The Boy Who Couldn’t Fly Home: A Gay Teen Coming of Age Paranormal Adventure about Witches, Murder, and Gay Teen Love (The Broom Closet Stories Book 2)

by Jeff Jacobson

  Charlie talked more about his training weekend, especially about his maiden voyage on the broomstick.

  “I couldn’t believe it when I slipped off. My head almost hit the ground while the broom was jerking forward. But then, when we rose up in the air …”

  Amos awoke, walked over to the window, and stretched. He looked out into the night and began sniffing the air near the windowsill. Then he ambled back and peered at the fireplace, his head cocked to one side.

  “… other kids seemed to get it too. More of them did today. So that by the time we left, everyone had been able to work at least one spell.”

  “That’s amazing, Charlie,” Beverly said. “It’s not uncommon to have less than half the group able to do anything that Malcolm taught them.”

  The dog moved closer to the fire. He sniffed more of the air and then barked twice in quick succession.

  Beverly, Randall, and Charlie jumped.

  “Amos!” Randall began. “For God’s sake boy, you scared the …”

  His wife’s hand, extended forward in a warning gesture, cut him off. She stood up from the table and walked into the living room.

  “What is it, boy? Did you see something?”

  The dog’s tail wagged, and a slow, deliberate whine came from his muzzle.

  “Is there something …?” she asked, bending down and peering into the fireplace, having just missed the flames shrink a half inch, returning to their normal size. The whiff of damp wood was too faint for her to notice.

  “Huh,” said Beverly. “Guess it was nothing.” She returned to the table and announced that she had made an apple tart for dessert.

  “My boy,” Randall said to Charlie as he began to take the dinner dishes into the kitchen. “You are in for a treat. Try to take a bite of it and not weep for joy. As a matter of fact, just see if you don’t convert to the religion of Apple Tartism.”

  Charlie laughed. “Sounds better than any religion I’ve ever heard of,” he said.

  Beverly and Randall smiled at each other while Charlie helped clear the table.

  * * *

  In a bedroom across the city, a vertical length of fire, the approximate size of a human body, burned just above the floor. Gradually, the center of the fire changed. A woman’s face emerged, then hair, shoulders, a body wrapped in a silky peach-colored dress. The flames hovered above the woman, then shrank to a thin jet of fire that ran along her right arm as her bare feet floated down to the carpet. She pointed her hand toward a candlestick on her boudoir, and the fire leaped from her fingers. By the time it touched the wick, it had dwindled to a small bud of flame.

  “So, the boy’s home from witch camp, is he?” she said out loud, her dress fluttering as she turned and walked over to a small table. She flipped her ginger locks from her shoulders and sat down on a wooden chair, examining the objects lying there.

  “The good news is that Beverly’s wards are weak. Easier to penetrate than I thought they’d be. The bad news,” she paused, holding two small glass vials in her hand, “is that they have a dog.”

  Setting the vials down, she reached over and picked up a small white apron.

  Tying it around her waist, the woman gestured in the air behind her. Her bedroom window opened wide. A large crow hopped onto the window sill and gave a loud caw, then spread its wings and flew into the room, landing on the table in front of her.

  “Hello,” Grace said to the crow. “Thank you for coming.”

  The bird bobbed back and forth, its head bowing up and down, claws making a skittering sound on the shiny wood of the table’s surface. It turned its head to the side and looked up at the woman with one of its black-marble eyes.

  After she stared into the eye for several seconds, the crow stopped moving. It didn’t make a single noise as she removed a hairpin from her tresses and drove it straight into its breast. Its body shuddered as blood seeped from its feathers, pouring into an unstopped vial the woman held in her hand.

  After a time the crow fell to its side on the table. She placed the cork back into the small bottle, then wiggled her fingers. The bird carcass lifted off the table and floated out the window.

  “Always good to stock up on supplies,” Grace said, wiping her hands off on the apron. She walked over to the far side of her room and regarded the person who was gagged and bound to a chair in the corner. Eyes wide open, body straining against the rope that bound it, feet trying to push away from her.

