Wicked Fate (The Wicked Trilogy)

by Tabatha Vargo

  We pick out a few dog toys before leaving, pay for everything, and then walk home side-by-side.

  “What should we name you?” I ask.

  I perch myself on the front steps of the house. Dirt puffs into the air as my new friend flops to the ground by my feet.

  I run all kinds of dog names through my head and I find nothing that fits this amazing beast. He’s the king of all dogs and whatever I choose has to be perfect. The king—Sire!

  “Since you’re the king of all dogs, I think I’ll call you Sire. How does that sound?”

  He lifts his big body out of the dirt and then ever so sweetly he bends his head to bow to me.

  Sire, it is!

  Chapter 4

  The Addition of Bernie

  My Monday morning walk to school is pleasant. The slight fog that’s covering the town makes it hard to see the ground beneath my feet. I pretend I’m walking on clouds, and my mood this morning seems to fit my imagination.

  The morning birds are chirping and a wispy breeze is blowing through my midnight hair. I take a deep breath of the refreshing air and I can smell the early mist coming from the grass.

  I’m running late, since getting Sire to stay on the porch took longer than it should have. I know I should hurry, but this moment of complete solitude is too precious and I can’t make myself rush.

  Once I’m at school, the first part of the day flies by. Time seems nonexistent and I think it has something to do with the aura of happiness that I’ve been swimming in all day. Having a new friend, even if he is just a dog, is having a good affect on me. So with my new cheerful feelings, I walk to lunch with a big smile plastered on my face.

  The people I pass in the hallway cower in fear; they’re afraid of my smile. They look at me with suspicion, like I might be plotting something dangerous against the school. That thought makes me laugh inside and my smile gets larger.

  Strangely, I’m in a friendly mood. For the first time in many years, I feel the desire to socialize.

  With a pretty red apple and a bottle of water in hand, I start towards the cafeteria doors to go to my new secluded lunch spot. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my old table and sitting there is Bernie. She’s alone and for once, she isn’t paying any attention to me.

  She’s munching on a bag of chips and staring off into space. Her loneliness breaks my heart; especially since it’s my fault she’s alone in the first place. It’s one thing for me to be ignored, but it’s another for this seriously sweet girl to be banished permanently for no good reason. I thought for sure that people would get over her friendly display towards me, since she’s new, and take her under their wing. But I guess I was wrong. The human race never fails to disappoint.

  I see myself sitting at that lunch table. I’ve felt what she’s feeling and all I know is I want to take that feeling away from her. It’s not fair that people can be so cruel.

  I decide in the moment, that I’m going to make another massive change in my life. I’m going to stop living for the people around me. It’s not like anything I do is going to change their opinion of me anyway. This girl needs a friend and today I’m feeling exceptionally friendly.

  The room goes still and all eyes to turn on me…again, as I walk up to Bernie. I question if I’m doing the right thing, but then I look at her sad face and I know I am.

  People begin to stand to get a better view. It’s as if they expect me to do something crazy like bite her head off. They should be ashamed of themselves for being so nosey, but instead they openly gawk and point.

  I reach my hand out and softly tap her on her shoulder to get her attention. She jumps at the unexpected contact.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  “Hi!” she says a little too loudly.

  “Do you want to ditch the lunch room and come eat lunch with me? It’s more comfortable outside,” I murmur.

  “Uh—okay, sure!”

  Her face brightens as she flashes a toothy smile.

  She grabs all of her things and follows me towards the cafeteria doors. The room is so silent that our footsteps echo.

  This is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done and I know once everyone starts to tease her, I’ll regret it. But right now she needs to know she has an ally in the world.

  Her eyes light up when she sees my special lunch alcove.

  “It’s so nice out here. You’d need a freakin’ chainsaw to cut the tension in there,” she tosses her bag onto the bench and runs her fingers through her curls.

  “Yeah, it’s pretty stuffy in there,” I smile awkwardly.

  There’s a minute or two of uncomfortable silence and then the craziest thing happens—I socialize.

  “So, how do you like Summerville?” my voice cracks.

  “I love it here. It’s so pretty everywhere. The people are kind of strange though…no offense,” she adds quickly.

  It’s funny to me that she says that considering she’s sitting with the strangest one of all.

  “Don’t let them get to you—I don’t.”

  “Doesn’t it bother you that they totally ignore you?” she asks.

  “Nah, I’m used to it.”

  Having a conversation with a person who’s not my family or a ghost is a different kind of experience. I’ve spent most of my life afraid of the consequences of having a friend, mostly afraid for the friend. But in reality, it’s not as hard as I’d pictured it.

  At first, the conversation’s very basic. But soon, after realizing we both have a love for history, we have plenty to talk about. Before we know it, the bell rings and it’s time for our next class.

  I can’t help but feel proud of myself. I feel good about my decision to befriend Bernie and I suppose if there are any consequences, then I’ll deal with them when they come.

  The walk to the gym is different. I’m used to being totally ignored and it usually takes me forever to get anywhere since I have to maneuver myself through a crowd of obnoxious people. But the crowds literally part as Bernie and I walk to our next class. I guess the shock of seeing me socialize with another person is too much for them to bear.

