”

  Mom scratches her head and pulls her robe together. “I wish I knew more, that I could help you more. All that matters is that you’re all right and the house is fine. Go back to sleep.”

  Nodding, I close the warm door, climb back into bed, and close my eyes. No way will I be able to fall asleep, not after that.

  Darkness closes in around me. Calder stands in an empty field, sniffing, hunting. I approach him. He growls but stays focus, bounding down the trail. From the field, we enter a forest, even though there aren’t any near Claymore. The forest opens up into a clearing, a large oak tree in the center. A tall figure emerges from behind the tree.

  Calder wags his tail and jumps onto the person’s chest, the big dog almost knocking down his owner. Gavin’s father.

  I keep my distance, wary. This is just a dream, right? Maybe, maybe not, but I find the courage to step forward a pace or two to better see his face. The witch hunter.

  As if he knows I’m there, he stares at me. Hatred burns in his eyes.

  I gasp and stumble back, falling to the ground. Although I should have felt grass and dirt, I feel nothing but ice.

  “Begone.” He sneers and throws something glittery at me.

  Letting out a strangled cry, I wake up.

  Gavin’s fa
ther, the witch hunter, is the hit-and-run driver and the mugger.

  Chapter 23

  SOMEHOW I’M ABLE to fall back asleep, and I wake a few minutes before my alarm would have gone off. A throbbing headache greets me, and I groan. Today is not going to be a good day, I can tell.

  I force myself to concentrate on my classes. Over the years, I’ve prided myself on my academics. This year shouldn’t be any different. I worked too hard to allow magic and witches and witch hunters to ruin my academic life.

  Although I can just magically give myself A’s…

  But if I do that, I won’t know the material. That’s more important than a letter grade.

  At lunchtime, I dawdle and enter the cafeteria a good five minutes later than I normally do. Our table is full. Sean sits next to Paula, although they don’t look at each other.

  Focus, Crystal.

  Gavin sits on the end. Brian’s next to him but is deep in conversation with Heather. The new student’s shoulders are slumped, and he looks uncomfortable.

  A pang of pity hits me, and I wave to him. He doesn’t see me.

  Look up.

  Gavin meets my gaze. I motion him over.

  He gathers his things, throws his trash away, and saunters over. “What’s up?”

  I bristle with anger. It vibrates in my ears, and some kind of charge tingles along my skin. If he touches me, I’m sure there would be a spark.

  “That night… did you know?” I spit out. A few kids glance over, and I mentally suggest they don’t pay us any attention.

  “What night? Know what?” He holds out his hands in a disarming fashion. “Back up and start over.”

  “The night you went for a walk. The night of the accident.”

  “Okay, with you so far.”

  “Did you know it was your dad who plowed into the car and almost killed Mrs. Fuller?” Somehow I manage to not scream at him, but my low tone is just as threatening.

  “What!”

  “He had been gunning for me. I was supposed to sit there, but Mrs. Fuller insisted that I sit up front.” The cloud of energy around me electrifies, and I pray my hair isn’t standing on end. There I go again, praying only when I want something. Focus.