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Gramps had left by the time I returned to the magic store. I spared myself twenty questions from my mom and slipped in the wizard room through the alley door. I turned on the lights and headed straight to the table.
Setting the bag down, I gathered balm of Gilead, Mastic, Dittany of Crete, and the fur, burning them in a ceramic bowl. Next, I made a paste with Fuzzy Weed, Parosela, and Yellow Evening Primrose. I added the ashes to the paste and rubbed the concoction on my eyes lids, willing the magic to show me the way to the owner of the fur.
Magic took over, directing my arms and legs. I shut the light off, locked the back door, climbed on my motorcycle, and rumbled along the main road. I ended in a neighborhood not far from the high school. The magic directed my eyes to a yellow rambler home with brown trim. I parked my motorcycle next to the curb one house away and on the opposite side of the street. Keeping my helmet on, in case I might need a quick getaway, I waited, the potion wearing off.
The home had no lights on inside. A red Jeep was parked in the driveway, donning several dents in the rear end. After a neighbor working in his yard had spotted me, I dismounted my bike and crouched, pretending my bike had broken down. I knelt on one knee and kept my back to the neighbor and house.
A door shut and car rev behind me. Oh, crap. It was Hadler! I wanted to crawl under something, but my bike couldn't hide me. The last thing I needed was for Hadler to see me. I jumped on the seat, switched on the ignition, and flipped a U-turn, zooming out of the neighborhood the way I’d come. At least I knew who the fur belonged to, my old buddy, Jerry.
We lived east of the school in a nice neighborhood and easily within walking distance of it. Most of the homes on the block had three and four bedrooms, big front, and back yards, and two and three car garages. It was a quiet neighborhood, where we knew our neighbors.
I parked my bike in the driveway and clomped through the garage into the house to find my brother sitting at the kitchen table, books stacked on one another and a couple more opened. I followed my time-honored path to the refrigerator and pulled out the lunch meat, mayonnaise, and bread. I made a turkey sandwich, grabbed a soda, bag of potato chips and sat at the table. One empty spot on the table was available. I munched on my food and waited until my brother paused.
"Hadler’s one of them."
Henry drew his brows together. "Are you sure?"
"I found fur at a crime scene."
"A crime scene?"
"Gramps took me to a goat farm where goats were slaughtered."
Henry made a face. "Gross." His glance dropped to the lunch meat in my sandwich.
"Yeah. And what's weird the meat wasn't touched; only their blood sucked out." I bit into my sandwich and shoved a couple of potato chips in with it, and drank it with a gulp of pop.
"So why do you think Jerry had anything to do with it?"
I studied my brother, noting his defensive tone. "I cast a spell on the fur I found at the scene. It led me straight to his house."
Henry lifted a shoulder. "It was his dog?"
"He has a dog?"
"Yeah."
"What kind?"
"I think it's an Airedale Terriers. What color was the fur?"
"Brown."
"It was his dog."
"Maybe."
"I know Jerry picks on you, but it’s no reason to accuse him of using this drug."
I spit out a breath. Had Henry lost his mind? "And the game last night? He's never run that fast in his life?"
Henry lifted one shoulder. "He had a good game."
I finished eating, mulling over my brother’s words. He always thought he knew everything. I knew he defended Jerry because Jerry had made Henry look like a freakin' star last night, making touchdown after touchdown on Henry's passes. It must have impressed the scout too. Football brotherhood became more important than blood brotherhood.
“I’m surprised you’re so quick to defend Hadler when his friends are the ones who tried to sell you the drugs last night.” My temper simmered below the surface. “If Mr. Valdez saw you talking to those guys with the drugs, you’d have been kicked off the football team and suspended from school.”
Henry tossed his pen on the paper and folded his arms over his chest. “Thank you, David, for coming to my rescue. Is that what you wanted to hear?”
“Your gratitude’s touching.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Why can’t you be loyal to me once?”
Henry snorted. “Do you think I'm not loyal because I’m pointing out other options? Just because Troy and his friend were taking the drug, doesn’t mean the entire football team is. You don’t see things clearly where Jerry’s concerned because he’s bullied you. Maybe you’re want something to pin on him.”
