Tegan's Blood (The Ultimate Power Series #1)

by L.H. Cosway

  At six on the dot Nicky walks through my front door with a brown paper bag in one arm and a bottle of rock shandy in the other. Normally she’d bring wine, but I think she’s concerned about me drinking too much. I’m curled up on the couch in a pair of comfy grey cotton bottoms and an old t-shirt. She takes two plates out of the cupboard and dishes up the chicken chow mein, rice and won tons. Yum. When we sit down to eat I decide to tell her my good news.

  “Hey, guess what?” I say, eyeing a won ton.

  “What?” she asks, while simultaneously shovelling chicken into her mouth.

  “I found a job.”

  “Already? That’s great Tegan, where is it?”

  “You know that occult shop called Indigo on Steward’s street?” I ask her.

  “Oh yeah, that’s a cool little place, how’d you manage that?”

  “I suppose you could say that the boss took a special liking to me and decided there and then to give me the job. He thinks I have a magical aura or some nonsense so I agreed to let him study me in return for him giving me a job.”

  Nicky stops eating for a second. “You sure he’s not a loony?”

  “Probably is, but who cares? At least now I know I’m going to be able to pay my rent and not get thrown out on the street.”

  “Don’t you think you should go back to college?” she asks, and I can tell she’s trying her hardest not to sound scolding, her voice an unconvincing monotone.

  I put down my plate for a moment. “Please don’t make me feel guiltier than I already do. I’m not dropping out, I’m just taking some time off. I can repeat in September.”

  “I’m not trying to guilt trip you, I just think you’re too clever to give up on your education. I mean, look at me, I’m probably still going to be working in HMV when I’m fifty.”

  “No you won’t. You’ll be a millionaire successful painter by then.” I tell her smiling. Nicky’s big passion in life is her painting, and I don’t lie when I tell her that I know she’s going to be huge someday.

  “Yeah, yeah, shut up and eat your dinner,” she says, a small grin on her lips.

  The next morning my alarm goes off at eight, I don’t have to be at Indigo until ten, but I want to have a long shower and a leisurely breakfast before heading out. I actually slept last night, but it was only to dream of Matthew. Except this time it wasn’t his suicide scene. I dreamt of our very first night together at that house party. He was playing guitar on a makeshift stage and then afterwards we went to a room upstairs and talked for hours. We just clicked, it’s hard to describe. I was so unbelievably happy that night. I wish I could go back and relive our time together, but I have to stop thinking about things like that, my life is what it is right now.

  The first thing I do is grab the black bag of clothes from my bedroom floor that Nicky gave me to search for an outfit. I find a purple tie dye dress, a long navy cardigan and some black tights that will go together. After my shower I brush out my hair and eat a bowl of cereal.

  When I get to Indigo the shop door is locked and I have to knock on it several times before I see a tired looking Marcel stumble down the stairs of the mezzanine floor and come to unlock the door for me.

  “So you’re definitely not a morning person then,” I say with a grin.

  “Not at all,” says Marcel yawning. “I’m much more of a night owl. Would you like a cup of coffee before we begin?” he asks, as I follow him inside the shop.

  “Yes, I’d love one.”

  Marcel takes me through a door at the back of the shop and down a hallway that leads to a tiny staff room where there’s a small table and two chairs. Gabriel is sitting in one of them, reading a book while sipping on some coffee himself.

  He looks up at me and smiles warmly. “Hello Tegan,” he says. “How are you this morning?”

  “I’m good, a little tired though.” I reply, practically gawking at his dark green eyes. He must have noticed because he averts his gaze back to the book he’d been reading. I have a thing about eyes, I don’t know why, I like to admire unusual colours and shapes.

  “I’m just going to nip to the toilet before we open,” says Marcel. “Be back in five.”

  I pour myself some coffee while Gabriel focuses intently on reading his book.

  In an effort to break the silence, I ask, “So, do you work mostly weekdays or weekends?”