  “Now, what are we going to do with you?”

  CHAPTER 6

  The Crash

  DIEGO AND CHARLIE WALKED down A-wing together after Chinese class, headed toward biology. It was the Monday after the first training weekend up at Malcolm’s cabin. The nervousness Charlie felt now had nothing to do with whether or not he thought he was good enough to be Diego’s friend or even whether or not Diego thought Charlie worthy of his attention.

  After the Saturday at Diego’s house, and the surprise kissing at Lincoln Park, the two boys had avoided each other at school. They had thought it best, lest people get the wrong idea. Actually, Charlie had thought it best.

  But they texted each other. They talked every single night on the phone. And on Wednesday afternoon they snuck into Diego’s car, parked a few blocks from school near a small neighborhood park, and kissed for quite some time.

  “I can’t stop thinking about you,” Diego had said when Charlie pulled back to catch his breath.

  Charlie’s mind had clouded with conflicting thoughts. Ever since he lay back on the cement path at Lincoln Park and let himself kiss and be kissed by Diego, sinking deeply into the confusing desire he felt for the boy, he hadn’t been able to think clearly about what he wanted or what he should be doing. Diego’s charm, his personality, was so big, so enticing, it seemed easier to give in and …

  And yet, he was afraid. He was afraid of what it all meant. He was afraid people would find out. People like Julio and Dave Giraldi. What if they teased him in front of everyone? Or beat him up? He wanted to keep things quiet, to slow things down. And yet nothing else seemed to slow down. Not his escape from Clarkston to Seattle, not the whole witchcraft situation. Why should he expect this to be any different?

  Charlie wasn’t ready to tell his aunt and uncle anything yet, so Diego agreed, albeit reluctantly, not to see him after school all week. Wednesday in the car was an exception for both of them, a rule that in the end Charlie was glad they had decided to break.

  On Friday, before heading up to Snoqualmie, he had told Diego that he was going camping with his uncle and some friends. Diego looked surprised, then sad.

  “I can’t see you this weekend? I thought we could hang out some more.”

  Charlie assured him that they would see each other at school the next week.

  As they walked past the lockers and school posters (“Girls’ Swim Team Bake Sale Thursday – BRING CASH!” and “Get Well, Principal Wang, We Love You”) he knew he wasn’t nervous because of what Diego thought about him. He was nervous because he was sure everyone in school was talking about them. Not because he could hear anything from his newly acquired listening abilities, which had decreased in intensity just like everyone had said they would. It was because it felt like he was walking around with a sign taped to his shirt that read “We’re kissing now!” and was paranoid that he and Diego were the talk of the school.

  Diego sauntered down the hallway with a smile as big as Texas, waving to people, holding himself tall. Charlie wanted to duck into the bathroom and hide in a toilet stall, or at least splash water on his face. Alone.

  He also worried about the excitement he felt when he was with Diego. He couldn’t stop thinking about him. Images of the boy flooded his brain when he tried to concentrate on all the makeup homework he had to do since the week of school he had missed after he had been popped. Memories of how it felt when he bit Charlie’s lower lip, when he ran his hand along Charlie’s lower back, his legs …

  Diego had asked him if he could walk Charlie to bio
logy on Monday.

  “I miss you. It’ll be fun. No one knows.”

  At this point Charlie was sure that everyone knew and that Diego was either clueless, didn’t care, or wanted to flaunt it in front of the whole school.

  “Yeah, sure,” he had said.

  “How about coming to the GSA meeting tomorrow after school?” Diego asked as they climbed the stairs to the second floor. “You’d like it.”

  “Um, well, I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Come on. It’s really chill, and Ms. Barry is awesome.”

  “Ms. Barry? Everyone says she’s the hardest teacher here.”

  “She is. As a history teacher. But as the GSA faculty advisor, she’s totally chill.”