I belched out a breath. “The magic led me to his house. It wasn’t something I created in my head. I had no idea where the spell would take me.” I glowered at Henry until he broke eye contact. “Henry, aren’t you afraid of what they turn into? You’ve got to shower with these guys. Do you know what they might do next?”
Henry’s face paled. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
“Henry—”
“I said I don’t want to talk about it!” His chest rose and fell. “I’ve got work to do. If I don’t get good grades, I won’t be playing football for anyone.”
Last night impacted Henry much more than he’d admit to me or anyone. I changed the subject. "What are you working on?"
"Homework. You should try it some time.”
Okay. I’d had enough. I pushed away from the table, clanked my dish in the sink, and headed for the door. I paused with my hand on the knob. “Henry, I’ll always have your back.” I whisked out the door and drove to The Right Magic. I offered to give my parents a late lunch break.
"You want anything, David?" Mom asked.
"Nope."
"We'll be back soon." Dad waved.
Two people lingered in the store, scouring the sales table. Handcuffs, decks of cards, beginner’s magic sets, and coins were presented in a decorative display, to catch the buyers’ attention.
A man walked in dressed in a black suit and dark sunglasses. Red curly hair sprouted from his head, reminding me of a leprechaun. When someone came in acting nervous, I immediately thought of shoplifting. But this guy didn't seem like a shoplifter. His suit was too expensive, and he wore leather shoes, a crimson silk tie, and a crisp white cotton shirt. He kept the glasses on while he browsed. When the other two customers purchased a book and DVD and left, he approached me.
I braced my hands on the counter. "May I help you?"
"David Finkleman?"
"Let me guess. You work for Double-O, Seven." Well, he dressed as the spy, James Bond.
His dark, thick brows came together. "What?"
"You work for the agency."
He relaxed. "Oh. Yes."
"I don't know where my grandfather is at the moment, maybe home. Have you tried there?"
A snarl formed on his ugly mug. "Have you found out anything?"
My eyes widened. "What are you talking about?" I feigned ignorance. It seemed the safest way to go.
"You've been helping your grandfather." His voice was smooth, humming.
"I’m confused. Are you sure you have the right person?"
In one swift move, the man reached out and gripped the front of my shirt in his fist. "Punk, I don't have time to play these games. I know you're helping Ashir with his case. Tell me what you've found out."
My hand rose to his fist and pushed, but his grip tightened. “Let go of me.” My voice came out sure, despite my knees shaking.
Slowly, the man’s fingers unraveled off my shirt.
It struck me. If he was working for the agency, why wouldn't he ask my grandfather or his boss? My mouth went dry. Who was this guy? And who did he work for? I pulled back, worked my cell phone out of my back pocket and flipped it open. "I'm dialing the cops as we speak unless you leave on your own this second."
Even though the guy wore sunglasses, I knew his eyes slit, glaring at me.
The bell on the door jangled as another customer came in. "Hi, Mr. Almond." He was a frequent customer and math teacher at the high school.
Mr. Almond waved, and went straight to the accessory section.
The agent, which I fondly named Double-O-L, for Loser, eyeballed Mr. Almond, and me. Using my phone, I snapped a photo of him. He tried to snatch it from me, but I jerked my hand away.
I formed a smirk on my face. "Are you gonna leave? Or should I call the cops?"
The guy stormed from the shop, whipped the door open and slapped the bell against the glass. It jingled like exploding Christmas bells.
I placed my hands on the counter and dropped my head, taking deep breaths to calm my trembling body.
Mr. Almond came over and set a box of sculpting balloons down. “Having problems with a customer?”
I lifted my head and put on a natural smile. “He was upset we were out of growing neck ties.”
Mr. Almond chuckled.
I totaled the sale and bagged his balloons, my hand shaking as I handed him the purchase. As soon as he left the shop, I dialed my grandfather's house.
He answered saying, "I don't need anything."
"Wait, Gramps. It's me, David."
"Oh. I should have read the caller I.D. Thought it was your mom again."
