“What?” says Amy.
“Cera is power, dear,” says Beatrice. She purses her lips. “I think Tunguska is a place.” And then Beatrice starts walking towards the front yard. “Well, I better go. My impatiens are thirsty.”
Amy watches her go, her stomach tying in a knot. But then she shakes her head and makes a beeline for the bus stop, waving to the little Mexican man on a bicycle ice cream cart that always seems to be around their house as she goes.
Later that evening when she comes home, her change apron is lying on the table. She peeks in. Loki has left her with $20. A note is on top, written in an oddly near perfect hand.
Miss Lewis,
I must leave for a while and do not know when I shall return; but rest assured, I never forget my oaths. We never discussed terms of my loan, I hope 33% per annum will be sufficient.
Again my gratitude is eternal,
Loki
Amy’s heart falls at the “leave for a while” bit. She rubs her hand over the note and sighs.
After a few minutes she picks up the change apron and shakes her head. All that gratitude for what could have only been about $26 bucks?
About a week and a half later, Amy is walking up the sidewalk to her grandmother's house. It's dusk, and the windows are all dark. The day was hot and muggy, and the evening isn't much better, but she sees Beatrice out watering her flowers in the relatively cool air. Her grandmother nods without smiling, and goes around the back of the house, watering can in hand. Her grandmother's expression, the darkness of the house, she doesn't have to ask; Loki is still gone. She bites her lip, and the magic is gone with him. Bowing her head, she trudges up the steps.
Going in the door, she picks up the mail that's been thrust through the mail slot. She rifles through the envelopes, purposefully not looking at the couch where Loki slept.
Her eyebrows rise. There is a letter from her school. Opening it, she finds that the check she sent in to pay for her miscellaneous school fees has bounced. Shaking her head, she goes to her laptop to check her bank account. She's never bounced a check in her life; there must be a mistake.
A few minutes later, Amy's sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the computer screen, face in her hands. There is only $1 left in her checking. She feels cold, even though the room is warm. Realization hits hard and fast. Loki stole from her, after giving her his precious oath. And he hasn't come back, and she won't be able to go back to school.
She swallows and scoots back from the table feeling sick.
How will she get the money? Should she borrow it from Beatrice? Is it too late to apply for financial aid?
She looks up and her gaze goes to the kitchen window. She's vaguely aware of Beatrice standing up and lowering the the watering can in her hands. Amy closes her eyes, remembering Loki's words, “I will pay you back with interest.” Maybe it's all been a mistake? He'll come back, it will all be okay... But it won't be, because she needs the money now.
Outside, Beatrice must see Amy, and her face must look stricken, because Beatrice comes running. And then Beatrice just sort of isn’t there.
Amy bolts from her seat, the sickening feeling in her stomach instantly getting worse. She runs through the door and finds Beatrice on the ground at the bottom of the stoop, her leg at an odd angle. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. Blood is on the sidewalk.
“Grandma!” Amy screams. Sinking to her knees, she pulls out her phone, and dials 911. As the phone rings, she takes her grandmothers hand in her own. She looks down at the delicate veins visible through her grandmother's aged skin. Beatrice does not stir. Amy swallows, her eyes hot. Now everything is gone.
A few hours later she is at the hospital, sitting in the waiting room in a daze. On the periphery of her vision she sees several men approaching.
“Miss Lewis?” Amy turns her head, and her brow furrows. There is the older man with the too-square jaw in the too conservative gray suit who she saw in her neighborhood eating ice cream. He’s still in a gray suit. Next to him are two other men. The first looks Mexican, and vaguely familiar. She blinks. It’s the ice cream vendor, but now he’s in a suit, too.
The last man is young. He’s wearing a suit too, but he looks a little more rumpled. Looking down at a little device of some kind, he says, “She’s clean.”
Holding up a badge, the older guy says, “Miss Lewis, I’m agent Merryl and these are agents Hernandez and Ericson. We’re from the FBI. We need to bring you in for questioning.”
“Am I in trouble?” Amy stammers.
The old guy just tilts his head.