  Gabriel raises his eyes to look at me and then replies, “Weekends and some weekdays. Marcel likes to have Saturday and Sunday free so I take those shifts.”

  “It must be hard on your social life.”

  “Not really,” he shrugs.

  “You probably go out on week nights then,” I add.

  “I’m not much of a social animal,” he says modestly.

  “Oh, well you’re probably better off. It’s only weirdos you’ll ever come across out in this city anyway.”

  He looks at me strangely for a moment and then says quietly, “Yes, you’re most likely right about that.”

  Then Marcel returns and ushers me out to the shop floor. He spends about ten minutes showing me how to use the cash register and I get the hang of it quite quickly. Then he shows me around the bookshelves which are divided into several sections like Self-Help, Philosophy, Religion and of course there’s a whole lot on Fairies. I try not to roll my eyes at that one.

  After that he walks me through the section of the shop that contains the jewellery, healing stones and crystals, and then he shows me the little collectables like angel and fairy statues.

  Before he goes he leans in close and says quietly, “If any customers come in looking for something specific, I mean, something that isn’t out here in the main shop, just go get Gabriel and he’ll deal with them. We’ve got a room in the back with some of the more hard core materials, these are for the professionals. Our psychic Stephanie does her readings in there as well. She comes every Wednesday from four to seven, so if anyone wants a booking with her you just consult this book,” he pulls out a brown leather notebook from under the register, “and if the date they want is free you pencil them down for an appointment.”

  “Got it.” I nod.

  “You’re going to be fine,” says Marcel with a wink. “I’m off now, I’ll be back before lunch.”

  “See you.”

  After Marcel leaves I sit down on the stool beside the counter and breathe out a sigh. What did he mean by professionals? Like professional witches and warlocks? Or maybe he just meant mediums and psychics. I never realised just how many deluded individuals there are out there. There aren’t any customers for about a half hour, but then after eleven a steady flow of people coming in and out of the shop begins so I get busy.

  I haven’t seen Gabriel at all since Marcel left, but I suppose he’s probably busy in the back room. A nervous woman in her forties with visibly thinning hair comes up to the counter and quietly hands me a self-help book. I glance at the cover, something about building up your self-esteem.

  An hour passes and I’m still sitting there watching as various men and women and teenagers come and go. Some buy things, others don’t. Then a girl about my age with a choppy black bob in pigtails and severe brown eyes overdosed with black eye-liner comes elephant footing it up the steps to me and asks impatiently, “Who the hell are you?”

  Nervously I drop the pen I’d been fiddling with and look up at her. She’s wearing a top made out of heavy black fishnet with a pink bra underneath and a red tartan mini skirt with ripped tights and New Rock boots. She seems angry for some reason and it makes me anxious.

  “I - I’m Tegan. I just started working here today.” I answer.

  “Get Marcel for me now!” She demands.

  “He’s gone out.”

  “Oh for God’s sake, then get Gabriel, and hurry up about it.”

  All flustered, I rush to the back room. I knock first before going inside. Gabriel’s sitting on the floor with a notepad opened in front of him and a pencil in his hand, and there are stacks of books all around him.


  “Oh, um, I’m sorry for bothering you, but there’s a girl out front asking for you and she seems kind of pissed.”

  “Really? What does she look like?”

  “Short black hair, kind of like a Goth-Punk nightmare.”

  Gabriel laughs at my description and then says, “Oh, that’ll be Rita, I’ll be out in a sec.”

  I hesitate at the door, waiting for him to get up, but he continues to scribble something down on his notepad. He looks up at me. “You can go back out Tegan, I’ll be a minute.”

  “No, that’s okay I’ll wait for you. I don’t want to go back out to her alone, she looks like she wants to punch me in the face and I don’t even know her.”

  He laughs again and rises to his feet. “You don’t need to be scared of Rita, she’s all talk, believe me.”

  Then he walks out the door and I follow behind him. When we get back to the counter Rita is leaning against it with one hand on her hip, and her face is a picture of hostility.

