Tainted Crimson (12 page)

After an extremely long, awkward, and agonizing talk with my father, I am ready to croak. The reality of all of this has only become more apparent since speaking to him alone over the last few hours. On the plus side of all of this, he’s buying me an entirely new wardrobe and decor for my new bedroom. Another plus to all of this, I might actually be able to wield
magic
or
power
as they seem to call it and let’s be real, how totally
cool
is that? I mean it’s complete freakish, scary and just weird, but still cool.

After a long debate with my dad I have decided to enroll at the local high school. The school’s entire kindergarten to senior class consists of only 160 students. That is only a fraction of the size of my class alone back in Denver. I am entirely excited to go back to school for the last remaining weeks for some return to normalcy if anything. Of course I won’t be attending school as myself but as Ariella Denver, my father picked out my new identification with my hometown in mind...obviously.

Unfortunately my father wants me to be registered in the tenth grade at this new school because the younger we say we are, the longer we can stay in this town if all goes well. The fact that he wants me to register in tenth grade makes me wonder if this move isn’t just for the time being but it’s semi-permanent. I pray not but I am too scared to question this further as I’m afraid to hear the answer.

Another unfortunate tidbit about all this is that my father won’t let me attend school alone because it’s too dangerous, and so, my father has nominated D to attend with me as he is the most qualified for the job of personal security guard. D is unaware of this as of this moment but at any minute I’m sure I will hear him cry out in protest from downstairs. I wonder if he will just get up and leave. What is even keeping him here besides my father? I’m sure he’d rather be back in the mountains with those ‘babes’ he was telling us about.

Then I hear D shouting from downstairs and know that my father has told him about his new bodyguard status. “Are you joking right now? You’ve got to be joking me, Theenis. This is ridiculous!”

I race down the stairs to catch the action.

“You want me to attend
high school
. I’m a 300 year old warlock. What kind of insanity is this?” he tries again.

“There’s no arguing about this. Jacob looks far too old to be a sixteen year old as do I. You, by far, look the youngest of the three of us. Plus, you still owe me a favor from rescuing you from Theenis that last time nearly fifteen years ago. So stop with the whining. It’s done. Here’s your new identification,” my father ends the conversation in an easy tone and I reach the bottom of the stairs, just in time to see him hand D some papers.

“Daymon Thompson? You couldn’t come up with something cooler? Seriously? What’d you get?” D asks, nodding to me.

“Ariella Denver,” I answer with a shrug.

“And you and Jacob?”

“I’m Tyler Denver, Ariella’s older brother, and Jacob is Jake Denver, Ariella’s other older brother,” my father answers. “Theenis is too distinct of a name to keep. That’s why I got a new first name and no one else did. It would be easier to screw things up if we all had new first names”

D glares at my father. “Whatever, and if you’re all siblings then who the hell am I supposed to be?”

“You were going to be another sibling but then I saw something about an international student program on the school’s website. Now you’re our international student from the United Kingdom.” My father chuckles. “It would be weird if one of us had an accent and the rest didn’t and we were supposedly siblings. People would ask questions.”

D’s glare deepens.

I join in my father’s laughter.

“The story is that our parents died in a car accident four years ago and I decided to take guardianship of Ariella and Jacob, though Jacob and you are now both over eighteen, we still live together. We moved to Taverd to take a break from the city and because Jacob found a job up here working with the oil industry. Which he actually has. If none of us have a job it might look suspicious. I am posing as a web developer so I work at home,” my father continues explaining. “You two start school on Monday for the remaining four weeks.”

Monday? That’s in three days and I have no school supplies.

“Can I have a new cell phone under my new name?” I ask hopefully.

“Yes, but you can’t talk about anything supernatural related using it in case someone picks up our signal. Also Daymon, is that protection spell strong enough to keep Marco out of Ariella’s dreams? Because I don’t know how she is going to sleep knowing he can hop into her head at any moment during the night.”