Monsters, Part II of I Bring the Fire, is available at your favorite online retailer.
* * *
Stay in touch with C. Gockel. Follow her on Facebook or Tumblr, and subscribe to her newsletter.
Xoe: Vampires and Werewolves and Demons, Oh My! (Book One of the Xoe Meyers Young Adult Fantasy/Horror Series)
Sara C. Roethe
Xoe Meyers had a normal life. So she was stuck going to high school, and she only had a few friends to call her own. She liked her normal life. Things were about to change though, because there's a new guy in her small town, and he is anything but normal. Before Xoe can say, "Werewolf," her best friend's life is in peril, and Xoe's world is turned upside-down. Then, of course, there's Jason. Xoe doesn't trust him as far as she can throw him, and given that he's a vampire, she'd have to be able to catch him first.
Chapter 1
Another year at Shelby Heights High School in not-so-sunny Shelby, Oregon . . . oh joy. Shelby isn’t exactly small, but it’s definitely not a city. Since I’m not really a “people-person,” the size is one of the few things I like about Shelby. That, and the woods that surround it. Tall pine trees are never out of reach. I’ve always been outdoorsy. My dad took off shortly after I was conceived and my mom raised me on camping trips and hiking. My name’s Alexondra Meyers by the way. I know, it's pretty horrible. Mercifully, the few friends I have call me Xoe, but I digress.
Back to the matter at hand . . . junior year. I am not a fan of high school, or the teenage experience in general. I don’t consider myself antisocial, though most of my fellow students do. I just don’t like to waste my time with pretense. Why bother being nice to someone I secretly dislike? I’d rather have a few real friends than a bunch of fake ones.
I trudged towards the towering, gray brick monstrosity that was Shelby High. Where there wasn’t sidewalk or asphalt, the ground was covered with lush, green grass. Shelby is always green and moist, which is nice, except for the mold and mildew that tend to grow if you’re not careful. One time my mom got a new car windshield that wasn’t sealed properly. Within weeks the insides of her windows had grown algae.
I forced my sneakered feet to continue forward towards the school, focusing on the sound of my footfalls, one foot in front of the other. As I approached the dreaded double-doors, my best friend Lucy joined me. We usually walked to school together, but Lucy always got to school early on the first day. She liked to “prepare” her locker and map out all of her classes beforehand. She’s a bit of an over achiever, to put it mildly.
Lucy and I pushed through the double doors together. I held onto my door long enough for a girl with a mass of brown curls to grab it and keep it open for herself. See? Not antisocial. I glanced down at the top of Lucy’s dark-haired head as we made our way down the hall. Lucy and I are complete opposites when it comes to appearance. I’m a giant compared to her. Well, not really a giant, but her petite 5’1” frame makes my willowy 5’8” seem excessive. Her long, dark, glossy hair is in complete contrast to my shaggy, shoulder-length blonde mop. Lucy’s skin is deep olive all year round, whereas mine is pale, and at times, a little pasty, what my mom kindly refers to as porcelain. Did I say that I’m a little jealous of Lucy? Ah well, I love her anyhow.
Lucy had chosen dark wash jeans with a pale blue button-up blouse for her first day attire. The tips of conservative brown shoes peeked out from the bottom of her jeans
. Lucy’s sense of style errs on the side of caution. Her pin-straight hair was parted down the middle to cascade nearly to her waist, framing her fine-boned, delicate face, void of make-up.
Lucy’s almond-shaped brown eyes peered up into my wide green ones, waiting for my whining to begin. She’d had to deal with my complaining on the first day of school every year since 2nd grade. We’d become friends when my mom and I first moved to Shelby, as Lucy’s family lives just down the street from us. Alone and friendless, I had gone exploring in the woods behind my house, against my mom’s strict commands, and Lucy was doing the same. We both had a stubborn independent streak that constantly ordered us to disobey our parents. How could we not be friends?