"I bet she's been calling you." I laughed. "You walked out of the hospital a day after having a heart attack."
"I didn't have a heart attack," Gramps grouched. "So, what’s up?"
"A guy came into the store wanting details on the case."
"Hmm." Gramps half spoke, half exhaled. "What'd he look like?"
"Dressed like your boss, but not as tall and thick. He had red hair and thick brows. He wore sunglasses and had big lips and nose. I got a photograph. I’ll send it to your phone."
"Not necessary. His name's Eddie Bolger, and he’s got a partner named Frankie Gorgan. Stay away from them."
"Who are they? Do they work for your agency?"
"Yes and no. They work for the FBI, but not in my department. They think they are the watchdog of everyone else."
"And are they?" I asked.
"No. They go out on their own a lot. I suspect it's what they're doing now."
"Why come to me?"
"I don't know, but I'll check it out and get back to you."
"Okay. Talk to you later." I flipped my phone shut and got on my parents’ computer to check out our online orders, anything to distract me from what had happened with the goon. I printed out a copy of the orders and began to fill them. By the time my parents returned an hour later, I was exhausted. Needing to relax, I did my version of homework, reading my spell books.
* * *
I arrived at school early as usual. Henry sauntered into the school next to the weight room, a shortcut to the boy’s locker room where he retrieved a book he had left in his locker. I entered through the Common’s doors. A few kids studied at the tables, but none of my friends. I started by when someone yelled, "Hey David. Got a minute?"
Oh great! The voice belonged to Jerry Hadler's friend, Ben Muller. I checked my cell phone for the time. Seven in the morning and one of his friends harassed me. That had to be a record. I meandered my way through the tables over to him. "What's up?” I stiffened, ready for the onslaught.
Ben scanned the room, before returning his attention to me. He rolled a pencil through his fingers and licked his lips. "Do you believe in strange happenings?" he asked. "I mean Big Foot, werewolves, and such?"
"Why?"
“Forget it.” Ben turned back to his books and continued with his homework.
I studied him. "Yes. I do. But there's no reason to think they'd attack humans. The fact is most run from humans."
He jerked his head to the side. "Where'd you hear that?"
I curled my lips in and raised my brows. "Read it somewhere." Spotting my brother coming out of the locker room, I waved to him and left. I didn't want to talk to my brother but used him as an excuse to get away from Ben. I walked with Henry through the school. We didn’t speak, and he turned off for his first class of the day, Calculus, his favorite subject. My favorite was Chemistry until I got Otto for a teacher.
I went through the day with my mind wandering back to Ben and the fear I had seen in his eyes. He knew his friends turned into a chupacabras, and no doubt, they wanted him to take the drug too. Should I have confronted him? Should I have warned him not to take the drug? The guy was a jerk, but was that reason enough not to say anything?
I felt a little guilty. But he was older than me, able to take care of himself. Wasn’t it his choice to hang with Hadler and Friends?
I shuffled, scooted, and pushed my way through a crowded hall to my dreaded class, Chemistry. Sometimes the students were imbeciles, standing in the middle of the hallway, blocking anyone from getting by unless you smashed your body against the wall. The girls were the worst, standing in the way, and if you accidentally touched them, which at times was impossible not to do, they'd give you a dirty look. And I loved it when they flicked their hair in your face as if I wanted to get a mouth full of locks stuck to my tongue.
Several kids had already arrived, claiming the seats in the back. Darn it. I always got stuck in the desk butted up to Otto’s. I spied a desk in the middle and lunged for it, proud I had gotten there early enough to sit far away from Otto.
Minutes later, Jerry stomped into the class.
I grinned and faced forward, knowing the only seat left came face to face with Otto.
Jerry kicked my desk. "Finkleman. You’re in my seat. Move."
"Sorry, Jerry. First come, first serve."
He raised his voice. "I said, get out!" He whammed my chair harder with his foot.
"Is there a problem Mr. Hadler?" Mr. Otto asked. His lip curled, and nostrils flared.