  “Why the hell haven’t I been informed about this?” she asks, pointing at me.

  “Marcel deals with the hiring Rita, not me,” says Gabriel in a level voice.

  “Well, I thought you guys were finally going to let me work here, and then I come in to find her working at the job I was supposed to be given.”

  “I never heard Marcel say he was going to give you the job.”

  “Oh whatever, you know as well as I do that I deserve it. I’ve been coming here for years, I know the place inside and out.” She gives me another look up and down.

  “Don’t be rude, Rita,” says Gabriel, and for the first time he actually sounds angry. He seems older now, by decades. That certainly puts her in her place and she shuts up immediately. After a minute of silence she flutters her eyelashes and purrs, “I’m sorry Gabe, but you know how much I wanted that job.”

  “Yeah well, I don’t think Marcel was ever going to hire you anyway, you know you piss him off too much.”

  “Oh he loves me really,” she says in a falsely sweet voice.

  “I don’t know about that,” replies Gabriel harshly.

  “Well even if he doesn’t, I know you do honey bunch,” says Rita while putting her arm around Gabriel’s shoulders.

  He shrugs out of her embrace and steps back. “Now is there anything else you wanted, because I have work to do.”

  “Oooh, what kind of work? Need some help?” she asks excitedly.

  “Just research, and no I don’t need any help, thank you.”

  At this moment Marcel walks in the door and those chimes ring again, which is really beginning to irritate me.

  “Hello Rita,” he says, “here to cause trouble I suppose,” while shoving his coat under the counter.

  “Nope. Just meeting the new girl is all,” she replies.

  “Ah, yes, speaking of which, how have you been getting on Tegan?”

  “Fine, no problems so far.”

  “Well that’s good to hear. Listen I’m going to shut up shop for lunch so we can make a start on our little study. Is that okay with you?”

  “Yeah, that’s fine.”

  “What study?” asks Rita, sounding annoyed.

  “None of your concern, my dear,” says Marcel dismissively. “Now would you be so kind as to vacate the premises, we have business to attend to.”

  “No fair,” says Rita huffily. “I want in, I can’t believe you’re not going to involve me in whatever kind of thing you three have got going on.”

  Marcel grabs her by the shoulder and escorts her to the door. “We are not involving you dear Rita, because what we are endeavouring to do requires a cleansed environment and you are the human equivalent of a rubbish dump, so now, are you going to get out, or am I going to have to kick you out?”

  Rita doesn’t respond to Marcel’s harsh words, but instead gives him the finger and skulks out the door. Once she’s gone Marcel breathes out a long breath, turns on his heel, looks directly at myself and Gabriel, and asks, “So my darlings are we ready for some magic?”

  Chapter Four

  The Monster Inside of You

  When Marcel mentioned magic I was hoping for the kind that you can actually see, but no such luck. It seems that, conveniently, Marcel’s magic is as invisible as the air we breathe. Or, dare I say it, non-existent as far as I’m concerned. I mean, perhaps somewhere along the way I’ll be miraculously proven wrong and astounded by some kind of evidence whereby the existence of the supernatural is found to be an incontrovertible truth. But let’s just say that I’m not going to hold my breath on that one.

  Marcel and Gabriel led me to that “special” back room, which is just a glorified storage closet with a carpeted space and big Asian beaded cushions, surrounded by several wooden alchemist style chests of drawers and a couple shelves.

  Marcel went about lighting candles and waving incense sticks around to cleanse the air or some nonsense, while Gabriel sat down, closed his eyes and started meditating. When Marcel was finished with his fussing about he came and sat down, the three of us forming a circle.

  What followed was basically me, Marcel and Gabriel sitting quietly with our eyes shut and holding hands for a half an hour, with the two of them speaking some sort of chant in an ancient language every couple of minutes. Neither of them told me what the results were at the end of it, but merely said that they will need a few more sessions before they can make any definite conclusions.

