Author's Note: Kudos to djkauf for betaing this for me. This is my rendition of Darkchylde, obviously. It is finished and I'm posting it in about 10k word chunks.

“There it is,” Dad said as he pointed at my new high school when we turned the corner.

I looked up from my laptop and frowned at the oddly shaped building. “It looks like the Pentagon.”

He chuckled. “That not too far off. It was originally shaped that way, but over the years they expanded the building. On the north side are four triangle shaped wings. They just got funding on one more.”

I tried to picture that in my head. “It’s going to look like an inverted pentagram?”

It was Dad’s turn to frown playfully at me. “A star, thank you very much. Don’t start with your demon talk, Ari. Remember, this is Salem, Mississippi, not Massachusetts.”

With a roll of my eyes I closed up my laptop and started storing it in its bag. “It’s not demon talk. I don’t make fun of you believing in an imaginary grandfatherly man that lives in the sky and ignores your prayers, but demands you send them anyway. Please don’t make fun of what I deem a simple hobby and not a religion.

He waved me off and had a look on his face that told me wished he hadn’t said anything. “Let’s not get into a fight. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

I nodded and let it go.

Religion was a touchy subject between the two of us since I found Mom’s stuff hidden away in the basement of our last house the year previous. She kept a journal… I should say many journals, since she graduated from college. They detailed her life. Someone that I thought I knew, I didn’t know at all.

At the beginning of the year she died under strange circumstances. I was the one who found her in our basement, charred to a crisp. The strange circumstance was that there hadn’t been a fire.

Spontaneous human combustion was what the news called it. The official report was that she was smoking, her clothes most likely caught on fire causing her skin to split open and her fat to ignite in a wick-effect scenario.

The only problem with that load of bull was that Mom didn’t smoke. The one time she caught me trying it out when I was ten, I received a two hour long lecture with visual aids, a visit to the cancer ward at the local hospital, and a visit to a retirement home to talk to a guy that used a tube in his throat to smoke his cigarettes and talked through a freaky electronic voice box.

It was just one. God forbid if she found out I had smoked half a pack or anything. Needless to say I haven’t touched them since.

Another point of contention was that she was sitting in the lotus position that I knew she used after doing her yoga exercises. She burned just like that. She didn’t fall over or sprawl out like she had been trying to put out the flames or anything. Mom just burned in place, with her eyes closed.

All of that and to top it off, Mom wasn’t fat, at all. The police and coroner’s report made it sound like she was a tub of lard. Tell me how a fat person could possible fit into a size three pair of jeans.

That’s kind of why we moved.

My dad never went down in the basement after that. I practically lived down there, especially when I found her journals. There were fifty-one of them in total. She was working on number fifty-two before she died.

They were incredibly detailed; that’s why she had so many, in case you were wondering. Mom was a professor of Ancient and Classical Mythology. I guessed that her doctoral thesis wasn’t enough to sate her desire to write endless amounts of stuff, even if it didn’t have anything to do with mythology.

A large portion of her personal writings included how annoyed she was that Dad wouldn’t let her teach me about any of her religion.

He wanted to raise me as a Presbyterian and mom wanted to raise me as a Pagan. In the end they made sure I was exposed to all sorts of beliefs and I would be told about hers when I was sixteen. Supposedly I would be old enough then to rationally make a decision as to a faith.

You may be thinking that I’m stretching the truth here a little. I’m actually making a conservative reconstruction of it. I used to hear them argue at night.

Here’s why.

Mom’s doctoral thesis was about Atlantis. It wasn’t about the existence or non-existence, it was about the people and how they lived. I read the whole thing and then started reading her journals. Not only did mom believe that there was an Atlantis, she believed that she was descended from their people. So by extension, so was I.

Her goddess was Valka the one who supposedly told her disciple, a Sorceress named Zhered-Na, that Atlantis was going to be sunk in a great storm. The sorceress was exiled from the island for inciting panic; then down the road, it happened. Atlantis sunk and only a handful of its people who lived on the mainland survived.

One guess as to where that mainland happened to be, and it wasn’t Europe or the Middle East.

So there I was, a relatively well educated fifteen year-old guy reading about all of this mythology my mom had obviously made up in some delusional or hallucinogenic state. I’d decided that my dad was right and I was glad he insisted that I not learn about Mom’s nutso religion. That’s when I ran across this really big book, like two feet by two feet and four inches thick.