  I’m relieved that the kick ball incident isn’t mentioned. I’m not sure how I would have gotten myself out of that one. I get the feeling that she knows bringing up that certain topic would make for a very uncomfortable conversation and appreciate her consideration. All my initial instincts about her character were correct.

  I spend the rest of the day around Bernie since after gym is history and we have that together as well. It’s nice having her in class with me. She gives me something to do so that I don’t feel totally awkward sitting next to Adam.

  We say goodbye after class and I walk my usual route home. Sire’s waiting for me just inside the woods that I cut through and it’s nice to have him to talk to on the trek home.

  The days that follow are pretty much the same. I meet Bernie in the cafeteria for lunch every day, we spend the hour talking about our likes and dislikes, and then we walk to gym class. Neither of us participates in gym. I hate gym, and Bernie’s too busy checking out boys to worry about participating.

  “What about him? He’s cute, don’t you think?” she points a painted finger at Tommy Milson.

  “He’s an idiot.”

  “You think they’re all idiots, Mage,” she snorts.

  “That’s because they are,” I roll my eyes.

  I can’t tell her that Tommy Milson is the biggest asshole that’s ever walked the halls of Summerville. I know first-hand just how much of a jerk he can be.

  In seventh grade, he spent an entire week calling me “boobalicious” in front of everyone when I started getting boobs. He almost lost his pinky finger when his hand was slammed in his locker by a sudden gush of wind in a hallway with no open doors or windows. Oops! The little punk deserved it—and more.

  Other than the fact that she has horrid tastes in guys, boy talk with Bernie is kind of fun. I don’t think I’ve talked so much in my entire life and I’m not even the
one doing the talking.

  She talks so much in fact, that I know almost everything about her in a matter of days. Like Bernie’s whole name is Bernadette Elizabeth Lane. She’s sixteen-years-old and she moved here from Colorado with her mom, Lesley, and her brother, Benjamin.

  Her brother, who’s eighteen, recently became a student at The College of Charleston, which is why they moved here. I met him briefly once when he came to the school to give Bernie lunch money. He’s really cute and seems as genuinely nice as Bernie. Seeing them together makes me a little jealous of the familiar relationship they share. I have my grandfather on the rare occasions when he’s lucid, but it’s not enough.

  Bernie has her license and a little red Ford Escort. Once, she gave me a ride home from school and I almost got sick. I told her that it was because I hadn’t been in a moving vehicle in so long, but I’m positive it was her wild driving that made me nauseated.

  More interesting tidbits on Bernie—she loves chocolate, Chinese food, and her favorite thing to do is go to the movies.

  “You’ve seriously never been to a movie theater?” her eyes are wide as saucers

  “I’ve seriously never been to a movie theater,” I laugh at Bernie’s facial expression, “don’t have a coronary.”

  “Mage…how is it humanly possible that you’re almost sixteen-years-old and you’ve never been to the movies?”

  “Easier than it seems apparently,” I shrug.

  “Okay, this has to be remedied immediately. I say we go this weekend. You got any plans?” she asks, as she picks up a wayward basketball and throws it across the gym back to the boy who lost it.

  “I don’t know. I’ll have to check my calendar,” I joke, “of course I don’t have any plans.”

  “Cool. Then I’ll be by Saturday around five. We can stuff our faces with Chinese, and then hit the movies. I’m sure they’ll have something decent playing,” she blows a brown curl from her face.

  Completely against my character, I’m crazy excited about our movie plans.

  There is a down side to all of this, and it’s the fact that people have been acting really shitty towards Bernie. She doesn’t seem to care, but I can’t help but feel guilty about it.

  Chapter 5

  It’s a Bird! It’s a Plane! It’s….Adam!

  I woke up this morning feeling altered. This isn’t a new occurrence for me. Things have been changing within me for many years. Subtle changes, mind you, but still changes all the same.

  Moving a rock with my mind when I was a little girl was kind of a big deal, but over the years those small things became huge. In fourth grade, I accidentally started a food fight in the cafeteria after I launched a hamburger at Christy Carrington. She was calling me names—I didn’t like it.

  Middle school was the most eventful for me. I think puberty somehow played a major role in that. It might also have something to do with the fact that kids get crueler with age. I was constantly doing things I couldn’t control out of anger when someone teased me.

  In seventh grade, Ethan Samuels got a face full of mud after a random gust of wind knocked him over. I’d accidently stepped on his untied shoestring causing him to almost trip. He called me a clumsy bitch really loud for everyone to hear—they all laughed hysterically. It pissed me off, especially since I was in the process of trying to apologize.

  Summerville experienced a small tremor that same day. The tremor and the strange wind that knocked Ethan over happened at the exact same time. I didn’t put two-and-two together then, but looking back, and after all the strange occurrences I’ve had since, I know I caused that tremor.

  I have no idea how I do these things. In the beginning, they were completely random. Something would upset me and things would just start happening. It has the opposite effect, too. When something good happens to me, good things happen around me.