Jerry sneered at me, before trudging three seats ahead. He smacked his books on the top of his desk, narrowed his eyes at me, and flopped into the seat.
I smiled back.
Valerie Kingsman tapped me on the shoulder. She had a dark red hair, and it framed her cute face and green eyes. I had known her since fifth grade when she and her father moved here from the Oregon Coast. If she hadn’t been dating one of my best buddies, Ryan, I would have asked her out a long time ago. She was one of the few girls I’d met who was easy to talk to and comfortable to be around.
"I'm glad you held your ground, David. Jerry's an idiot."
I forced a grin at her and faced forward. I knew I'd pay for it later. Jerry rarely lets things go unpunished. So far, I'd gotten shoulder butted, tripped, and shoved into a locker by him and his crew, but using my magic; it hadn't held me long.
Otto scribbled formulas and problems on the board. I wrote everything, trying to figure out the solutions before Valerie. She often beat me. With her quick mind, she would have made one heck of a good wizard if only she possessed the powers, which as far as I knew she didn't. Otto returned to his desk to check his notes. By accident, he kicked his black briefcase and knocked it over. He left it alone and returned to the board, scratching out more problems.
I gazed at the items on the floor. The green notepad laid there, the same one he had carried with him at detention. I kept thinking I should remember something about it. But what?
"Finkleman, I don't see you working."
I snapped back and focused on my problems. As I worked, my sight kept dropping to the notepad, and back to my paper. Darn it. My gut told me it was important. I hadn’t seen Otto with a green notebook since school started. Otto didn’t use it, but he kept it with him. Why?
A voice boomed over the school announcement system. "A reminder your next class will be club meetings." Static had snapped and popped through the wires before it clicked off.
I had to go to my magic club. Sam volunteered my name as an officer. Lucky me. I'd probably get stuck having to do something rather than sit back and let other people do the work. I guess we had to take our turns being the grunts in the trenches. Usually, I wouldn't be opposed, but having to help Gramps with this case left me no time for anything else. And shouldn't this case be my top priority since people’s lives were at stake?
Tick-tock. The clock echoed in the room. We had ten more minutes. I finished the problems on the board and reclined in my desk; my feet stretched out in front of me. Again, I zeroed in on the notepad Otto had now wedged into a side pocket of his briefcase. Wait a minute. Lime green. The same color Sabrina’s father used.
Was it coincidental? Or was Otto involved with Tom Stevens’ disappearance? It seemed a long shot he was involved. However, Otto coached football players, so he had access. And he taught chemistry, so he knew chemical compounds of drugs. Plus, the man was just weird. Wasn’t he the one who said my brother was a leader of the pack? Did he mean a chupacabra pack?
The bell rang, and I nearly jumped out of my seat. Crap. I glanced around, slightly red-faced.
"Turn those papers in before you leave."
I sauntered to Otto's desk and set it on a pile forming. As I returned, Hadler stuck his foot out to trip me. Luckily, I walked with my eyes to the ground and caught it before I fell. I shook my head. Mature, huh? Was he president of The Jerk Club? As Hadler left, he hit me in the back with his shoulder and strutted out of the class.
I stuffed my book into my backpack.
"Just ignore him," Valerie said.
"I wish I could." Hadler had gone after me from the get-go. I headed out the door.
Spotting Hadler and his gang standing at the end of my hall as if waiting for me, I whirled around, pushed, and squeezed toward the exit doors. Outside, I followed the concrete pathway and entered the boy’s locker room. This route took me forever, and made me late for my club meeting, but how else was I going to avoid Hadler? As I cut through the locker room, the P.E. teacher's office door hung wide open.
Inside, on the floor was Mr. Otto’s briefcase and the lime green notepad sticking out of a side pouch. I had to get my hands on it. It might give me a lead. Time was running out. I had to find Tom and who’s taking these drugs.
I surveyed the showers, bathroom stalls, lockers, and benches. Silence. My heart rammed in my chest. I slipped into the room. My fingers trembled as I gripped the spiral top and yanked it out.
Bam! The locker room doors in the back slam shut. Footsteps clomped toward me.