It literally looked ancient. There was no title on the front and the writing inside consisted of these weird symbols. I didn’t know what to make of it until I’d read further into Mom’s journals.

“We’re here.”

I hate the country.

It wasn’t really the country. It was more like five acres of land — guess who has to mow that crap — a house, then another five acres of land and another house, all about three miles away from the school I’d be attending.

Mississippi sucks.

The house wasn’t that bad though. It was a simple one story three bedroom place. There was a mini-barn/maintenance shed out back that had a sweet storm cellar for hurricanes, tornados, zombie apocalypses and other various natural disasters. I was seriously going to make that mine as quick as possible. I already told Dad that when we scoped the place out the previous month.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, indecipherable text in an old book.

Luckily Mom was nice enough to leave a key for me. It wasn’t some 128 bit encryption key code that unlocked the secrets to the universe or the backdoor to Wikileaks. It was just a simple substitution key.

My guess is that this code was written way back when people were pretty much stupid. The whole thing is like assigning a word to a symbol so #&% means the dog shat. So if it was arranged like %#& then it would read shat the dog. Simple, right?

My problem was finding time to actually translate the damn thing. Every time I get some privacy, Dad bugs me with mowing the grass, running to the store for him, or any number of annoying things.

That and I was still reading Mom’s journals.

I got the first chapter down pretty good. That’s when I started to think that Mom wasn’t so nutso after all.

It was a history of the last sorceress of Atlantis Zhered-Na and the supposed knowledge passed down to her from her goddess.

The second part was the methodology of conditioning your body in a way that would open it to magic, first of which was devotion to Valka. I recognized some of the methods because they were what my mom was doing.

When Dad found out about it, he went just this side of ballistic. That’s when the arguments started, about four months ago. He thought it was my friends’ influence so he accepted a job offer in BFE to hopefully put an end to the problem.

And here we are.

~O~

The truck took forever to unload, and the boxes forever to unpack. After three days we had most of the stuff put where we wanted it and worried about making everything look perfect later.

I went easy on the posters and the gaming materials in my room this round. Since I didn’t have anyone to game with, odds are I wouldn’t in this bo-hick town, they went in the back of the closet until I got to go to a convention or something.

My posters which Dad said God frowned upon joined the gaming supplies. There was a chance that if I could get him off my back then I’d be able to spend more time translating Mom’s magic book.

The chance came the next morning when he took off for work. I told him that I’d be setting up the storm cellar as an entertainment lounge for my video games and movies. That way he wouldn’t have to worry about me turning up the sound to ear-bleeding levels and disturbing his Fox News watching.

In my opinion, news sounded much better with World of Warcraft and Lady Gaga at full blast. If I squinted hard enough I could almost picture the talking heads singing along. Needless to say I’d have to squint awful hard.

The storm cellar wasn’t one of the cheapy ones you see on TV or on disaster movies. It had a real door, real air conditioning, and a real power supply with a generator backup if needed. I’d almost say you could live in it, but there wasn’t a toilet or a kitchen, just a mini fridge and an emergency portable potty — I’m not even going to try to explain that one. I guess if a tornado was straight overhead then I’d probably need to crap too.

The best thing was the lock on the door. I planned to hook up a doorbell light so if Dad wanted come by and the music was up then I’d be able to stash whatever it was that I needed to hide before he had a chance to bust me.

My furniture consisted of an old couch with an equally old hide-away bed.

I hurried through setting up the television and the gaming console, whose sole purpose in recent times was to provide cover for the times I spent translating the book or trying out some of Mom’s exercises.

They wound up being pretty neat. Over the last few months, I’d already felt looser and more in touch with myself. Oh, and I could do the splits without straining any important equipment, if you get my meaning.

Eventually, I had to skip over some of Mom’s journals, because she started talking about certain topics that I thought were a little gross, mostly to do with Dad and I’m not going over that subject without a serious amount of alcohol. Since I don’t drink serious amounts, it might be a while before that topic comes back up.

Down to business.

The various parts of the book were labeled with headings, not so much with titles. Once I’d translated those I had a better idea of what I wanted to concentrate on first. Why spend hours on the boring stuff if it was going to be boring, was my philosophy.

Two thirds of the book dealt with magic. I know what you’re thinking: Magic? What can I say, I’m sixteen, this stuff, even if it didn’t work, was cool. I had plans to incorporate it into my RPG stuff given the chance. I was big on realism when gaming.

