Ethan, YA Paranormal Romance Read online

  Samson tore a piece of junk mail in half and tossed it in the trash pile. “Detention shouldn’t go so late, Ethan.”

  I lifted my shoulders and continued spreading peanut butter on the bread. “I tried to tell Mr. Phillips that. He didn’t see it that way.”

  My brother picked up another piece of mail and gestured to the pile with the envelope. “I’m sure you’ve got a card in here somewhere. Just haven’t gotten through it yet.”

  “Not holding my breath,” I mumbled around a bite of bread. We’d played this game for three weeks now. How much longer would my brother continue this charade?

  Samson rolled his eyes and quickly thumbed through the mail to prove me wrong. As he slowed down toward the end of the stack, I tried not to let it show how much it bothered me that our parents had forgotten my birthday. My sixteenth, no less. Then again, maybe it’s their way of punishing me for leaving. I straightened my spine and jammed the last bite of sandwich in my mouth. I told myself I didn’t give a damn that they haven’t called to ask me to come home; the same thought I’ve had every day since I left.

  Grabbing his keys, Samson stood and said in a gruff voice, “Let’s go.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “You’ll see when we get there,” he called over his shoulder, heading for the door.

  I glanced sideways as my brother pulled into Mike’s Body Shop. “Why’d you bring me here? You want me to learn to be a mechanic?”

  Samson snorted. “Mike’s got that part taken care of.”

  “Then why—”

  “Just get out of the car and follow me.”

  I grudgingly followed my brother to the back of the main garage, hands tucked in my jean pockets, sweatshirt hood pulled up over my head.

  We stopped at the back door and Samson rang the doorbell. My brother glanced my way and grunted in annoyance. Right before the door opened he yanked my hood off. I frowned, but left it down. He was acting so weird.

  Mike’s gray head popped out and he said in a scratchy voice, “Been waiting for you.”

  “Evening, Mike,” Samson smiled and rocked back on his heels.

  The mechanic flashed a grin, then handed my brother an envelope. “I’ll leave you to it.”

  When Mike shut the door in our faces, I turned a “that dude’s strange” gaze my brother’s way, but the main garage door started to rise, distracting me.

  As soon as the door was halfway up, Samson pulled me under it. Nodding toward the black car in the center of the garage bay, he said, “It needs some work, but Mike says he’ll be happy to teach you. I know how much you like vintage, so I thought you’d appreciate working on it. Happy Birthday, little brother.”

  I gaped at the nineteen-sixty-nine Mustang, then pulled my gaze back to Samson. “It’s mine?”

  Eyes gleaming, he pushed me forward. “How else are you going to get to school? The bus sucks.”

  Lifting my hand toward the car, I said, “But that’s too much.”

  Samson clamped his hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “I can’t undo our parents’ stupidity, Ethan. God knows I wish I could.” He nodded toward the car. “I’d like you to think of this as a new beginning.”

  His comment knocked me in the gut. He was saying my life with him was permanent, that hoping our parents will eventually beg me to come home was fruitless. I closed my eyes and swallowed several times before I accepted my new reality and the new date for my birthday. From here on out, I would always think of my birthday as October 24th, the day I got my car. I met my brother’s expectant blue gaze. “You didn’t have to get me a car for my birth—”

  “Shut up and hop in. Let’s take it for a spin.”

  He sounded lighthearted, but I saw the tension in his face. He wanted me to let the anger go and move on. I inhaled deeply and reached past the ache in my chest to focus on the car. A smile twisted my lips and I held out my hand. “Did Mike give you the keys?”

  The crinkle of paper brings me back to the present. I frown at the crumpled speakers receipt fisted in my palm. My sixteenth birthday card had shown up three days later, complete with a check for five grand. Three days had been just enough time for Samson to chew our parents out. Looks like this birthday hasn’t turned out a total bust after all. I carefully smooth the receipt flat again, then slide it into my wallet, murmuring, “Thanks, big brother.”

  Chapter Three

  The hulking creature with a smashed snout and broad shoulders covered in aged armor-like red scales takes up the entire room’s doorway.