  It is now Friday, and thankfully Marcel hasn’t been around much all week so we haven’t had the chance to conduct another session. But I’m sure I’m not out of the woods just yet. I won’t get paid my first weeks wages until next Thursday, so I have an entire weekend stretched out in front of me with only nine pounds in my pocket.

  I walk home from Indigo to an empty apartment and a frozen shepherd’s pie in the freezer with my name on it. My life is just one excitement after the other. When I turn the corner of my street I’m accosted by Nicky who had been coming from the opposite direction. She’s got a plastic bag with a bottle of vodka inside and a carton of orange juice. She tells me that we’re going to get dressed up, get drunk and then go out to Crimson where we are to meet Amanda, Susan and Dillon.

  I tell her that I don’t have enough money to go out, but she tells me she’ll pay for everything. Bless her. I am about to protest again but then realise that going out will probably be less depressing than staying in and eating a miserable frozen dinner all by myself.

  Nicky has brought over even more clothes for me to wear. I have to tell her to stop doing that. She hands me a vintage lace off-white mini dress, some fancy black hold up tights, a pair of black Doc Marten boots and a stylish tight black leather jacket. I laugh and tease her that she has more clothes than Joan fucking Collins. As we each drink a glass of vodka and orange juice, Nicky does my hair in a bastardised Goth version of a French twist.

  The drink soothes my nerves about seeing Ethan at the club. I assure myself that he probably won’t be there because he is the owner and most likely has lots of business typed stuff to be doing. We take a cab and join the mile long queue outside.

  A few minutes later Amanda and Dillon show up without Susan because she decided to go somewhere else with her new boyfriend. A group of girls behind us bitch when our friends skip the queue. When we finally get to the door my heart skips a beat because Lucas is standing there with the bouncer. He’s having a conversation with somebody on his ear piece and staring off into the distance, so he hasn’t noticed me yet.

  The bouncer steps forward and asks us for ID while giving Dillon’s red sequins stilettos a wide eyed glance. I fumble in my bag for my passport as my friends do the same. When I look up I lock eyes with Lucas and his lips tilt up in a grin as he continues speaking on his bluetooth and gives my outfit a look up and down. The kind of amused look that makes me ashamed of trying to be “sexy” and wanting to run home to change into a black bag.

  “Hello Tegan,” he says after finishing his conversation. “H
ow are you tonight?”

  “I’m – I’m good,” I reply, feeling embarrassed for no reason as my friends look at me wondering how I know him.

  Then Lucas pats the bouncer who’d been waiting for our ID’s on the shoulder and tells him that there’s no need and to let us straight in. The man steps aside and we walk through the entrance, as I pass by Lucas he touches me lightly on the arm, bends down to my ear and says, “I’ll tell Michelle to let you and your friends through free, so you don’t need to queue to pay.”

  “Oh, no you don’t have to do that,” I say, surprised.

  “Sorry. Ethan’s orders,” he smiles.

  “How does he know I’m here already?” I ask, but Lucas just taps his ear piece and ushers me forward into the club. I should have known Ethan was the one he’d been speaking with.

  Nicky gushes to me over the fact that we got in free because I know the owner. We leave our coats in the cloakroom and get little paper tickets with numbers on them from a bored looking Japanese girl with multiple tattoos on her arms and neck.

  When we get inside my friends go to the bathroom to touch up on their make-up, but I’m not in the mood to squeeze my way into an overcrowded toilet just to take a peek at my face in a mirror, so I head to the bar by myself instead. That Judy girl is working again, alongside a tall man in his late twenties with Celtic design tattoos on his muscled arms and long light brown dreadlocks.

  I hover until I’m certain Judy’s busy serving another customer, because I don’t want to have to speak to her, and then I ask the guy with the dreadlocks for a Bacardi Breezer. I tried to think of something classy to order, but when you think about it, there aren’t that many classy drinks aside from wine, and I’m not fond of how I get when I drink wine. So fuck it, I’m going to have an un-classy alco-pop, I even get myself a straw and everything.