Most of the magic was either lame or dealt with things that I wasn’t exactly interested in at the moment. That was until I found the part about Astral Projecting. It’s where you send a portion of your spirit out into the world to look around without actually going out yourself. It seemed benign enough.

Mom’s corresponding journal entry was in the fifty-second volume, the final one. It was at the beginning of that particular journal so I felt fairly safe. And no, before you ask, I haven’t read her final entry.

To tell you the truth, I was kind of scared to. The only thing I could think of was that Mom made some kind of herbal mixture she found in the book and messed it up somehow. That was probably what caused her SHC.

I translated the proper passage and assumed the position to attempt my first bit of magic.

That’s when I heard someone yelling outside.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

It was a male someone and I was annoyed.

Closing up the book, I pulled up the cushion to the hide-away and stuffed it inside. Mom’s journal followed and I then I went to the door. When I opened it, I realized I should have just waited him out. A guy, about my age, was in the processes of giving up and leaving when I made too much noise opening the storm cellar door.

“Oh, hey.” He smiled big and wide. “I’m Perry, Perry Stodghill, your next door neighbor.”

His hand was out as he was walking toward me. I closed the door to the storm cellar and made my way to meet him.

“Ariel Chylde,” I said as we grasped hands.

He looked confused, so I beat him to the inevitable question I received with every new person I met. “Ariel is a guy’s name. It’s Jewish, means Lion of God. Girls took it over like they do every decent male name. Call me Ari.”

He nodded at the oversharing. “So, you’re Jewish?”

I shook my head. “No, just my name. My dad is Presbyterian and I’m not really anything.”

That got me a smile. “Good, you’ll fit in just fine at school. Most of the people around here are Baptist, but the kids are tired of the fire and brimstone BS they spout.”

“Oh, cool. I moved here from Boston and I wasn’t really thrilled about entering the Mississippi Bible Belt.”

He shrugged. “Who would be?”

With a gesture at where I emerged I received a questioning look. “Getting the storm cellar prepared?”

I looked back for some reason. “Sort of. I was going to turn it into a second room for me so my dad would lay off about the noise.”

A pleased faraway look dropped over Perry’s face. “Good times. I lost my virginity in there with Becky Sorenson. That’s who lived here before you, but her parents found out I desecrated their only daughter and moved to Utah.”

“That sucks; though that might explain that odd smell of old sushi down there.”

Perry’s eyes darted to me and the teasing expression I had on my face. He added a smile of his own. “Yeah, you’ll fit in just fine.”

He looked around some more and I guess he decided that there weren’t any more teenage girls to deflower.

“Hey, uh, some of us are getting together later tonight and heading to Sprocket’s Field, it’s like a hang-out for the disaffected and all. As long as we keep our lawlessness confined there the cops promised to leave us alone. You interested?”

Perry threw up air quotes, like that was exactly what the cops told him.

I cocked an eyebrow at him. “Is this the part where the new guy accepts and then regrets it later when he’s forced into some mandatory hayseed hazing ritual involving a sleeping cow and a latex glove with a hole in it?”

He laughed good-naturedly. “I think you’ve watched Footloose one too many times.”

I shrugged. “Just as long as there’s a preacher’s daughter to despoil then I’m in.”

“Too late. She’s already on her third STD and it’s only just turned August.”

“Damn.”

He grinned, backing away. “Pick you up about seven?”

I nodded and waved as he returned across the field.

~O~

Returning to my hideaway, I pulled my book and Mom’s journal back out and got to work.

Two hours later and the final results were dismal. Not only did I not fly around in an Astral Form, I wound up earning a spectacular cramp in my right hamstring from sitting in the lotus position for so long.

Tracing my finger along the passage I was supposed to chant, I frowned. “Maybe I’m saying it wrong. Where’s an Atlantean pronunciation guide when I really need one.”

For the next fifteen minutes I tried out different ways to say the sentence or incantation, whatever you want to call it.

“Anaal nathrach, orth' bhais's bethad, do che'l de'nmha.”

The last time I spoke the passage, when I pronounced the first word as something other than anal — which was kind of gay to begin with — something flashed before my eyes.

It was just a glimpse, a snapshot of a scene, barely a millisecond long, but it was there nonetheless.

“What the fu…”

I couldn’t say anymore because of the searing pain. I dropped to my knees and screamed. It felt like I’d been suspended over a molten pool of lava and left for a few hours to simmer until well done. Looking down I saw tendrils of steam wafting from the skin of my arms. Thoughts of what happened to my mom shot through my head and I quickly concentrated on my skin and saw that it wasn’t black and more importantly it wasn’t on fire, just steamy.