  Charlie didn’t want to go. But he felt badly that he had to lie to Diego about camping over the weekend. He was trying to think of a way he could say no when he heard a girl’s voice coming from somewhere behind them.

  “Hey, boys, what are you up to?”

  They both spun around. There stood Tawny with her long blonde hair and a look of surprise and delight on her face.

  “You two look so guilty!” she said, laughing. “Did I catch you doing something?”

  Diego had asked Charlie if he could tell Tawny about them. Charlie still wasn’t sure what “them” meant, but he had relented. He felt his face burning as Tawny looked at him now.

  “Relax, Chuck, really,” she said as she walked in closer. Then she whispered, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  “What? Well …”

  Tawny hid her smile behind her hand and then looked at Diego.

  “I get it, Mr. Ramirez. He’s cute anyway. But then, that shy look he gets? Yum, yum!”

  “Totally,” said Diego, grinning like a fool.

  She turned to Charlie. “Oh, and I’m not just saying that to make you feel good about yourself. It’s true. You just don’t know it.”

  Charlie had no idea what to do. He mumbled thanks and ducked his head. The strap of his backpack slipped from his shoulder to the crook of his elbow and somehow managed to turn upside down. Because it was unzipped, the entire contents spilled out onto the floor. He watched in horror as his pencil case opened and pens skidded under a nearby drinking fountain. Books lay scattered on the tiles near his feet.

  “Oh geez, I just …” he started.

  Tawny and Diego were down on the floor in a flash, gathering the dropped items and trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh.

  Charlie stood in painful silence, unable to do anything but hold his backpack open while the two friends filled it with the spilled contents.

  “Well, okay then. Looks like I’ve completely flustered you,” Tawny said. “I’ll take that as my cue to leave.” She leaned in and kissed Charlie on the cheek, then gave Diego a hug before walking back down A-wing.

  “Charlie, don’t worry about that, it’s no big deal,” Diego started to say.

  But Charlie wasn’t listening. He realized how tired he was of hearing himself say that he wanted things to slow down. If he really did want things to slow down so much, then he was going to have to do something about it. No one could or would do it for him. Waiting for someone else to make it better for him was a stupid idea.

  Yeah, ’cause look how good that plan has been going.

  “I’m not going to the GSA meeting with you tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Okay. Why not?”

  “Because,” Charlie said, worried that Diego was going to get mad but determined to speak his mind. “I’d like to take things one at a time. I really like hanging out with you. Can we just keep it to that for a while?”

  The frown lines on Diego’s forehead deepened, then vanished.

  “Of course. I’m kind of like a puppy, all excited and everything. Sorry.”

  “No, no, it’s okay, I …”

  “Charlie, I get it. I’ve had a lot of time to figure a bunch of stuff out. And to take lots of small steps. This is new for you.”

  Funny. Diego’s words sounded just like what Beverly had said to him about the legacy of witchcraft. How could two things which seemed so opposite end up running around him in the same way?

  In spite of trying to maintain his cool, Charlie’s shoulders actually shuddered as he relaxed. He was relieved that Diego understood. “But I’d like to hang after school, if that’s okay with you.”

  “Are you just saying that because you’re trying to be nice?” Diego asked, crossing his arms over his chest and furrowing his brow.

  “No. I want to. I just don’t want to go to some big public meeting, is all. Not yet.”

  Diego smiled so widely that Charlie wanted to shield his eyes with his hands. But he found himself smiling back. And then his mind flooded with sensory images, of tasting the boy’s mouth, of feeling Diego putting his hands on the back of his head as they kissed.

  Charlie shook his head. “Okay then. Time to get to class.”

  At lunch he called his aunt to ask if he could go to Diego’s house after school.

  “Will you be home for dinner?” she asked him. “Randall’s making his famous stuffed pasta shells. They’re too amazing to be missed. Maybe Diego would like to come over?”

  It was decided that they would go to Diego’s house for homework, since he needed to feed their cats as his mom was working late. But Diego had a Wicca meeting to go to later that night and couldn’t make it to Washington Street for dinner.