  Vile smoke puffs from his nose as his angry yellow eyes rake over the smaller green creature standing in the middle of the room.

  He snorts his disapproval and his hooved feet stomp into the room to grab the young creature with soft, shiny green scales by the arm and yank him toward a partially made bed.

  Roaring in fury, he rips off the covers and flings them to the floor, then yanks at the top sheet. His long claws dig into the bottom sheet, shredding it right off the bed.

  As the green creature starts to wail, outrage turns the bigger one’s yellow eyes red. He backhands the smaller one along his smashed maw before gesturing to the mess of covers and torn sheets on the floor.

  Just when the younger one looks like he’s about to speak, the red creature opens his mouth wide and spits a stream of molten fire all over the green one. The younger one’s scales are too new. They don’t protect him like an older creature’s would.

  I yell and throw myself on the red attacker’s back, fighting to turn his stream of fire away from the smaller one.

  He reaches for me and his sharp claws dwarf my head as he digs them deep into my scalp and neck. I roar through the pain but tighten my hold on his thick neck, hoping to at least knock him out.

  Instead he grabs hold of my head and excruciating pain scatters along my spine as he throws me forward like I weighed nothing.

  I slam against the wall across the room and could’ve sworn I felt every bone in my back crack. Somehow I manage to land on my feet.

  Groggy, I raise my fists and turn to face the red creature who’s barreling toward me like a bull in an arena.

  The moment he hits, I yank fully awake, my heart and head pounding. I look at the clock, hoping it’s time to get up. Four a.m. stares back at me. I force my eyes closed and try to will the headache away.

  * * *

  Blue Ridge’s main office bustles with activity as I slip into a chair next to the door, crushing my schedule in a tight grip. Being surrounded by so many people in close quarters always makes me tense. I barely register the blur of students needing late slips or parent volunteers signing in for the morning. My head is still hurting from my nightmares, and now my ears are ringing as I quickly brush pebble dust from the cemetery’s main entrance off the side of my shoe. It’s not like I didn’t expect the nightmares. It’s just that I’d thought I was learning to handle them better. So much for that theory. I couldn’t go back to sleep, so I left the house early and stopped by the cemetery to check Marcus’ mother’s headstone for a toy car. I made a promise and plan to keep it for as long as necessary.

  Ten minutes later, as soon as the last person files out, the secretary starts to turn to me when a blonde girl strolls through the door, breezing past my chair.

  “Hi,” she says, flicking her gaze at me briefly before addressing the secretary. “Morning, Ms. Cresh.”

  “Good morning, Nara.” The older woman chuckles. “What does Mr. Hallstead need this time? That man can never keep up with his paperwork.”

  I blink rapidly. Instead of blurring like everyone else does, in the brief second the girl looked at me, her features barreled through my headache, standing out in vivid clarity: bright green eyes, high cheekbones, and a wide smile. When the buzzing in my ears fades, I instantly straighten to watch her.

  “You know him so well. Mr. Hallstead sent me to get more copies of the permission slips for the class field trip to Jamestown next week. He’s run out and a few students still need
to turn theirs in.”

  Mr. Hallstead? Sounds familiar. I skim the schedule in my hand. He’s the teacher of the History class I’m here to switch out of so I can take the art class that’s only offered in the fall.

  Ms. Cresh hands her a stack of papers and once the girl leaves, the secretary smiles my way. “Okay, Mr. Harris. Now that the morning chaos is over, bring me your schedule and let’s make that switch to the class you wanted.”

  Standing, I fold my schedule and tuck it into my back pocket. “Thanks, Ms. Cresh, but I think I’ll just leave it as is. I’ll take the art class next year.”

  Her brow furrows. “Are you sure? It’s not a problem to switch it for you. We want your experience here to be a positive one.”

  Sympathy hangs in her tone, but I shake my head and let my gaze follow the blonde passing by the picture window as she walks down the hall. She’s on the slender side and taller than the average girl, probably around five seven or eight. My lips quirk at her indoor soccer shoes peeking out from the bottom of her jeans. An athlete, huh? “I’ve always wanted to go to Jamestown,” I murmur.

