Super Freak

by Vanessa Barger

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2015 by Vanessa Barger

  Super Freak by Vanessa Barger

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Month9Books, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Tantrum Books for Month9Books

  Cover illustration by Zachary Schoenbaum. Cover design by Najla Qamber Designs.

  Cover copyright © 2015 Tantrum Books for Month9Books

  To Randy

  Yours in all places

  To Roommate

  The best bestie who ever bested

  Chapter One

  Twenty-five feet into town. That’s as far as we got before the first disaster happened. Dad turned onto Main Street, and just as we pulled up next to Greywolfe’s Spells and Supplies, a huge puff of smoke and flame burst from the front doors. Shattered glass and a large, hairy man shot into the path of our over-packed SUV.

  Dad slammed his foot down on the brakes and jerked the wheel to the left, throwing us around the inside of the car. In the back, I covered my head, expecting the piles of wedged boxes to topple over, burying me in an avalanche of dishes and teddy bears.

  “Caroline! Are you all right?” Mom reached into the back seat, her horn-rimmed glasses dangling from one ear.

  “I’m good. Did we hit him?” I craned my neck, looking to see out the front window. Dad unbuckled and leapt from the car to help the man who had flown in the road to his feet.

  “I think he’s fine. You’d think he’d at least have the decency to let out a warning before coming out like that. He could have been killed! We could have been hurt! Dishes might have fallen on you and broken!”

  I rolled my eyes. The dishes would be a high priority.

  Mom shook her head, letting loose a shower of tiny green leaves. It always happened when she was stressed. Dryads weren’t really known for their calm temperaments. You’d think, being tree spirits, they’d have that stoic thing going for them. Maybe it was because Mom was a weeping willow, but calm wasn’t really part of her vocabulary. Dad on the other hand, was solid as an oak. Because he was an oak.

  After unhooking my seatbelt, I slid from the car. Mom followed suit. Her lips compressed into a tight line and she shed another couple handfuls of leaves, but for the moment, she contained herself.

  Dad stood, tall and wiry, one arm hooked around a large, barrel-chested man with more facial hair than I’d seen in my life. Had to be a werewolf. He pulled away from my dad and brushed at the gravel and purple residue covering his gray suit.

  “Thank you, Mr. …” The stranger held out one hand to my dad.

  “George Bennings,” Dad said, shaking the stranger’s hand. “And this is my wife, Grace, and our daughter, Caroline. We just moved here from Lost Creek.”

  “My name is William Grouseman. I’m thrilled you’ve come to town, but glad you didn’t pull in a few moments sooner.”

  I wanted to warn him that sarcasm was lost on my parents, but he seemed to get the message when they didn’t share in his chuckle. They exchanged a confused glance and smiled blankly at him.

  He offered his hand to me and I shook it. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  He frowned, looking between my parents and then back at me.

  Mom’s arm curved around my shoulder, nudging me forward. She sniffed. “She’s just a late bloomer. We’ve got great hopes for her future.”

  I sighed. She meant well, but it never failed. Supernatural people could sense the paranormal on each other. But when they got to me there was nothing. A void. A great, empty space where everyone expected some sort of natural magic.

  The supernatural had been the normal since 1978 when an explorer by the name of Albert Merriweather stumbled into a cave in Greece and found Pandora’s Box, and then opened it. Apparently the myths about the box were off a little. Instead of holding all the evils of the world, it held all the magic that had been pulled out of it. Releasing magic out into the world, well, now every person was a little bit paranormal. It didn’t mean everyone could cast a spell or levitate. But everyone had something. Kids were tested in elementary school.

  The ones with lots of magic were usually the popular crowd. The rest of the population lived with it, picking up what they could, where they could. You could ask to be retested anytime. Sometimes people really did make progress.

  Except me. I hadn’t just tested low, I’d flunked. So badly they brought in national analysts to make sure there wasn’t someone tampering with the tests. It was a relief really. I mean, my parents were powerful. Who wants to try and beat that?

  My lack of powers drove my parents batty. Most people figured I was adopted. Two dryads–tree spirits who could change shape, manipulate the natural world, and talk to trees–produced a normal child? Impossible.

  My parents were convinced I would show signs as I matured. I didn’t have the heart to tell them differently, but I really didn’t think it would ever happen. And that was fine by me. Magic was great–when it worked.

  Maybe when I turned forty my parents would figure it out. Until then, I’d smile and nod when they gave me their speech about reaching my potential and discovering hidden talents.

  I met Mr. Grouseman’s chocolate eyes and gave him a weak smile before he turned to my parents.

  “Ah, well, it happens sometimes. If anyone can draw out her gift, it’s our teaching staff at the school. I’m the principal at Stein Middle School.” His eyes moved from them to me. I wished I were small and hidden under a rock. “You look like you’re about middle-school age. What grade will you be in?”

  I swallowed. This was not how I planned to meet the school principal. “I’m supposed to start eighth this year.”