Struggling I scrambled up as fast as I could. Even though I wasn’t charred, it felt like the worst sunburn imaginable across my entire body. I made my way upstairs and out of the storm cellar, quickly across the grass to the back door.

In less than a minute I was stripped and under the showerhead dousing myself with as much cold water as possible. Steam billowed, filling the bathroom and smelling of rotten eggs.

“Dad is gonna freaking kill me.”

Stripping off my clothes, I dropped them on the floor of the shower stall in the corner. The pain had receded to a dull throb. I grabbed the soap and lathered up as much as possible to kill the stink that had to be attached to me.

I scrubbed and scrubbed until I thought I’d gotten it all then rinsed and stepped out to open the single window in the bathroom and vent the worst. Virtually the entire can of air freshener helped a little.

As I was choking on Morning Dew scented Glade, I checked myself out in the mirror.

“No black or red skin, check.” Then upon further inspection, “No body hair, check.”

Whatever it was that almost burned me, singed ever single follicle of hair off of my body from the neck down. After double checking my face, I frowned. Make that from the nose down. The goatee I was working at my best to grow was gone as well. With a resigned sigh I stepped back.

“At least I’m not bald or missing my eyebrows. That would seriously suck a week before school.”

I sealed off the bathroom and shoved a towel at the bottom of the door, from the outside, until it had a chance to vent properly. There was only another two hours left until Dad got home from work. I hoped it was enough.

Considering the average temperature in Mississippi during the month of August, which fluttered around the I’m Melting! range, I assumed that I wouldn’t be expected to dress for the rabble-rousing that night. A pair of light shorts and a tank would be in my future.

Before I put them on I noticed that I still reeked, just not as bad as before.

“Damn, it’s just my luck that the one spell I pick, that works, is Eau de Natural Gas cologne.”

The only thing that would possibly stifle the stench was regular aftershave or cologne, but I’d smell like a walking porno afterward. That left me with one choice. The third bedroom closet held the last of Mom’s things. Dad didn’t have the heart to donate them to charity, and I was the one that wound up packing all of her things.

It may sound cruel to make a son do these sorts of things, considering how recent her death had been. That was the weird thing. Yeah, I lost it when I realized what had happened to her in our old basement. I did the expected thing and cried for a couple of days, even at her funeral, but within a couple of weeks I was over it. I missed her every day, don’t misunderstand, but I wasn’t going to let it rule my life. Maybe old people were too set in their ways.

Anyhow, I knew exactly what was in the four boxes of clothes and the one box of other stuff that Dad wanted to keep. It was the other stuff box that I was concerned with at the moment.

Mom was like ninety-nine percent Swedish. She had seriously fair skin without a single freckle, and she took very good care if it. There were tons of moisturizers, lotions, sunscreens, you name it, and Dad wanted to keep it all. I had visions of him opening up the box in years to come and sniffing at the bottles in some vain attempt to reignite some sensory memory or something. It was all very depressing.

I routed around the box for a few minutes, sniffing at each bottle until I could find one that didn’t immediately scream femininity. No, I had no desire to smell like Strawberry Blossom Butter Eve, or whatever strange scent caught her nose at the time she purchased that one. Instead, I settled on Melon.

It was simple and green. I liked green. It wasn’t my favorite color or anything, but I like it all the same.

Do I need to tell you what it felt like to cover every inch of my skin with that stuff? Well, it was pretty distracting; having a hairless body amped up the whole experience. I so get why girls do this. Taking advantage of the lubrication I took care of a problem that had come up during the process and then waited for the stuff to soak into my skin so I could get dressed.

Thankfully, the rotten eggs smell went away, but I was reeking of fresh melon. I hoped that it would fade away over the following two hours so my dad wouldn’t notice. To distract him I went to the kitchen and set out the makings for fried chicken. Nothing stinks up a house like grease, chicken, and vegetables cooking.

That left me time to light a few candles and clean up my mess in the storm cellar.

Once the big book was stowed, I took Mom’s journal and began poring over it with a vengeance. It was obvious enough that I’d stumbled over what had caused her death, and I’d only gotten a mere taste of what she experienced.

The following twenty-five pages looked like she had the same problem I did with the pronunciation of the incantation. The only difference was when I performed it, I was in the progress of cleaning up and Mom was in the proper position, giving it her full attention. The first thing I could compare it with was standing on a nice safe sidewalk and stepping out into traffic. I received a glancing blow by a car and Mom was run clean over.

Not pretty, I know, but still, the analogy holds. The more important discovery was that magic actually works and I knew what killed my mother.

~O~

“Did you shave your arms?” Dad asked before biting into his second thigh.

“Uh… yeah. Don’t worry; I’m not gay. It’s a trend.”

He rolled his eyes as if to say, not another one.

“I met our next door neighbor… and I use the term next door pretty loosely.”

That got his mind off of my new hairlessness. “What are they like?”

“Name’s Stodghill. Perry is my age and he offered to introduce me to some of the people I’ll be going to school with tonight, so he’s picking me up at seven.”

There was a coming motion of protest of why I didn’t okay it though him first, but he quashed the end before saying anything. “Just make sure you’re home before eleven please. You know I don’t sleep well if you’re out when I go to bed.”

I nodded without any resistance or face-making. “We live in hicks-ville. I seriously doubt there’s anything to do that late anyway.”

He chuckled and set down a thoroughly stripped bone. “I grew up in a place like this. You’d be surprised at how much there is to do.”

Crossing my silverware on top of the plate, I stood and started the cleanup. “Yeah, I can just imagine. We’ll probably go down and cruise the local Sonic, head to the bowling alley, toss a few frames, and then on to farmer Ted’s pasture for some cow-tipping.”

“What have I said about sarcasm, Ari?”

“That it’s the last recourse of a weak mind.” Pointing my finger at him, I put on a serious face. “I’ll have you know I looked it up. It’s actually a sure sign that the person using it has vastly fluid higher brain functions, so that argument doesn’t hold water anymore, Dad.”

He stared at me like he wasn’t buying what I was selling. “Where did you hear that?”

I shrugged. “Some scientific study funded by the government.”

He grunted and stood from the table. “Probably the same people that study the sex lives of starfish.”

Right as I pressed the button to start the dishwasher, the doorbell rang. “Excellent timing.”

Patting my back pocket, I made sure that I had my wallet and key. “Perry’s here, Dad,” I yelled down the hall. “I’m leaving.”

His voice returned with assent before I opened the door.

Sprocket’s field wound up being about five miles away in the middle of an empty piece of property surrounded by pine trees, and when I say empty piece of property, I mean about a hundred acres of empty. A few trucks were there along with a couple of cars, all set up in a wide partial circle.

“More are on the way. We usually set up a fire to keep the bugs from becoming too much.”

I nodded. “So what happens at these things?”

The truck we were in took that moment to bounce hard.

“Damn armadillo holes!” Perry yelled.

When we righted ourselves he continued on. “Basic stuff: beer, music, bullshit. It depends on what’s going on. Sometimes couples split off or we shoot fireworks on holidays. We don’t play Twister or anything.”

“Damn, so I brought the Crisco for nothing?”

He grinned as we pulled up. There were five guys and what had to be a dozen girls already there.

My eyes went wide. “I’m starting to like this town a lot more.”

“Thought you might.” He pointed over to one of the cars. “See that girl over there with the brown hair and purple shirt?” I nodded. “She’s off limits. That’s Suzie Coomes. She’s only twelve.”

My mouth dropped open. “No -- way.”

The girl he indicated was five-seven easy and with the humongous breasts, body, and makeup looked like she was eighteen.

“No shit, dude. She’s Terry’s little sister… that’s him in the muscle shirt over there. He will rip off your arms if you so much as even look at her with lust in your eyes.”

With a nod I crossed her off the night’s possibilities. “Consider her off my radar.”

“Everyone else should pair off so you’ll know who’s dating who pretty soon.”

“Cool.”

Perry killed the engine and the lights right after that. We hopped out and he waved me back. “Help me out with the keg.”

Three of the girls ran up on his side and we all met at the tailgate. “Hey Perry, who’s the new guy?”

The blonde with straight hair looked to be the leader of the three since the two brunettes were eagerly looking on and at a respectful distance behind her.

“That’s Ari, my new neighbor. He’s cool, single, and he smells like honeydew for some reason.”

Someone behind me sniffed and I jerked away. It was Susan, the twelve-year-old.

“Gah!” I jumped away.

She held a shocked look for a second and then turned on an evil glare from hell on Perry. “You did not lay that lame-ass thirteen year old joke on another one, Perry Stodghill.”

“Twelve actually,” he said with a grin.

Then I knew I’d been had. “Asshole.”