  “Okay, then, Ethan. Let me give you a late note so you can get to class.”

  I take the note and head down the hall toward History, intrigued. For the first time in a very long time my thoughts are so occupied the buzzing in my head completely disappears.

  * * *

  I make it through the rest of the day but not without growing more on edge with each passing hour. I have no idea when the images or voices will return, but the expectation alone is winding me up. When the final bell rings, I can’t get out of school fast enough. Having the whole week off has spoiled me. It’s been nice not to have to deal with school drama or people who can’t keep their crap to themselves. Or digging into mine. I should’ve known I couldn’t come to a new school without my past from Central following me.

  Other than the secretary this morning, I haven’t spoken to anyone all day. In each class, I found a seat in the back and stayed buried in my sketchpad to avoid eye contact. It’s always easier if I keep to myself. Yet somehow rumors have already started to circle about why I’m starting at Blue Ridge a couple months into the school year.

  At the end of the day, while pulling books from my locker, I overhear the full spectrum in low whispers not meant for my ears, yet they always seem to reach me.

  “I heard he got kicked out of his last school.”

  “What school?”

  “Central, I think.”

  “Bet he’s into drugs.”

  “You know it’s probably something juicy. I’m going to text my friend Rachel at Central and find out what she knows.”

  “Nah, he’s just some prick who couldn’t handle the heat.”

  I head out to my car and slip my ear buds in, cranking the tunes to blow out the annoyance. The last thing I need is to get into a fight on my first day of school. I have to find a way to keep myself together, on all fronts. I need to do this for Samson. From now on the ear buds go in the second the last bell rings.

  I stop short a few feet from my car, dumbfounded at the group of ravens hanging out on it like a tree branch. A burst of familiarity flickers in my chest. Have they followed me from the graveyard? This school’s back parking lot is surrounded by trees, whereas my last school’s parking lot wasn’t, so maybe that’s why, but still…it’s odd and curious. Then my gaze zeroes in on the two spots of bird poop sitting on my roof and my temper flares, obliterating my curiosity. I wave my arm and bark at the birds, ignoring the sudden jolt of regret that flares when they startle and take flight.

  * * *

  Just as I’m about to turn into my neighborhood, I slam on the brakes. Three boys are bolting across the entrance, a snarling Rottweiler in fast pursuit.

  I slowly turn into the neighborhood, my gaze following the kids and dog disappearing behind a house on the corner.

  Pulling over to the side of the road, I park and get out. Deep, fierce growling echoes from the back of the house, punctuated by the boys’ high-pitched squeals for someone to help.

  I bolt after them and only stop for a second when my boot hits something in the middle of the road.

  By the time I round the corner of the house, the muscular dog has the three boys, ranging in ages from eight to twelve, firmly trapped in a corner next to a gate. The kids must’ve thought they could get away from the dog inside the fence, but found the gate locked instead.

  Hackles raised, back slightly arched, the dog stands about five feet back from the boys. Each time a kid makes a move, he hops in their direction and growls.

  Finally the taller, chunky boy peers past his thick red bangs and sees me standing ten feet behind the dog. “Help! He’s going to rip us to shreds.”

  His comment sets the younger two blond boys off in a bout of pitiful crying. They cling to each other, while the older one switches between keeping one eye on the dog and glancing at me with an imploring gaze.

  I take a step forward and the growling dog startles at the sound of leaves crunching behind him. Wild, angry brown eyes shift my way, teeth bared. Something about his stance seems more vengeful than outright vicious. That’s when I notice the right half of his snout doesn’t lift as high as the left when he snarls. I can barely see his teeth on that side, but the teeth I do see are smeared with fresh blood.

  He spreads his front legs and gives me a warning growl to stay back. “Easy boy.” I hold my hand up and take another step toward him.

  Pain reflects in his eyes, and I feel his anger, especially toward the redhead, when he quickly flits his attention at the boy to make sure he hasn’t moved.