“Yeah, should be,” D answers with a shrug and I nearly jump for joy.
Oh, thank god.

My father nods in approval and then leaves the room. I’m left in the kitchen with D.

“I liked you better wearing that towel.” He eyes me and winks.

My jaw nearly drops to the floor. Is he
hitting
on me? God no, he’s older than my father. Although he looks totally not old...
at all
...I shake my head trying to free myself from my impure thoughts. Sure he’s smoking hot, but he’s also over 300 years old, Ariella. Seriously, girl, you need to shake these thoughts, it’s gross.

He follows my father out the door without another glance.

The next day after work out I manage to tell my dad that I’m feeling a little strange just like D instructed yesterday. My father immediately begins staring at me as if he’s searching me for something and then he smiles, grabs D, and sends him and me downstairs to work on my control.

The two of us spend nearly four hours cross legged on the floor as he instructs me on how to move a feather, one that he found outside, which turns out to be ten times harder than it looks. I can’t even get it to budge. To my disappointment I realize that I definitely did not stop that bacon from hitting the wall yesterday.

By the end of the four hours, both of us are exhausted and in need of some fresh air. We decide to take a walk down to the grocery store and pick up something for supper.

“I can’t believe we’re in Canada,” I murmur as I glance around. I expected it to be so much colder. Where are all the mooses and geese?

“I’ve lived a lot of my life in Canada actually. It’s one of my favorite countries,” D replies.

“What do you like about it?” I wonder.

“Well it's quiet. The population is much smaller than that of America. It’s peaceful. Especially in small towns like this one. It reminds me of what my home was like in England. For the first 48 years of my life, I lived in rural England as a farmer with my mother, father, my sisters Marie, Rose, and Catherine, and my brother Edward. It was such a different time. We left and came to America after Rose and Catherine were murdered one night in our own home."

"Murdered? By whom?!" I demand.

"To this day I really I don't know. My other sister Marie didn't make it through the journey to America. She was bearing child and something went very wrong. Not even her lineage could save her life. My mother, father, Edward, and I made it here in one piece. Edward was caught by Marco about sixty years ago and murdered. A few years ago, I went to visit our old homestead. I knew it'd be gone but I was heartbroken to see that it now has a shopping mall on top of it. It used to be in the middle of miles and miles of empty land. Amazing how time changes things.”

"You've lost your entire family," I state as if it isn't obvious.

"Nearly, your father and Jacob are all I have left. I've been off doing my own thing, traveling the world and thinking all was well with Theenis and Jacob. heads. I mean...I didn’t really have a reason to stick around so I thought I’d have some
me
time. Now that there’s reason to stick around, now that there's a little hybrid girl that needs protecting, I’m back," he snickers. “Them two would never admit it but they missed me in my absence.”

I punch his shoulder playfully.

"The witches and warlocks aren't like your Hollywood movies portray them. The white witches, well they are cowards. They had to create a race in order to protect them because they were too afraid to fight. Of course they're not all like that but the majority are. They stick together in covens and hide together like little babies. Only some of us leave the covens and do our own thing. They calls us rogues. My parents left the coven when they married. Turning your back on a coven is like turning your back on their protection. You're on your own. My parents left because they wanted to be free. I tried the coven thing once. It was boring and I decided that I wanted to do more with my life than sit around. I've always enjoyed battle. I've fought in a few wars in my lifetime. I was one of the few actual witches who fought alongside the immortals against the black witches and vampires after the holocaust. I fought alongside your father actually, he’d just been turned into an immortal. The black witches aren't quite the cowards the white are but they are weaker because their power is hard to gain which is why Marco created the vampires. They are mostly power hungry, selfish creatures. Both breeds have one thing in common for sure. Dishonesty. Neither can be trusted. Ever."

"So I shouldn't trust you?" I ask.

He smirks. "I'm not like any of them. And hey, have I lied to you yet?"