To add to my first-day misery, the sky above Shelby was an angry gray, promising rain. Black clouds rolled ominously in the distance. So what else was new? I hate the rain. I’m not like a girly-girl that’s afraid to get my hair wet or anything, but I’m at my happiest when I’m outdoors, and it’s not terribly pleasant to be outside when it’s raining. So, despite my pallid appearance, I much prefer the sun. I took a deep breath of ozone-scented air. Let the whining commence.
“It’s not that bad,” Lucy consoled, taking in my grimace. “We have three classes together and you have two more with Allison. That leaves only one class to trudge through without us.”
Allison was another on my short list of friends, though I'd only known her since freshman year. Lucy and I had met her during our first lunch at Shelby High. Allison's family was new to Shelby, so she didn't know anyone. Rather than taking a seat at one of the loner tables, she had marched right up to where Lucy and I sat, slammed her tray down, and began chatting away like she had known us for years. I was skeptical of Allison's blunt style of friendship at first, but she turned out to be pretty cool. Plus, she adds a little bit of girliness to our small group.
“A small consolation at best,” I replied sullenly as I searched for my new locker.
Lucy’s eternally sunny attitude could be quite vexing at times. Though if she were a pessimist like me, the complaining would never cease. Lucy’s glass half full philosophy made my glass look empty, dirty, and cracked.
Lucy frowned in response to my reply. “I’ll see you in French.”
I managed a small smile, despite my misery. “See you then.”
We parted ways as the first bell rang, and ran towards our respective classes to the sound of clanging lockers and hurried see you laters. I still hadn't found my locker, but it would have to wait.
I trailed my fingertips across the aged walls as I walked, in no real hurry to get to class. Shelby High is old, and I mean old. I could feel the bumps of countless layers of peeling paint beneath my fingers. The newest layer of paint was a pale yellow that was trying very hard to be cheery, but fell a little short. I went past a row of faded green lockers, then took a left into my classroom.
My first class of the day, which I had with Allison, was biology. I scowled as I entered the classroom. It was simply too early in the morning for science. The room boasted lab tables instead of desks, making the room feel even more small and cramped than normal classrooms. The buzzing of the fluorescent lights mixed with the din of murmured voices made me feel instantly claustrophobic. The tables were set up to seat two people, with a little sink and electrical outlets in the middle. I saw Allison waving me over. She had already saved me a seat at her table in the back of the class.
I liked the back of the class. I don’t enjoy the feeling of people’s eyes on the back of my head, and teachers usually tend to call on people in the front of the class, ignoring the back. It’s not that I don’t understand the questions, I just prefer not to answer them. Allison was more than willing to sit in the back of the class with me.
Lucy was a whole other story. I always tried to lure her to the back, the Dark Side as far as she was concerned, but we ended up front and center every time, where she could be sure to be called on when she raised her hand to answer every question. But hey, she diverts the teacher’s attention from me, so I can't really complain.
As I approached, Allison looked me up and down, ending with a look of distaste at my ratty old sneakers. “Xoe, we are going shopping this weekend, no arguments.”
Smirking, I looked down at my dark blue, vintage Doors tee and holey jeans, then at her blue sundress with strappy dark brown sandals, artfully applied makeup, and perfectly styled, long, honey blonde hair. Unlike me, Allison embraces the blonde; she is the master of the hair flip. I’ve never felt like a “blonde”, but I’m too pale to pull off much of anything else, so I just try to ignore it.
At 5’6” Allison almost reaches my height, though she has a few more curves than I do. She’s not pudgy, just not willowy like me. She was still staring at my outfit with a perfectly arched eyebrow raised. Maybe Allison had a point. Maybe.
“Sure Allison, whatever you say.” I was keeping the sneakers no matter what clothes she tried to put me in. They were my tried and true favorites, perfectly broken in and shaped to my feet. They had started life a solid black, but had faded to what I considered a rather pleasant gray. Allison took one last look at me, pity in her blue eyes, then turned toward the front of the class.
A throat cleared, bringing my attention to where our teacher, Mrs. Sanders, was waiting. Mrs. Sanders taught both biology and microbiology at Shelby Heights. She was a short, dare I say dumpy kind of woman with a horribly monotonous voice. She stared at me in mock exasperation until I slumped dejectedly into my hard plastic chair.
