"That’s my girl!” someone roared. I only recognised him because of the basketball game Amelia and I had gone to see once; the team captain, Jared Woodard. I knew four things about him: 1. He was tall, well above six feet. 2. He dated Andrea Simpson, who was in vampire cheerleader getup that night. 3. He was dressed as what I assumed was a zombie jock, his usual jersey covered in green paint and fake blood. 4. He was incredibly angry.

“I didn’t do anything!” Charon said with his hands up like he was being threatened with a gun. I didn’t judge him. Jared Woodard was so jacked he could probably do more damage than a gun.

Charon had bright pink lipstick stains on his cheek and lips. He looked shaken up, but not panicky — at least not yet. I mentally prepared to step in if it got worse.

“Babe, take a chill pill,” Andrea said calmly. She placed a hand on her boyfriend’s forearm, but he snatched it away immediately.

Jared pointed a finger at Charon furiously. “You and me, dude. Outside,” he growled.

“Seriously, I didn’t do shit!” Charon insisted. Jared took a step forward. He towered over Charon, but Charon — surprisingly — didn’t seem that intimidated. Maybe he was just a good actor.

“He’s totally buggin,” whispered some girl to my left.

“Let’s bounce before they start actually fighting,” her friend said.

The girls and some more people started taking distance. No one wanted to get caught between Jared and Charon.

“Are we gonna do something?” I asked Amelia.

“You forget what he is. He’ll be fine,” she said.

Jared took a swing. Charon dodged it expertly, which made Jared lose his balance and fly straight into a console table holding a fairly new looking urn. Charon managed to grab it before it hit the floor, and placed it gently back on the table. The crowd gasped, impressed.

“I’m gonna kill you!” Jared said. The vein in his neck looked like it was going to pop.

“Or we could just forget this ever happened?” Charon tried.

Jared punched again, this time unexpectedly enough that his fist brushed Charon’s jaw even when he dodged. I looked at Amelia. She was watching the fight, looking mildly interested, but made no move to help.

Charon had no intention to fight back. He kept dodging and blocking, but Jared was an athlete. He wasn’t getting tired, and each swing was more accurate than the one before. The fifth one hit Charon straight on the nose, so hard it spurted blood all over. Everyone who was still stupid enough to stand too close retreated in disgust when their shoes got splatters of red on them.

“Really, man, you don’t wanna do this,” Charon said, holding his nose. He was trapped between Jared and the console table. The urn wobbled dangerously behind him — I heard Tina Bolton whimper somewhere to my right.

“I think I do,” Jared said. He had a manic glow in his eyes. He raised his fist again.

I couldn’t stay still any longer. Before Jared could strike, I grabbed the back of his jersey and pulled him towards me. If he had seen me, it probably wouldn’t have worked, but the element of surprise played in my favour and he stumbled backwards.

Now my problem was that I had no plan. Jared Woodard turned to face me, looking more angry than ever. I was a foot shorter than him, weaker and with zero experience in fist fights. If I didn’t come up with something quick, I’d be a dead man.

I did the only thing a guy could do in my situation. I ran.

I pushed past the dense crowd that had formed to watch the fight. My size, for once, was an advantage because I could fit through the small gaps people were able to form. Well, at least it felt like an advantage until Jared stormed after me and started practically throwing people out of his way.

Amelia and Charon yelled after me, their voices dulled by the music, startled shrieks and whoops of encouragement for either me or Jared. I hoped that my friends would at least honour my pride when telling my story to everyone once I was inevitably deceased.

I saw the front door. It was open to allow people to easily go out for smoke breaks, and back in. I could feel the cold air on my face, the freedom—

Jared let me taste my own medicine and grabbed me from the back. The difference was that he was stronger than me, and I was lighter than him, which meant that he effortlessly threw me back into the house and against a wall. There was a large painting on said wall, and its frame dug into my back painfully.

“I’m gonna open up a can of whoop ass on you, kid,” Jared snarled, his face twisted into an angry grin.

“Righteous,” I whimpered.

I had never been punched before, so when Jared’s fist came in contact with my face the pain came as a shock. Well, I assume it would come as a bit of a shock even if you frequently get punched. I felt blood gush out of my nose. When he punched me the second time, I heard a nasty crunch.

All I knew was that I wanted him off of me. I wanted his gross body spray stench out of my bloody nose, and I wanted him to stay the hell away from my friends. I realised I was angry rather than scared.

I let out possibly the loudest roar I had ever roared, and pushed him off. I hadn’t expected him to move at all, considering his weight, but he was hurled all the way to the other side of the hallway.

There were a few nervous snickers from the crowd. Jared looked embarrassed and confused. He didn’t even try to charge at me again like I thought he would. All I could do was stare at him dumbfounded.

While Jared was recovering from the humiliation, Amelia ran towards me and grabbed my arm. She dragged me out of the house, closely followed by Charon who had acquired a tampon to stuff into his nostril. He had clearly tried rubbing the lipstick off, but the stains — although smudged, now — remained.

