Valerie’s arched eyebrows lift even higher than normal, and she flares the nostrils of her wide nose. “What happened?” she asks gently.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“They didn’t even walk you in.”
“They don’t want to be around me.”
Valerie sniffs. “You don’t smell that bad,” she says.
I grin at her attempt to lighten the mood and shrug before flopping onto my bed. “I’m gonna sleep.”
“You sure?”
To answer, I close my eyes.
Hours later, I’m still not in the best of places at all. It’s not that I’m upset that I don’t have a foster family, missed out on an opportunity. I just thought that other part of me, the one I can’t control or explain and for the longest time caused me to think I was insane or imagining it all, was gone. I haven’t had an incident or anything like that at all for over a year. I’ve never come up with a term for it, and I hoped I outgrew it. Clearly not.
It’s late by now, past dinnertime, and some of the younger kids have retired for the night. I pretend to be asleep, beyond grateful that Arabella hasn’t come to see me about what happened. Once lights are finally turned out and everyone is supposed to be asleep, I slip out of bed. A few times a week, I sneak out and go for a walk to try to calm my mind, and, yes, maybe once or twice, I tried to tap into that other side of me, but I’ve never been able to on command, and some of that is what makes me think it’s a hallucination.
But considering how upset the Cooks were and how much the restaurant employees profusely apologized… Something definitely happened.
The night air is crisp and cool, and I embrace it. It’s not quite fall in California, and it’s not often that the temperature dips this much even in the winter. Still, it’s refreshing, and I giggle to myself at the appearance of goosebumps on my arms.
Tall trees form a line almost like a forest behind the orphanage, and I head there. In the center, there’s a clearing, and I often sit there, contemplate the world, imagine who my parents might have been, and sometimes even fall asleep.
I sit, leaning against my favorite tree. The bark is just as rough as the other trees here, but I love this perch. Can’t say why.
The fork… that was something to watch it floating in the air and airplaning into her mouth, but I didn’t feel like I was holding the fork, controlling it. It just happened.
The head, though, I swear I could feel the crunchiness of her hair from her hairspray. With all of the other incidents, I never felt so in command before. I held her there, and she couldn’t move even with the help of the others until I let up on the pressure.
It’s frightening more than anything. What kind of a freak am I?
My eyes close, and I shift down to recline some, hoping to find a better spot to be able to settle and maybe fall asleep if I can just stop my mind from racing.
Maybe I do doze, but as soon as a twig snaps, my eyes fly open. There shouldn’t be anyone out here, maybe a skunk or badger or some other small woodland creature. Only once has a skunk sprayed me. Then Valerie had a legit reason to ask me to shower and shower and shower.
As my eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, a form materializes before me. A large four-legged animal stands before me, and I stifle a shriek, not daring to make a sound or move suddenly.
It's a wolf. A real, live wolf.
My shock melts away almost immediately. I've always had an affinity to wolves. There aren't a lot of wolves here in California, and the orphanage is on the outskirts of a city, so it's not as if we're in a really rural area here, so it's a surprise to see him here, but I'm more intrigued than alarmed.
“You lost?” I ask softly.
It would be stupid to pet a wild wolf, but he’s just tilting his head from side to side, standing there, staring at me, and I don’t feel threatened at all.
“You need some help? I don’t know what to do. With more than just a stupid wolf,” I mutter.
The wolf eyes me as I slowly stand, leaning against the tree, trying to appear as safe and harmless as possible. I might not think the wolf will attack me, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to do something to potentially startle it.
The wolf’s ears lower even more. Good. Wolves are dogs, and dogs are happy when their ears are like that. At least, I think that’s the case.
“I’ve always liked wolves,” I say.
Hmm. I thought most of the wolves in the area are gray, but this one has black and silver fur. He’s large without being too massive, and a little on the thin side.
The wolf steps toward me, slow, as if he’s apprehensive, too, and I can’t say what possesses me to, but I hold out my hand about head height. Damn. The wolf moves forward just enough for my fingers to brush against his soft fur before he backs up and crumbles.
No. Is he hurt? Is that why he came to me?
Before I can rush to his side, the wolf trembles. Then his body glows, and suddenly, standing before me isn’t a wolf but a human.