Mrs. Sanders went on to drone for an hour about her syllabus and all that other nonsense, with occasional pauses to straighten her lumpy pink cardigan. I drew on the cover of my notebook and tried to ignore her. By the time class was near its end, my notebook was covered with a mish-mash of nonsensical doodles. Impatient for the bell to ring, I shoved my books back into my old green backpack that I use every year, throwing my pencil in haphazardly on top. I watched the clock, counting away the final seconds of class.
Finally the bell rang and it was off to my next two hours of torture: French and World History. Even though I’d be with Lucy, I knew time would creep by at an alarmingly slow rate. I’m horrible at French; the pronunciation is simply beyond me, and World History is, well, World History. When I entered my French class, Lucy was already sitting front and center. Her new navy blue backpack was sitting in the seat next to her, waiting for me to take its place. After what seemed like days of words I didn’t understand, followed by a lengthy discussion on “the cradle of civilization”, it was finally time for lunch—my brief reprieve from the monotony.
The cafeteria is one of the few spacious areas in Shelby High. The brightly lit fluorescents are diffused by the copious amount of natural light that pours in from several large single-pane windows mounted in two of the walls. My little group always claimed the same table at the beginning of each year. It was in a corner, so we only had to deal with two other tables near us, rather than four. We were also stationed directly below one of the aforementioned windows. Said window looked out over the courtyard area of Shelby High, which is basically just a large square of grass with several picnic tables stationed in the center. On rare sunny days we would eat outside.
Occasionally other acquaintances would sit with us, but most of the time it was just us three, and that was the way we liked it. Well, I liked it at least. Allison and Lucy are slightly more social than I am.
Lucy and I waited at our usual table with our bagged lunches while Allison bought hers. Allison’s willingness to eat school lunches made me seriously question her sanity. Let’s just say they weren’t always identifiable as food products. Her justification was that she didn’t do lunchboxes.
Bored, I scanned the lunch line for Allison, but was interrupted by the rude stare of a guy near the end of the line. He stood watching me with an empty tray in his hands. His short, near-black hair was styled to perfection. His pale blue eyes, emphasized by a deep tan, stared intensely at me. His stood at aro
und 6’3” with a hulking frame that strained against a plain gray tee-shirt, topped by a simple brown leather jacket. As I observed him he continued to stare, pursing his full lips that I imagined would be stuck in a perpetual pout. Besides the lips, the rest of his face was the epitome of masculinity: high, sculpted cheek bones, defined jaw-line, and a strong nose.
His heavy gaze sent a chill up my spine. What a creep. His husky-like eyes left me to land on Lucy, who he stared at just as intensely. I looked away with a scowl to finish scanning the lunch line for Allison. She had already paid and was walking towards our table.
“Oh come on,” Allison said as she approached and noticed my scowl, “your day could not have been that bad.”
Turning my scowl into a grin, I taunted, “Don’t worry Al, it’ll get better. We have gym next.”
Allison’s mocking smile faded. She whipped her hair over her shoulder and sat down next to me as she placed her lunch tray on the table. “Gee, Xoe, thanks for reminding me, and don’t call me Al,”
Gym was the bane of Allison’s existence, as was my habit of calling her Al. She wasn’t into sports of any kind, though she would probably be pretty good at them if she actually tried. Contrary to her tastes as a seemingly traditional girly girl, she was one of the toughest people I had ever met and would probably kick butt at some of the more aggressive sports. Don’t judge a book by its cover and all that.
Unlike Allison, I actually liked gym. With my height and a fair amount of coordination, I'm decent at sports, and gym doesn’t require hours of boring teaching. I have trouble sitting still for too long.
Allison turned to Lucy. “So Xoe and I are going shopping this weekend. You in?”
Lucy turned a speculative eye to me. “Xoe? Shopping? My how the times have changed.”
Demons & Djinn: Nine Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy Novels Featuring Demons, Djinn, and other Bad Boys of the Underworld Page 97