"Not that I'm aware of..." I answer skeptically.

D reaches for the store's door and pulls it open for me. I step in and take in the small grocery store. It's the size of the produce aisle in the store I usually shopped at in Denver.

"Good day," the shopkeeper greets us from behind the cash register.

"Good day, sir," D greets him in return, tipping his hat.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

"What?" he asks looking offended.

"It's the 21st century. We don't tip our hats," I explain.

He shrugs. "Some habits die hard. I wish there there were as much chivalry as there was years ago."

"What are we looking for?" I ask, while scanning the aisles not sure which to choose first.

"I don't know but I really like those chicken nugget shaped things with the macaroni inside," he suggests completely serious.

I stop and gawk at him like he has three heads.

"What?" he asks again looking more offended this time.

"Those are for little kids," I answer harshly.

"Have you ever had them?" 

"No."

"Then you can't possibly understand. We're getting some. You're trying them. They're amazing," he argues and begins scanning one of the freezers.

I roll my eyes.

After a few seconds he opens the freezer and pulls out a blue box. I know he's found them by his expression of pure excitement. Just like a little kid.

I grab a few bundles of fruit and a package of my favorite crackers.

"Ready?" I ask, while heading to pay.

We pile all of our delicious finds onto the conveyer belt and I slap down some of cash my father gave me.

"Hey are you the people that moved in down the street?" the clerk asks. He's the same guy that greeted us upon arriving.

"Yeah, I'm Ariella. This is Daymon. He's the international student staying with us," I answer sharing a big grin with the man.

"Oh how lovely. Nice to meet you. I'm Mark. My father owns this place. How old are you guys?" the man asks. He looks to be young maybe even younger than me. He has a pasty white face and dangly arms and legs. He's uber skinny and his face is covered in acne scars.

"Sixteen," D answers, before I can spout out my real age by accident. D then grabs our full bags off the counter.

"Oh, wow.  You look older. I'm eighteen, I graduated last year. Welcome to Taverd," the man says and hands me a receipt. “I like your jacket, man, where’d you get it?” The boy adds, looking at D.

D completely ignores him and is suddenly out the door.

"Thank you!" I call while shooting the boy an apologetic look and chasing D out the door.

"What was that?" I scold once the door shuts behind us.

"What?" he asks.

"That was rude! You could've said thank you
and
answered his question What the heck?"

"He's a human," he stares blankly at me as if it makes some sort of difference.

"And?" I shout louder than I mean to.

"Need I say more?"

Just when I thought I might be starting to like this jerk.

"That makes it okay for you to be rude?" I spit at him.

"If I wasn't a rogue I would be second in command of the witches. I'm the second most powerful witch in existence. Humans are irrelevant. Humans are to me as you would see a bumble bee."

"I can't even converse with a bumble bee. That's not a fair analogy. And I really don't give a flying crap who or what you are. You're just as much a person as that guy in there is," I argue. becoming furious.

He shrugs. "You're part human. Of course you'd think that. Your brain is warped like all of theirs are."

I roll my eyes in disgust and begin walking in the opposite direction he is heading. What is wrong with him? Seriously, is he bipolar?!

"Oh my god, Ariella. Seriously? Fine. Go get lost," he scoffs and continues walking in the other direction.

I grew up in a fricken city. My block was the size of this town. I doubt I'll get lost.

I walk a few blocks and then make a right as I explore my new home. I pass many different buildings most of which seem abandoned. Finally I reach a very small coffee shop and I step inside. I could use a coffee about now. I love coffee. If coffee was a man, I’d marry him. God, I’m a weirdo.

As I walk up to the counter, I spot a group of girls sitting in the far corner of the room. They are all staring back at me and so I instantly switch my gaze to the cashier awkwardly.

"Can I just get a black coffee? A medium please," I order politely while taking in their vast menu for future reference.