  The good things are never as obvious as the bad—like that day after class when Adam stopped me to talk. Being so close to him made me feel warm inside and so the cloudy day turned sunny. No one even notices things like that, I know I never did. It wasn’t until it the weather changes became overly obvious, that I started noticing the tiny things. Either way, my mood seems to be the deciding factor—good or bad.

  Thankfully with age, I’ve learned to control my temper. By my freshman year of high school, I pretty much had it down to a science. Maybe it’s because by then no one bothered with me, or maybe I’d honestly figured out how to control myself. Of course, by then everyone thought I was a complete freak.

  The really craptastic part is Adam, the only person who’s even noticed me for the last eight years, hasn’t approached me since the day in the courtyard when he gave me back my drawing. I’m relieved and aggravated at same time. He brings out bipolar tendencies in me. I want him to stay away, because being around him makes me so anxious, but at the same time I love the thrill of being near him.

  Still, he never even looks at me anymore, much less talks to me. It’s my luck that he’d stop trying to talk to me as soon as I decide I want him to.

  Today’s Friday, so Bernie and I finalize our weekend plans as we leave class.

  “Okay, so I’ll be there around six. First, we eat and then we go to the movies. Oh my God, this is going to be so much fun!” her excitement is contagious. “You sure you don’t want me to give you a quick ride home?”

  “I don’t think my stomach can take that right now,” we laugh, “I got some stuff to do anyway. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  I step out of the school doors and into the daylight. As usual, Sire’s waiting for me in the wooded path. He always stays just out of sight, which is a good thing. The last thing I need is this monster of a dog drawing more attention to little ole me.

  Instead of going home, we walk side-by-side to the closest store for a few odds-and-ends. Lucky for me, necessities are within walking distance of my house. Most teenagers would gripe about having to walk, but I do some of my best thinking on the long walks to shop.

  I reach down and run my fingers across Sire’s soft fur. I’m pleased with the way this year’s turning out. Having a friend isn’t quite the appalling situation I thought it would be. The fact that I’ve gained two new friends in the last few weeks is very gratifying.

  A car comes by a little too quickly; its tire plunges into a nearby puddle and splashes the bottom of my jeans and my badly worn shoes with muddy water. Sighing out loud, I pick off a few wet leaves. New shoes are a must.

  I don’t rush in the store, after all, who would I be rushing home to? Sire finds a secluded spot by the store and waits. He seems to enjoy watching people with shopping carts in the parking lot. As crazy as it sounds, no one even seems to notice him when he tucks himself away and waits—even with his massive size.

  I pick up essential household items, things a normal teenager would have no clue about. Laundry detergent, soap, and toothpaste…oh my! Most kids don’t even know where their toilet paper comes from. If I don’t buy it, I don’t have it.

  Before going home I stop by the local consignment shop to see about getting myself a better pair of shoes for movie night. I don’t find any, but I do find a really cool hoodie with a purple skull on the front. Since it’s my size, I grab it and go to the counter to pay.

  The older lady behind the counter smiles at me as she rings me up. Using a wrinkled hand, she pushes a piece of dull, blonde and gray streaked hair behind her ear.

  I notice a man standing behind her and accidently I look him in the eye—gray eyes. Quickly, I divert my attention to something else in the store.

  “Hey. Young Lady, can you see me?” the ghostly man asks.

  I pretend I don’t hear him as I mentally kick myself for the slip. I never look a strange ghost in the eye.

  “You can, can’t you? Listen. Please tell my wife that the key to our safe is in the red vase in the kitchen. Please! I know you can hear me! Please tell her,” he says frantically.

  The lady hands me my new jacket in a generic,
white plastic bag and smiles. Her eyes are sad and I know by looking at her that her husband has recently entered spirit form. She’s still mourning his death and apparently having money issues.

  Further behind her, there’s another counter with papers scattered everywhere. A calculator with a tape full of her calculations sits on the counter beside a checkbook. When I look at her again, I see right away that her smile never reaches her worried eyes.

  “Please, tell her,” he repeats.

  The safe the ghost man is talking about could very well end her obvious money problems. I speak before I think.

  “Ma’am, there’s a red vase in your kitchen.”

  Her brows pull together in confusion, “Yes, I do believe there is. How did you know that?”

  “The key to the safe is in that vase,” I turn and walk out without an explanation.

  Behind me I hear the man thanking me.

  “Hey, come back here! How do you know that?’ the lady calls out.

  I can’t seem to get out of the store fast enough.

  The little bell over the door dings as I rush out. Once I’m out of the door, I run. Looking over my shoulder, I see that the lady isn’t following me.

  Without paying attention to where I’m running, I slam straight into a wall of muscled heat. My face connects with scented masculinity as my bags scatter all over the sidewalk. I feel myself being repelled by the collision, but before I get knocked onto the concrete sidewalk two warm hands grab my arms. I get pulled into a hard embrace that softens once I find my footing.

  The physical contact sends an electrical wave through my body.

  “Are you okay?” a deep voice asks from above me.

  My face is pressed against a hard chest. I close my eyes and breathe in an outdoorsy scent mixed with male cologne. When I open my eyes, a pair of red lips with an even redder tongue sticking out seems to be taunting me from his vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt.