Witch Eyes (3 page)

four

The bus jerked back into motion. It was the middle of the night, a full day after I’d left Montana—and my uncle. A pair of older women sat right behind the driver, whispering to themselves. It didn’t sound like Spanish, but I was too far away to figure out what it was. A couple of college kids were still working their way toward the back, trying to find a seat.

I squirmed down.
Just pretend you’re sleeping,
I whispered to myself.
Ignore them
. Every time we stopped, I was sure that someone was going to get on the bus and call out my name. Or that they’d look at me and know somehow that I’d run away.

The shorter of the two took a seat in the middle, but the other one kept moving down the rows. He started to pass my row, and I exhaled with relief. Just like that, the motion in the aisle stopped, and I glanced up. He was staring down at me, with brilliantly light eyes that almost seemed to shine.

And then he swiveled around and sat himself in the chair next to me. There were two open chairs across the aisle, but it was like he
knew
I didn’t want anyone to sit there.

I shifted against the window, pulling the top of my hood down over my eyes a little further. Twice already, someone had tried talking me into taking off my sunglasses. My tongue kept fumbling as I tried to tell them why I couldn’t. Usually, I had Uncle John there to do it for me.

Trying to explain
anything
to the Adonis in Abercrombie sitting next to me? Damn near impossible. I shifted my head a little so that I could study him. It was bad enough that random college guy sat down next to me, but did he really have to be model-hot?

My uncle seemed to believe that no one could really know they were gay until they were “an adult.” Like once someone turned eighteen, a switch was flipped in their brain and suddenly everything changed. Being gay wasn’t something that we talked about—he didn’t like the subject. He didn’t exactly
hate
it, either—it just made him act all funny.

The first time I told him I thought I was gay had been a few years ago. What I thought would be one of those television moments where the parent smiles and nods knowingly turned ugly real fast. His face had gone white at first, and then just as quickly flushed red.

“You’re not …
that.
You don’t even
know
what you are yet.” He had very nearly started snarling. “Do you even understand the kind of potential you have? How important you are? You do
not
have the luxury of wasting your life.”

Abercrombie didn’t say anything at first. This was a good thing. It gave me time to acclimate myself to him sitting just a few inches to my right. To try and focus on something other than the way his lips had this permanent smirk—almost a sneer—to them.

There wasn’t much to see in the middle of the night except streetlights zooming past. It was easy to zone out on the bus. With the lights down low, nearly everyone took the opportunity to have an hour-long nap, before the next rest stop reared its ugly, unwanted head.

“You’re heading to Belle Dam? Me too.”

I shifted to see Abercrombie leaning over, staring at my bus ticket. I’d left it tucked in the seat pouch in front of me, the destination boldly printed on the front.

“Visiting family?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” I muttered in reply.

Abercrombie shifted closer to me. I could smell something like sweat and cologne, a musky smell that went straight to my head. I pulled myself even further into the shirt, drawing the sleeve up to my face. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Belle Dam’s not a good place for people like you.”

I straightened up, my skin going cold from the inside. I tried to keep my voice steady. “People like me?”

“People like you,” he agreed. “Which side are you on?”

I wondered if this was some game, to trick me into talking to him. “What are you talking about?”

“The feud,” he said, still keeping his voice low. He
made it sound like I should already know what he was talking about. “You’re either bowing down to Jason Thorpe, or you’re sucking up to Catherine Lansing. So who is it? Who convinced the naïve little teen to come to town?”

“What are you talking about?”

He stretched his arms out in front of him, linking his fingers and pushing them forward until they started to crackle like popcorn. “The feud,” he reiterated, like I was slow to catch on. “You’re either a Montague or a Capulet.” When I didn’t immediately say anything, he rolled his eyes. “Romeo and Juliet? What’s the education of this country coming to?”

“I know Romeo and Juliet. But that’s about the only thing you’ve said that makes any sense.”

Abercrombie sighed. “Some of them are … different. Like you. Special. And they hate each other with a vengeance.”

Some of them are like you
. Witches? It wasn’t so much that there were witches in Belle Dam as the fact that Abercrombie had singled me out. “You don’t even know me. You don’t know anything about me.”

Abercrombie leaned forward, inhaling deeply. Sniffing. His whisper grew a little more audible. “You smell like fire. Same as they do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My first instinct was to jump up and run off the bus right then. But there was nowhere to go as long as it was in motion.

Witches might be known for being burned at the stake, but their connection to fire was deeper than that. A witch’s aura was always burning: fire was action and power and energy, just like magic. When I looked at a witch, really looked, the first thing I saw was flames.

But I’d never once met someone who saw it the same way I did. Or smelled it, I guess. Let alone so flippantly. The bus felt like it was growing smaller, and having a giant sitting next to me made it impossible to jump out of my seat and get away. I was stuck.

“Relax,” he said, suddenly pulling back in his seat. “Secret’s safe with me.” His lips curved upward, his smirk bordering on a sneer. “For now.”

I could feel his eyes on me, but I curled into a ball, and my eyes never strayed from the view outside. Before a few miles had passed, he got up and moved to the front of the bus. I wondered just what I was getting myself into.
Maybe I shouldn’t have run. Like running away will really keep him safe.
I stared out the window until I finally started to doze.

The next thing I knew, the bus driver’s monotone voice woke me and announced that we’d arrived in Belle Dam ahead of schedule. I couldn’t see Abercrombie anywhere on the bus, but the lights were already on, and people were getting off.

It didn’t take long to gather my things together. When I’d bolted out the door from Uncle John’s, I’d only taken what could fit in my backpack. Priority for my journals and road food, and barely a thought for anything else.

I was the last one off the bus. Dawn wouldn’t come for at least another hour, but already there were threads of color on the horizon. Belle Dam wasn’t a scheduled rest stop, so a few moments later the bus pulled back onto the road, its lights flashing.

I wish I’d been paying attention. I spun around the parking lot trying to get my bearings, but I could have been in the middle of nowhere for all the good that did me. The bus station itself was a squat, brick building with all the lights off. Industrial buildings covered both sides of the street, ruining the image I’d had in my head of the quiet, quirky small town.

Now what
? Getting to Belle Dam had kept me going for the last twenty-four hours, but now that I was here … I was at a loss.

A car whizzed past me as I headed for the building. I was the only one left standing around, with my backpack slung over one shoulder and no idea of what to do next. Everyone else who had gotten off had already gone. There was no one to ask for directions.

“You lost?”

I nearly jumped at the voice. Leaning against the building, intentionally in the shadows, was a guy. With his foot propped against the wall, and the shaggy brown hair, he looked like some sort of James Dean homage.

“What? No.”

“You look lost,” he said, stepping away from the wall. At least
he
was dressed for the weather. Jeans and a sweatshirt. All I had was my backpack, and a hooded long-sleeved shirt that wasn’t doing much for the Pacific chill.

“I’m not,” I said, adjusting the strap of my backpack.

He made a show of looking all around the empty parking lot. “You sure about that?”

He’s making fun of you.
“I know where I’m going.” I glanced to my left. There were a few larger buildings farther down that way … maybe that’s where the rest of town was.

“Good.” He didn’t move from his spot, like he was rooted in the ground. But his eyes never left me.

“Great.” I started heading in that direction.

“You sure you don’t want some advice?” he called out, his voice now oddly humorous.

“What are you? The welcome wagon?”

“Nah. I’m Trey.”

Whoever he was, he was kind of a dick. His silence grew more pronounced, and I turned back around to see him smiling. “What?”

“Town’s this way,” he said, using his thumb to point in the opposite direction.

“Thanks,” I muttered, changing directions. Trey pushed himself off the wall and jogged ahead of me.

“You always this friendly?” he asked cheerfully. He turned around and started walking backwards, staring at me. The streetlights cast his face with shadows, but at least it was visible now.
Something in the water here?
I thought faintly, as I got a better look at him.

The guy on the bus had been all dark-eyed smo
lder and danger, but Trey was more like marble and gold woven together. Under the streetlight, his dirty blond hair started to shimmer; he was tall, and moved like someone with all the confidence in the world. Even his face was taut with cheekbones, hard lines, and angles. Sadly, I was a sucker for geometry.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Easy there, kiddo,” he said, his blue eyes sparkling.

“I’m not a kid.”

“Of course you’re not,” Trey said. He sounded just like an adult, when they were trying to be patronizing.

My stomach was starting to rumble. The last thing I’d eaten was some stale pretzels a few hours before Seattle.