  As I move another step closer, the dog’s steady gaze emits confusion and his bristling stance relaxes ever so slightly, enough that I can tell he’s picking up on my calm tone, reacting to it. “I won’t hurt you,” I continue, lowering my hand to my side so he gets the message I’m no threat to him.

  “You won’t hurt him?” An incredulous voice squeaks near the gate. “He’s attacking us!”

  I frown at the older boy. “And whose fault would that be?”

  He flushes and crosses his arms, braver now that I’m distracting the dog. “Wh—what are you talking about?”

  I pull the slingshot I found on the road from my back pocket. “Is this yours?”

  The kid juts his chin out, eyes defiant. “Yeah.”

  I rub my thumb along the top of the slingshot’s handle. “I’m pretty sure you used this on the dog and that’s why he chased you.”

  “Did not!” The kid glares at me with belligerent eyes, then jabs his finger toward the dog. “He just attacked us because he saw us running. Rotts are vicious. Everyone knows that.”

  As if in denial, the dog lets out a deep growl and takes a step in the kid’s direction. The redheaded boy shrinks back toward the gate, yelling in a high-pitched voice, “Call him off!”

  I tilt my head and hold the boy’s gaze. “I will when you admit you attacked him.”

  “I didn’t—” he starts to say, shaking his head in vigorous jerks.

  “Yes, you did, David!” the shortest blond boy pipes in, blue eyes glistening with a new round of terrified tears.

  “Shut up, squirt—” the redhead says through clenched teeth.

  The Rottweiler barks, then starts up a new long, low growl. The dog definitely sounds threatening, but I picked up the underlying tone and tried my best not to smile. He fully understands what’s going on and is trying to intimidate the kid.

  “Tell the truth so he’ll make the dog go away,” the other kid cuts in, eyeing the dog’s new sounds warily. “And don’t call my brother ‘squirt’. Only I can call him that.”

  David sets his mouth in a tight line, then shrugs. “Fine. I hit the dog with a rock. Happy?”

  I give him a cold smile. “Not yet. Apologize for hurting him.”

  David’s brace-covered teeth separate in a wide gape. “I’m not apologizing to a stupid dog!”

  I take a few steps forwar
d until I’m standing next to the dog. He’s stopped growling. When he looks up at me, my gaze shifts to the brothers. “It’s okay. You two can move over next to me.”

  With careful glances toward the dog, the younger boys sidle along the fence. Once they reach my side, I gently set my hand on top of the dog’s big head and smile at him as he sits down on his haunches. I return my gaze to the other boy. “He’s waiting, David.”

  David’s gaze flits from the calmed dog to me. He shoves his hands into his jean pockets, snark creeping into his expression. “He’s fine. No harm, no foul.”

  I set my jaw and try not to lose my temper. “His lip is swollen and most likely his mouth is cut somewhere inside. You need to own up to your actions.”

  He glares and throws his hands wide. “I apologize…to the dog.”

  As I nod and grip the dog’s collar, the kid steps away from the fence, braver now that I’ve got a hold of the dog. “You can give me my slingshot back.”

  “Sure.” I say casually, and set the slingshot in his open hand. As soon as I let go of the bottom, the slingshot splits right down the middle of the handle, falling apart.

  “Uh, you broke it! I’m going to tell my parents.”

  “Go right ahead.” I adopt a brief smile. “I’ll be happy to let them know how your slingshot ended up getting accidently stepped on.”

  David glares at me and tosses the slingshot into the leaf-covered grass. Jerking his gaze to the boys next to me, he snarls, “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  The two brothers fall in line with his footsteps, but I say quietly to the older one who’s trailing behind, “You might want to pick a better friend. If I hadn’t come along, this could’ve turned out very bad for you or your little brother.”

  Once the boys clear out, I lift my hand from the dog’s head. He stares at me with a thankful gaze. I have no idea how I connect with animals. I’ve just always been able to. But unlike my newfound skill with the guitar, this talent I’ve never questioned. It’s as easy and natural as breathing for me. I “sense” their needs. The dog’s swollen lip makes me grind my teeth. While I rub his ears, I inspect his collar. No ID badge, but he at least has a collar. Someone owns and cares for him.