I barely noticed the pain, I was so exhilarated. The tension I had felt earlier was still there, but a whole lot of it had been released in my brief fight with Jared. I had a feeling I could easily take him on again if I had to. I barely noticed the blood on my face until Charon wiped most of it off with his sleeve.

“That was sick!” I laughed as we half walked, half jogged down the street.

“No, it wasn’t! If I hadn’t dragged you out of there when I did, you could’ve gotten yourself killed,” Amelia hissed. She looked genuinely terrified.

“Don’t you mean he would’ve gotten Woodard killed?” Charon snorted.

“Oscar, this isn’t a joke. You used magic back there,” Amelia said seriously.

I stopped on my tracks. “What?”

“Yeah. Congrats, I guess, you’re a witch.” Amelia sighed.

“Wait, really?” I said. My nose was still dripping blood, which Charon wiped away every now and then.

“So that’s what the smell was,” Charon realised.

“But… I didn’t mean to do a spell,” I said.

“Outbursts like that will keep happening until Killian teaches you to release the magic through actual spells,” Amelia explained. “The thing with magic is that you need to release it. If you suppress it for too long, it’ll get unstable and start acting up on its own.”

“Oh, like…” I restrained a smile.

“Yeah, like your dick. Ha-ha, funny,” Amelia said dryly. Charon snickered next to me. Amelia rolled her eyes; boys.

“Shame the party was cut short again,” Charon said, but he didn’t sound too disappointed. It’s not like he enjoyed parties a whole lot anyway.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” I said.

“It’s all good. I’m glad you helped,” Charon said.

“We should get you back home, now. It’s better to get your magic in control early on…” Amelia mused, and we started walking again.

I was dizzy with excitement. It had finally happened, and now that I knew what it was, the feeling of magic coursing through my veins was unmistakable. I felt like moving mountains and shaping hurricanes — and the best part was, I probably could.

—

When we got to our street, Charon’s face fell. He slid onto the middle seat and leaned over to see better through the windshield. “Something’s wrong,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Smells like blood — not human,” Charon replied. He rolled a window open and breathed in the air. “Not siren, either.”

“Shit,” Amelia said.

My heart felt heavy. The last half a minute of the car ride I went over a million scenarios, each ending with blood and guts and cold bodies. We stopped right in the middle of the two houses that had both become like home to me over the past years.

I didn’t want to ask it, but I gathered my courage and did it anyway: “Which one?”

Charon opened the door on Killian’s house’s side. I felt a lump in my throat. The pure excitement I had felt earlier was long gone, but the energy was still there. It wasn’t a good combo.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to go inside?” Amelia asked in a small voice.

“There’s no one inside, and I don’t smell death,” Charon said.

“Great,” I muttered. Against all my instincts, I climbed out of the car.

The smell was the first thing I noticed when we got inside. It smelled like burning flesh, even though there were no smoke in sight. The next I noticed the signs of struggle. The dining table was knocked over on its side on the other side of the room like it had been thrown, a chair was broken, fine shards of shattered glass were scattered across the floor. There were splatters of blood all over.

“Uncle?” I yelled, praying Charon was wrong and he was still here.

No response.

“Mr. Monroe!” Amelia yelled louder.

Nothing.

My heart was beating so hard I could barely hear anything but its pounding in my ears. I wasn’t sure if I was breathing. My palms were clammy, instinctively reaching out for dad’s rosary.

“Oscar…” Amelia said softly. She had made her way to the study door, which was… open.

Both the door and lock were completely unharmed. Either Uncle Killian had opened the door for the intruder — which was very unlikely — or they’d had a key.

“This is bad,” Amelia muttered behind me as I walked in. She paced, shards of glass creaked under her shoes. “This is bad, this is so fucking bad…”

At first glance, nothing was out of place. But the more I looked, the emptier it was. To my horror, the spell-book and journal were both gone.

“Who would’ve done this?” Charon asked.

My eyes were drawn to door’s the silver lock again. I did a bad thing, crow.

I didn’t say anything to my friends when I stormed out of the house. They asked me things, shouted at me and followed me, but they were in another universe entirely. I walked across the street — how many times had I walked the same path there and back again? — and bursted in.

There was not a soul inside. It was dark and lifeless. The usual warmth that radiated throughout the house was gone.

I found a note on the kitchen table, right next to the burn mark Elvira had left on it just the other day. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to read it. Despite that, I picked it up.

I’m sorry. It had to be done.

That’s it. That’s all she had to say to me.

My vision blurred. It was like a dam had burst open in my chest, spilling everything into the kitchen. Every bad memory, every bitter thought, every frustration and every bit of pure hate I felt towards Elvira, exploded out of me.

It burned like hell.

I think I screamed.

I’m sure I cried.

At some point everything went black. I simply stopped being.