We were coming to the end of the parking lot, and Trey in particular was heading for a row of those concrete curbs at the end of parking spots. He still hadn’t turned back around, preferring to annoy me.

I was about to open my mouth, to warn him to watch his step, when he took one large step to the side and passed between two of the curb stoppers.

He didn’t even turn around. He couldn’t have seen them.
I looked down at them, and then up at him again. His smile had widened, if that was even possible.

“Did you see a friend of mine on the bus?” he asked, although he tried too hard to sound nonchalant. I realized that
this
was what the conversation was all about, what he’d been building up to. I wasn’t sure how I knew, exactly, but my gut was certain.

“A little taller than me,” he continued, holding up his hand for reference. “Dark hair, kinda cranky looking? His name’s Drew.”

Only one person I’d seen that fit the description. The other college kids had been light-haired. My mouth opened before I could catch it, and I asked, “Abercrombie?” I wanted to slap my forehead. Stupid nicknames should never hear the light of day.

So his name was Drew. It made sense that the two of them were friends. Pretty people hanging out together. Belle Dam wasn’t much different than anywhere else.

“Abercrombie?” Trey looked puzzled.

“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “He just reminded me of an Abercrombie model or something.”

His expression turned curious. “You talked to him?”

I shrugged. “Yeah, so?”

“Did you see him get off the bus?” he asked, his voice tightening.

I shook my head. “I was asleep when we got here. He must have gotten off before I woke up.” I tho
ught about it
for a second. “If he’s your friend, why didn’t he wait for you?”

His smile grew strained.
Drew’s not his friend at all,
I realized. Trey was looking all tense, wound up like Uncle John did when I couldn’t master the “easy” spells.

At the fringes of my mind, the throbbing was starting again. Even with sunglasses, tiny impressions still got in around the corners, flashes of light that just begged for my attention. It was impossible to avoid looking all the time. Sometimes I slipped.

Normally, the auras I saw around people were pretty boring. Anger, envy, apathy. The things I saw around Trey were new, however. They were like golden embers, occasionally catching fire and sparkling before the flame died out.

“What’s your name, kid?” Trey reversed his position and slowed to match my pace.

“Braden,” I said, and then closed my mouth before I said anything else. Asking him about the images around him was out of the question. This wasn’t Uncle John, who I shared everything with.

“I’ll see you around, Braden,” Trey said, and then turned back the way we’d
come.

five

Ten minutes later, I’d found a city, a harbor, and a whole lot of water. I’d followed the direction Trey had pointed out, and there really was a city here. At the far end of the street, the water was glistening, and I could see a few glimpses of boats on the water.

This was a town in the midst of some feud? It looked more like a town trapped in New England colonial times. I kept w
aiting for the threat of danger to pop out from behind the perfectly manicured rose bushes, or the sculpted ferns lining some of the sidewalks.

My stomach started to rumble again as I crossed another street. Luckily, there was a little diner in the corner of a three-story brick building. Helen’s Kitchen.

A motherly looking woman with red hair greeted me at the door. “Just one?” Her voice was clipped as she led me to one of the wood booths along the window. She used the tops of the booths as a cane when she walked, easing a limp in her step.

“To drink?” She clearly wasn’t the type to waste words.

“Uhm … coffee? With cream?”

“Hello, Braden.” A masculine voice chimed in behind the waitress.

I froze.
He found me.

The man walking toward me wasn’t my uncle, though. Or anyone I’d ever seen before. He was dressed in a full suit, had light brown hair, and couldn’t be much past his twenties.

“Do I know you?” My hands gripped the sides of the table.
Okay, maybe there’s a feud after all.
He didn’t look much like the guys off of
The Sopranos
, but he might have been one of their accountants or something.

The man raised an eyebrow. The suit was tailored. The eyebrows tweezed. The fingers manicured. The shoes polished. The smile painted on.

“It’s been awhile since we talked.” He turned to the waitress. “Coffee please, Helen. Braden here and I have a busy morning in front of us.”

Helen hesitated for a moment, the strain of working the night shift easing into maternal concern. “You okay, darling?”

The man in the suit chimed in first. “Braden’s uncle and I are old friends.”

“You know my uncle?” In my head, I was running through spells I could use to get out of here on a moment’s notice
.