My eyes blink a hundred times. The wolf-turned-human still stands before me. How is that possible? I mean, I know I can do a few strange things, but shifting form? That’s amazing! Does it hurt? The transformation hadn’t even lasted a minute. That’s insane, but then, I suppose if it’s possible for werewolves to exist, there’s nothing that means the shifting has to take forever.
“Hello, Mirella,” he says, his voice shockingly deep considering he looks like he’s about my age.
Wait. He knows my name?
“Stalker much?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light, but I would be lying if I don’t admit that I’m beginning to become alarmed.
“Nah, not at all,” he says easily. “I’m Logan Luepscu.”
My swallow gets stuck, and I cough a few times.
“You don’t have to worry,” he says.
I rub the back of my neck. He’s hard to see in the darkness, but I’m pretty sure his hair is black, his eyes brown. He has some scruff, and he’s a lot more muscular than his lean wolf suggested.
“I know all about you,” he continues.
“Which brings us back around to the whole stalker thing,” I say dryly.
It’s a five-minute walk back to the orphanage from here, so maybe a two-minute run, but that’s if I can get past him. He’s blocking my path.
“I know you have magic,” he adds as if he’s talking about my eye color or natural hair color or something mundane.
“Magic,” I repeat, my mind racing.
The incidents… I never once considered them magic. Now that he mentions it, I can’t help but think that maybe he’s right.
“Earlier today, at the restaurant… she earned that.”
I grin despite my racing heart and sweaty palms. “She did, didn’t she?”
“Can you do some magic now?” he asks.
“I… I’ve never… It doesn’t work that way.”
“Sure it does, or at least it can. All you have to do is practice.”
“Practice makes perfect,” I mutter.
“Exactly. Clichés become a cliché because there’s truth to them.” He juts his chin toward me. “Go ahead.”
“I…”
I’m baffled. Valerie’s seen more of my outbursts than anyone, but even she hasn’t asked me to do something on command. I’ve never been put on the spot, and if Valerie didn’t see the incidents, I never would’ve told her about them. I trusted no one about this part of me. Logan must’ve witnessed everything with Mrs. Cook.
“I don’t know what to try,” I mutter, hating feeling like a fool. I feel like a failure, and I haven’t even tried yet.
Logan’s arm stretches, and he plucks a leaf from the tree. He holds it out toward me, palm up. “Make it float,” he suggests.
I don’t even know where to start or how to do this. Should I close my eyes? Tap into nature or some nonsense like that? Reach toward the leaf with my mind?
My eyes close. I will the leaf to move. I imagine the leaf flying up, dancing around as if caught in a windstorm. Opening my eyes, I see that nothing’s happened.
My fingers wiggle. I mime picking up the leaf. My frustration grows, and it’s only when I channel it that I can make the leaf float a few inches above his palm. It’s nothing special, pathetic really, but I smile from ear to ear.
“Wonderful.” Logan beams, seemingly as pleased as I am. I still don’t know who he is or what he wants from me, but he doesn’t appear to want to hurt me or use me.
Well, the using bit remains to be seen.
“You and I, we’re good paranormal creatures, a werewolf, a witch, but not all werewolves or witches or shifters or gargoyles or sirens or demons are good. Then again, not even all angels are good.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, baffled.
Learning there are shifters makes sense since there’s a werewolf standing directly in front of me. But gargoyles? Sirens? Demons and angels? What in the world?
“There are evil magical creatures in the world,” he says.
And suddenly, it all makes sense to me. Logan hasn’t been stalking me. He’s been following me for a reason.
“Are you recruiting for some kind of team or something?”
Logan laughs. “No. What did I tell you? Practice makes perfect, and I know just the place for you to get plenty of practice. There’s an entire school filled with magical creatures of all kinds.”
“And we just learn how to use our powers,” I say skeptically. “That’s it.”
“Well…”
I knew it.
I cross my arms and glower at him. It takes some time for him to look away, and he grimaces, hemming and hawing, but finally, he caves.
“The students are trained to be hunters to slay the evil paranormal creatures. We can’t risk the humans learning about our existence.”
He says this with such finality that I’m left frightened and terrified. Just what would people do to me if they learn I’m a witch, that I have magic?