I remember a sort of void in-between then and the next moment. At first there was nothing there but me, but even I wasn’t really there. Just my thoughts, too loud and panicked to make sense, echoing in the infinity around me. And then there was just a hint of something else — someone else’s voice, a barely audible whisper in the chaos that was my mind.

And then I opened my eyes.

I ached all over. I saw a familiar ceiling — the one I had once managed to splash bolognese sauce on after school, and the stain was still there. My back was against cold hard tiles. It was weird. Those tiles were never cold. There air was metallic, and so was the taste in my mouth. The electricity I’d been feeling all day was almost gone, only a tiny spark left in my fingertips.

My eyes closed again. I wanted to sleep.

“Oscar,” said someone. They said it like a soft whisper, but it was so loud my head pounded.

“Here,” said another voice. I felt something warm against my lips, and a liquid slowly pouring into my mouth. It tasted earthy and green, like a garden after a rainstorm.

“Wake up.” This voice was much clearer than the others, and accompanied by the smell of sea. It felt like a breath of cool wind on a humid day. I wanted to sleep, but my body listened to that one.

Someone helped me sit up.

Marina Demetrias was wearing a pale pink bathrobe and matching slippers. Her hair was pulled into a hasty bun that was falling apart. I had never seen her look so concerned. “You could’ve killed yourself, pulling a stunt like that,” she scolded.

My ears were ringing. The kitchen looked like a small hurricane had made its way through it. Cabinet doors hung on hinges for their dear lives, glass bottles and ceramic bowls were smashed into pieces on the floor, the curtains were ripped and most tiles were cracked.

My mouth was so dry I couldn’t answer. Amelia handed me a bottle of water and I drank it all in one go. Once I was able to speak again, I rasped: “I need to go after them.”

“Absolutely not!” Marina said immediately.

“You can’t tell me what to do,” I snapped. On any other day, I would’ve felt bad being mean to her.

“Whoever did this— They kidnapped a fully trained witch! Going after them is a suicide mission,” Marina stammered.

“No, Oscar is right,” Amelia piped in. “I mean… his motivation is different, but he does need to go. Fits like that, they’re going to keep happening if he doesn’t learn to control his magic. We need to find Killian before he… well, you know.”

“Can’t you teach him? Or any other witch in this damned city?” Marina asked desperately.

Amelia shook her head gravely. “Spells are bound in blood. We need the Monroe family spell-book,” she said.

Marina chewed the inside of her cheek. She glanced at Charon, but he didn’t have any words of advice to give to his mother. All he said was: “I’ll be with Oscar, whatever he decides to do.” I gave him an appreciative nod.

“I’ll contact some of my people,” Marina decided finally. “I’ll ask around, I’ll find him myself if I have to. But you three aren’t going anywhere, at least tonight. You need rest.”

And so Marina herded us across the street and three houses away to hers. Cassandra was standing by the door in her pyjamas, waiting.

“I thought I told you to go to bed!” Marina said in a hushed voice.

“Like I could sleep!” Cassandra argued.

“Come on now, inside,” Marina ushered, and we all followed.

Marina threw a couple of frozen pizzas in the oven and had us sit around the table to wait for them to be done. She gave Amelia a cordless phone and told her she could call her brother if she wanted to. She did, only to tell him that everything was fine and that she would be staying at mine for the night.

The pizza tasted like ash in my mouth. I thought about the leftovers in our fridge, wondered if Killian had gotten a chance to eat them.

Even though there was the guest room I had stayed in the first time I was at the Demetrias’, we opted to fill up an air mattress in Charon’s room. Even Amelia said she wanted to sleep there.

Once the door was closed and Charon assured us that his family was asleep, we turned the lights back on. Amelia grabbed an empty notebook and a pen from Charon’s desk. We all sat on the air mattress, like we were in a secret sleepover meeting.

“We need to come up with a plan,” Amelia said. She tapped the notebook with the pen. “Oscar, do you have any idea where she might’ve taken him?”

I tried to think, but my mind was hazy. It kept going back in time to mom’s death day. I almost smelled the fire and felt the smoke blocking my throat, felt the tremors… I forced myself back to the present.

“I had a dream before the party,” I recalled. The party. It had been only a couple of hours at most, but it felt so far away. Only the blood stains on Charon’s flannel shirt and Amelia’s wig discarded on the floor were evidence it had ever happened.

“Okay, that’s good. What did you see?” Amelia said in a hopeful voice. She jotted down: Oscar’s dream. It felt silly, but it was all we had.

“A storm, and the crow again. It was on…” I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to remember. Dreams fade so swiftly, Sibyl had once said. “The Washington Monument.”

“Storm and Washington,” Amelia muttered as she wrote it down. “A storm usually means there’s a fight coming. As for Washington…”

“It’s literally on the other side of the country,” Charon finished for her.

“We have a car,” I said, trying not to sound too defeated.

Amelia sighed and wrote:

Road trip to Washington?

- need money for gas and food

- takes a long time

- our only choice