The man dipped his head. “Lucien Fallon. He retained my counsel from time to time.”

“So you’re like a lawyer or something?”

“Indeed. You know he’s incredibly worried, don’t you?” There was a hint of a British accent, the sound of someone who’d spent a summer there and affected an accent for the rest of their life.

I shifted. “Guess so.” I had a flash of insight. “You’re the one who was always hanging up on me, weren’t you? The one Uncle John was talking to.”

“Of course,” he said, dipping his head. “Providing counsel and cleaning up messes are only a few of the services I provide.”

“Cleaning up messes?”

Lucien’s eyes gleamed as he sat down on the other side of the table. “Dealing with teenage runaways is a new one, I’ll admit.”

“I’m not going back,” I announced.

He started to laugh. “Who said anything of the sort?” Lucien didn’t look all that old, but he talked funny. Almost like an old man instead of a young one. “Let’s start with you tellin
g me why you’re here.”

His eyes darted back and forth, like he could see through my glasses and one eye would reveal secrets the other hid.

“I’m just here,” I said. Lucien gave me the creeps. I pulled away and tucked my arms close to my chest.

“How fortuitous,” he said. “And here I thought it was the impending sense of doom coming for you.”

I stiffened instantly. My poker face was nonexistent. “What are you talking about?”

Lucien acted as if he hadn’t noticed. “It’s alright, Braden. I know about what you saw. And I’m going to help you.”

He can’t know. No one can. I never said anything.
I was paralyzed, trying to wrap my head around Lucien’s big reveal.

“It will take a day or two to get everything situated. You know better than to go around town showing off, yes?”

“Wait. What?”

“There’s a room waiting at the Belmont. Just down the street from here, on Washington. My secretaries stocked it for your arrival. I imagine you traveled light.”

“Wait … ” I trailed off, and Lucien picked right up on the silence.

“There’s time for all that later, Braden.” He held the mug between his hands. “But first, I have to make your arrangements. We can’t have you missing out on your schooling. The local high school will have to do. My office will take care of your enrollment.”

School? A normal school? Really? “Uhm … yeah.”

“Excellent. For now, play the part of the ordinary teenager. Keep your ears open, and get to know the town. I’ll take care of what I can. When I have some answers for you, I’ll make sure you know.” He paused. “It’s remarkable, really.”

Nothing about the situation was remarkable. I was still trying to pull myself together, but Lucien kept throwing more and more at me. I couldn’t keep up. “What is?” My mouth was dry, but it didn’t even occur to me to drink the coffee in front of me.

“Your eyes. I suppose there’s a bit of poetry in there after all. Connection to old wives’ tales.”

My eyes? Instinctively, I reached up to touch the glasses, make sure they were still in place. It was pointless, since the world still had the normal black film over it, keeping the truth at bay.

“You’ve heard of the Lansing family already, I imagine. You’re not the first with your particular gift to step inside the bounds of Belle Dam. There was another, once.”

I straightened. I couldn’t help it. There was someone else like me? All my life, I’d thought I was the only one. “Who?” If there was someone else, maybe they knew a way to control it, to keep the power in check.

“Just a silly superstition,” Lucien said with a wave of his hand. “Pay it no mind.”

“Tell me!”

“A woman named Grace. They said she could see things that no one else could. That she had the Sight.”

“The Sight?” Visions of what was to be. That wasn’t what I could do. I only saw the now, and the then. At least, I had until the convenience store.
That
had been something like the f
uture. My heart fell back into my chest. She “had” the Sight. Not has. So I was still the only one like this.

“So they say. She never went out into town without her face completely covered. I can’t imagine, living your life through a veil like that.”

A woman with her face covered. Like in my vision?

Lucien was still talking. “For now, enjoy Belle Dam. This could be your life, Braden. Normal school, friends, football games and pizza? Do I have it about right?”

I was supposed to trust him, but he still made me uncomfortable. “What’s your angle?” I asked carefully.
This isn’t normal
, part of me wanted to say, but the rest of me was already considering the possibilities. High school. Hanging out with friends.

The lawyer flashed another smile, and for the first time, I saw shadows in the depths of his eyes. “Angles are for people playing games.” He stood up from the table, pulled out his wallet, and dropped a bill down. “Lawyers deal in agendas.”