"She's a lot prettier than I expected," I hear one of the girls say and I wonder if she's talking about me. Does she know that i can hear her?

"She looks kind of like an elf. Look how short she is," another says.
Rude
. I suck in a breath. This doesn't surpass the level of awkward I've felt over the past few days but it's definitely still at a very high level of awkward. Can’t they wait until I leave the shop to talk about me?

"I thought Americans were supposed to be like super fat," the third girl remarks..

"Not all of them are apparently, Julianna. Haven't you ever seen an American before? Don't you watch TV? Are they ALL fat?" the first asks sounding annoyed by the other girl.

"Yeah. God, you're stupid Julianna." The second murmurs in agreeance rudely.

"Here's your coffee, miss. That'll be one dollar even," the cashier smiles while setting down my drink in front of me.

"One dollar? That's it?" I question, wondering if he's given me the right price.

"Yes, it's one dollar black coffee on days the local high school baseball team has a home game," he reassures me while taking the loonie I offer him. It's going to take some getting used to hauling around a bunch of change instead of dollar bills.

"Thanks!" I cry, while extending my hand. Since apparently everyone knows who I am, I better start getting names and putting them to faces. "I'm Ariella by the way. I'm new in town."

His face lights up and he looks far more attractive while he’s grinning. He's actually pretty cute in a boyish way. He looks about sixteen or seventeen. He's short and his voice is higher than it probably should be for someone his age. His blonde hair is spiked in every direction as if he didn't look into a mirror before leaving the house. He looks like the kind of guy that belongs working as a surf instructor somewhere down in California rather than a barista in Canada.

"Not a problem. I'm Blake Riley. Welcome to the neighborhood,” he says with a half-smile, while taking up my offer on the hand shake.

“If your get bored tonight you should come out to this party...it’s out at the Smith’s farm just east of town. I can even give you a ride...if you like that is,” he offers excitedly.

“I’m not sure my dad…I mean older brother...would approve of it,” I correct slowly. Jesus, I’m already screwing up our story. “I’d have to ask first.”

“Of course. You can text me later and let me know if you can come,” he suggests with a light shrug and grabs a pen and paper from below the counter as if he’s about to scribble down his phone number for me.

“I actually don’t have a phone right now. I busted my old one. I’ll have to pass this time. Maybe another. I’m still busy unpacking and stuff you know? I should probably get settled,” I decide embarrassingly.

He nods and his smile falters. “Sure, next time maybe.”

“Rejected!” one of the girls from the corner shouts. “Nice try, Blake.”

Blake looks down at the floor and turns as if he hasn’t heard the girl but I know he has.

“Actually, I think I will come. Hand me that pen and paper,” I say purposefully louder than I need to. I can play this game. No way am I going to let those girls make this completely nice guy feel like crap.

A brilliant smile lights up his features and he quickly hands me the writing utensil and paper. I scribble down my address and hand it back to him.

“Pick me up here. I’ll be ready whenever,” I promise.

“I know where you live though, everyone does I think,” he says in return, while shoving the note into his apron pocket.

“Okay, sounds good. Do you mind if I bring a friend?” I ask him, knowing that the boys back at home are not going to let me leave the house alone, let alone let me attend a party outside of town and possibly past the protective border, alone. D will have to come with me. As much as I really don’t want to spend time with him right now.

“Uh sure,” he says sounding a tad bit sad.

I realize my mistake almost immediately. “He’s like my brother. He’s an international student that we’re hosting. I don’t want him to feel left out,” I tell him.

His face brightens. “Oh yeah, I totally get it. We don’t get too many international students out here. That will be neat. Are you eighteen or should I get my brother to pick you guys up some alcohol for tonight?”

For some reason it never crossed my mind that this might be a drinking party. In Denver there weren’t very many of these because the drinking age in America is 21 and no one ever wanted to be liable for a bunch of underage drinkers at their place. Not many of my friends’ parents anyways.