  “I thought so. You’ll love the school. Excellent courses and teachers, and the students are some of the best.”

  Just like every other school I’d been to. They always said that. It must be in a rulebook principals get when they start their jobs. Luckily, that was the end of his conversation with me. He told my parents where the school was, and what the summer office hours were, then waved at us as he headed back into the shop.

  Mom raised a tentative finger and cleared her throat. “Are you certain it’s safe to go back in?”

  Mr. Grouseman loosed a deep peal of laughter. “Of course! My nephew runs the store. What you saw was an accident when a new display tipped over. Have a great day!”

  I didn’t buy his story, and I didn’t think Mom and Dad did either. But clearly he wasn’t going to share family quarrels with the new people in town. With a shrug, I climbed back into the car, put my cryptogram book away, and watched the town unfold outside my windows. The buildings wound around a central park with huge old-growth trees and the county buildings were the same as they’d been when the town was founded in the seventeenth century. My Dad gave me tidbits about the history of Hecate Bay for the last two weeks, trying to pump up my anticipation. History was one passion Dad and I shared.

  Spell suppliers, voodoo parlors, psychic readers, and magical bookstores rubbed elbows with Food Lion, florists, and churches. The human and the paranormal had merged and become just like the country–an inseparable mix.

  We headed for our new h
ouse. As we turned away from town, the library caught my attention. A huge stone building that, based on the size, I knew held thousands of books. I started to drool at the prospect. As I watched the people wandering down the street, and we passed another spell shop and magical supply store, my excitement began to fade. I thought about what I’d seen so far, the encounter with my new principal, and the new school year approaching, and my stomach churned with dread. I knew that no matter what, Hecate Bay wasn’t the restful small town my parents told me about. I’d hoped for one of those rare towns populated with only a few magical creatures and big magical talents. This place, well, I could practically taste the magic in the air.

  I was doomed.

  Chapter Two

  Horror movie producers would die to film here. Despite that, I kind of liked the old house. Like a fungus, it grew on me the longer I looked at it. The entire thing was painted a powder blue long ago, but now the paint peeled off in large flakes that decorated the overgrown azaleas around the outside. The windows were in all the right places to look like large eyes watching the road, waiting for us. A huge, screened porch stretched across the front, the curve of the bowing roof looked like a smile.

  Despite, or maybe because of, the ivy clinging to the chipped brick chimney, and the general air of neglect that hung over the entire area, the house had personality. I liked old things. My parents loved fixer-upper items from cars to bookcases. This house would be the ultimate test of their skills. All I wanted was a room that didn’t leak and wasn’t overrun with bugs. I may have liked old things, but I hated the extra stuff that came with them. Dirt. Grime. Spiders. I hated spiders.

  “What do you think, Caro?” Dad asked, his arm squeezing my shoulders. I wrapped an arm around his waist and hugged back. A smile spread across my face.

  “I think I like it. It has charm.”

  Mom eyed a huge web near the door. “That’s one way of putting it,” she grumbled.

  She was still worked up about Mr. Grouseman, or she’d have been just as excited. You could see it in the way she ogled the overgrown garden off to the side. She had the faraway look on her face that told me she was placing mums and remulching flowerbeds in her mind.

  She and Dad both spotted the huge birch tree at the same time. All the bags they’d been carrying dropped to the ground and they moved toward it like I moved toward chocolate at Halloween.

  “Caroline! Come on!” Mom called, never taking her eyes from the bark.

  I blew the hair out of my eyes and tapped one foot. “Thanks, but you go ahead.”

  They didn’t answer, and I leaned against the car door, watching as my parents circled the tree with their arms, the thick trunk almost too big for their hands to touch. Dad kicked off his shoes, his toes digging into the grass and then morphing into roots.

  They leaned against the tree and sighed. I knew they were trying to communicate with it. Dad loved old trees. Always talked about how much they had to say. I crossed my arms and prayed this wouldn’t take forever.

  A few moments later, he and Mom let go of the tree, swaying, their skin mottled and coarse like bark. Dad blinked a few times, and then his feet returned to normal. Mom’s skin rippled and faded back to human.

  “Did you get what you wanted?”

  Dad shook his head. “Not a very friendly tree.” Disapproval made the words sharp. The leaves overhead rustled, as if the tree protested. “We’ll try again another time.

  “Now, let’s get to the real show.” Dad pulled a key from his pocket and headed up the porch steps, almost skipping. I shook my head at his mood swing and followed, taking a small box from Mom. He inserted the key into the lock; the metal creaking and groaning as he slid the deadbolt back and flung open the door.

  “Ta-da!” he said, throwing his arms wide.

  Dust coated every surface inside, and Mom dropped everything in her arms. She fished in one pocket, pulling out a wadded handkerchief and sniffled, dabbing at her eyes. Dad put an arm around her.

  “Oh, George, it’s beautiful,” she gushed.

  My parents were the strangest people I knew.