  “But tell your aunt I’d love a rain check,” the boy said.

  And so this was how Charlie found himself in Diego’s house, with no adult around. He drummed his fingers on the kitchen counter while Diego pulled out cereal boxes from the cupboard and two large white bowls.

  They ate their cereal and watched part of an Adam Sandler movie on TV.

  “I should really get to some homework,” Diego said. “Wanna join me?”

  The idea of going to Diego’s bedroom excited Charlie but also made him nervous. He remembered his realization earlier in the day that he needed to speak up about things. But he wanted to be with Diego in his room. Alone. He tried not to think about how much he wanted to kiss this boy. Unable to figure out what he wanted, he kept his mouth shut.

  They walked up the wood and glass staircase, down the hall, and into the bedroom. Charlie did a double take. The mess was gone. Everything was picked up off the floor. The closet doors were closed, and the bed was trim as a soldier’s uniform.

  “Wow!”

  “I know. Some difference, huh? Every so often I go on a cleaning binge. Plus, I was reading in one of my Wicca books the other day that if I wanted to have a clear mind, I should make sure my environment is free of obstacles. It made sense to me. I’m not promising to keep it like this forever, but …” He smiled, hands on his hips, like a proud captain presenting his sailing vessel.

  He walked over to his desk and turned on his speakers. Soft world-beat music began to play. He lit a candle and some incense.

  “Can we just hang a bit before doing homework? Whaddya say?” His eyes softened. At any moment Charlie expected him to walk over to him and embrace him. Instead, he stood still near his desk waiting for Charlie’s response.

  Charlie now knew what “hanging out” meant. He was worried. Worried he would get behind in his schoolwork, worried that hanging out was swiftly becoming a habit for them. But the sheer fact that Diego was making an invitation, that he seemed to be willing to go slowly the way Charlie wanted, made him relax even more. And it made Diego look that much sweeter as he waited for his answer across the room.

  “Okay, but we need to do …”

  “I know, I know. Our homework. We will, I promise. But let’s just …”

  He walked over to where Charlie stood, took him by the arm, and brought him over to the edge of the bed. He sat down, and his eyes darkened as he pulled Charlie close to him.

  The first time they had kissed at the park, Charlie hadn’t paid much attention to the mechanics of it all. He had wondered before, while watching a movie or r
eading a book, how people ever figured out how to kiss. Where did you put your nose so it wouldn’t bump into the other person’s? How did you know when to turn your head?

  It was a lot easier than he had realized.

  Now he knew what to do, how to lean in, how to open his mouth slightly …

  Charlie could feel waves of warmth coming from the boy’s chest. Diego’s lips were thick against his, and he tasted like sweet granola and milk from the cereal they and eaten. He put his arms around Charlie’s back, pulling him closer. The gentle smacking sound of their lips coming together and drawing apart excited Charlie.

  Diego responded by lying back on the bed and pulling Charlie on top of him. Diego’s chest rose and fell beneath him as their kissing grew deeper.

  Charlie let his tongue press into the boy’s mouth farther than he had before. A low grunt escaped Diego’s mouth.

  Charlie pulled back. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to …”

  Diego, whose eyes had been shut, looked up at him. “Didn’t mean to what?” he asked, his voice deeper than normal.

  “I, uh, I thought I hurt you. I thought …”

  Diego interrupted him. “You goofball. That felt really good. What you were doing with your tongue. Do it again.”

  Charlie smiled in spite of himself and leaned back down over the boy. Their tongues began to push against each other, and Diego groaned. Loudly.

  Charlie slid onto the side of the bed so that they were facing each other. Diego rubbed his hands along Charlie’s chest. Then he slipped his fingers up under Charlie’s shirt and ran them along his belly.

  The muscles in his stomach contracted each place the boy’s hand touched. He surprised himself by groaning even louder than Diego had and pulling at the boy’s ears, tugging him closer, as if trying to fit him into his own mouth.