  “I’m going to pick out a room.”

  I headed for the wide staircase; dust swirled in gray puffs around my feet. The house was huge, and even I could see that someone spent a lot of time and money carving the banisters and wooden moldings around the doors and windows.

  Each stair moaned and creaked as I stepped on them. Great. There’d be no sneaking around the house.

  “Be careful, Caro,” Dad said, following me.

  “Why? It’s a little dusty, but it doesn’t look dangerous.”

  “There are a few places the realtor showed me that need some work. I’m going to repair those first thing tomorrow.”

  I knew the place was a fixer-upper, but I hadn’t realized it was that bad. I slowed and paid more attention to where I put my feet.

  “Please tell me there’s working indoor plumbing.” I stopped at the top of the stairs. My hands fisted on my hips and I waited for Dad to answer.

  “Of course. You only had to use that outhouse for three days. Really, you’d think I’d made you live there without plumbing for months.”

  Those had been the worst three days of my life. We stayed in a century-old house with a real outhouse where we had to use a broom handle to fish around for spiders before we could actually use the toilet. I shuddered at the thought of the hairy creatures. Dad walked into the first doorway on the left and I heard water running in a sink.

  He stuck his head around the corner. “See? I told you.”

  I decided to ignore the relief in his voice and focus on the fact that it worked. “It’s a good thing. I doubt there’s a hotel close.”

  He ruffled my hair as I passed the doorway. I ducked and giggled, headed for the bedroom doors, all of which were open along the length of the hall. The first was small, with a single window, one pane broken out of the bottom. The next had to be the master. It was twice the size of my parents’ old room, and another doorway in the corner revealed tile floor I assumed was in the attached bath.

  “No way, Caro. This one’s claimed.” Dad teased, standing behind me.

  The last bedroom on the hall was mine. We both walked in, and I smiled. Other than the wall with the doorway, the rest of the room was round. Even the door to the closet had been specially made to curve with the walls.

  Dad stood outside, a slight frown on his face. He paused in the doorway, putting one foot over the threshold, and then stepped back. I raised an eyebrow and he took one tentative step inside.

  “This is so cool! But I’ve never seen this turret thing before.”

  “Victorians believed the round shape would confuse evil spirits.” He took a couple more steps, his eyes searching for something I couldn’t see. “But this is older than that. The owners of this house, like so many that have come here, were a little out there. It’s the only farmhouse I’ve ever seen with one.” He ran his hands over a flower carved into the molding around the closet door. “I’m not sure what they used it for,” he whispered. I’m not sure he even realized he said it aloud.

  I spun in the middle of the room. “Well, I like it. This is totally my room.”

  He didn’t agree right away, and when I turned around, he opened his mouth, his brow furrowed as if preparing to argue. But instead he sighed. “Sure, Caro. If you want it.”

  He smiled, but it didn’t meet his eyes.

  ***

  The only thing worse than the two weeks of mopping, scrubbing, dusting, and furniture arranging was school. I’d been dreading this day since we’d pulled the boxes from the car. It wasn’t the classes that bothered me. I would admit to anyone that I was a huge dork. It was being the new girl. Again.

  Middle school was brutal even if you’d grown up with the people in your classes. At least then you had history with them, and maybe they’d cut you some slack. But for a new kid, without magic? I just hoped to stay far enough und
er the radar that no one paid attention to me.

  My dad, the official historian for the National Paranormal Historical Society, had kept us traveling as long as I could remember. Not once had I managed to stay in a school district for more than two consecutive years. In all those moves, I had never been able to avoid being the odd girl out. If I’d just been a dryad like my parents, I’d be forgotten in a week. But my sheer normalness made me stick out like a Christmas tree at Easter. I was the butt of every joke, and the easiest kid to bully. Even the ones who didn’t have much paranormal stuff going on bullied me. Probably because I was a novelty. I didn’t even want to think about the number of papers I’d written for other people. I hefted my book bag over my shoulders. Maybe this time would be different.

  Chapter Three

  The bus came down the street, slowing in front of the long driveway. I endured Mom’s hug and suggestions for making friends and then rushed to the end of the gravel lane.

  “You’re late. Next time, I’ll leave you,” the bus driver said, yanking the door shut.

  I nodded and sat in an empty seat near the back. I hoped this wasn’t an indication of how the rest of the day would go. Only when we started rolling again, and I looked away from the window, did I realize total silence enveloped the bus. I slouched down in my seat, trying to ignore the stares.

  Two boys in front of me, eyes a little red around the rims and sunglasses perched on their sandy blond hair, watched with the most fascination. Vampire twins. Just what I needed to deal with this morning. The middle school vampires always had the same reaction to a new girl–see how long it would take to make her squirm.

  I dug around for the puzzle book and pencil I kept in the front of my bag. After a few minutes of focusing on the cryptograms, I’d hardly notice if the bus crashed. Two bloodsuckers with nothing nice to say would be easy to ignore.