He shrugged it off. “It’s tradition, besides that guy I showed you… he really will rip your arms off and Kevin here really is his little sister.”

For that one, Susan kicked him on his right shin, but it was a glancing blow and he danced out of the way. “I swear if you call me Kevin one more time, I’ll tell everyone about Halloween three years ago.”

Even in the fading light, I could see Perry go pale. “Gheeze, chill. No need to bring out the heavy guns. Besides, his name is really Ariel. I thought you two would hit it off.”

That brought a surprised look from Susan. “Really? Your name’s Ariel?”

Everyone was looking at me now, including the others that were at the front of the truck.

“It’s a guy’s name!” I said in defense. “Girls stole it.”

By that time Perry had dragged the keg to the tailgate and I grabbed one side, hefting it up. We lugged it over to this giant garbage can and dropped it inside. A couple of guys were already surrounding it with bags of ice. He tapped it and started filling cups.

“It’s only a little cold; I picked it up before dropping by and grabbing Ariel.”

I frowned at him, but kept passing plastic cups back until everyone was wet — for those of you uninitiated, that means when everyone has a beer. I really didn’t care if anyone called me by my real name. I just didn’t like anyone making fun of it. My mom picked it out. Granted, while growing up I hated her for it, but having her die on me I was more appreciative of anything she did for me, including giving me an awful name.

The evening wore on, the fire was started, and the bullshit was flying. It did prove productive in that I found out about a lot of the school teachers and their quirks ahead of time. The downside was that Susan sat next to me and gave the other girls territorial glares, while her brother sent disapproving looks my way.

Eventually, everyone started feeling the beer and Susan started feeling me.

“You shave?” she asked. It was more of an observation than a question.

I reached up and felt my chin before I realized what she was talking about since she had her hand on my forearm.

“Oh, that. I got caught in a flash fire earlier and it singed almost all of my hair off. That’s why I smell like melon, by the way. I needed something to take the burned hair smell off.”

She looked down and smiled. “Your legs, too?”

I nodded and watched as Susan reached down and stroked my shin before moving up and under my shorts. They were knee huggers, so it wasn’t like she was grabbing any ass. Still, it felt pretty nice and she seemed to enjoy it.

“I like it. You should keep it this way.”

Her brother looked down at my legs and laughed. “You got the hots for a guy that shaves his legs, Sue?”

She glared at him. “What’s wrong with shaving? It’s sexy. You could use a thorough waxing there, Terry. I don’t see how Marie puts up with your gorilla-back.”

Marie ran her hand up the back of his shirt. “I like it. It gives me something to hold on to.”

The other girls gagged playfully, but were more interested in checking out my legs. A few of them even came over and ran a hand across. I got four or five approving looks, but even with that, the rest just giggled and ran back.

Given all the attention, and my age, not to mention my hormones, by the time the procession made it though, I had a serious hard-on. Luckily I had my cup of beer to cover, not that Susan was fooled for a second.

With a wry smile she hopped up and stood in front of me holding her hands out. “Come on.”

I was about to call her an evil bitch, but I noticed she was blocking everyone else’s view.

“Sue,” Terry protested.

She turned her head. “You’re my brother, not my father.”

There was the moment of truth for me. I had no preconceived notions about what might happen if I went off with her, but then again, what do teenagers normally do when plied with beer and attractive company? My only question was if my arms being ripped off was a decent price to pay for whatever she had in mind.

Tossing caution into the wind, I stood and Susan threaded her fingers with mine.

“My truck’s over there.” She pointed with a smile.

I finished off the last of my beer and readied myself for whatever games she wanted to play. “So, I guess you’re not really twelve.”

She chuckled. “Hardly. I turned sixteen two months ago.”

“And that whole Kevin thing?”

Susan grimaced. “It’s my middle name. My parents are so fucked up, but at least I didn’t have to suffer alone. Terry’s middle name is Stephanie. But don’t ever call him that… he really would rip off your arms.”

When we rounded the truck she opened the tailgate and motioned for me to sit on the end.

“I don’t have to worry about any boyfriends that aren’t present do I?”

She stayed standing and brushed her hands up my legs. “Nope. Dumped my last boyfriend at the end of the school year. I like your legs like this, Ariel. If we started dating, would you keep them that way for me?”

I looked to the side trying to figure out what she was scheming. “Are you one of those girls that secretly wants to dress her boyfriend up in women’s clothes?”

When her hands reached up under my shorts and caressed my thighs I nearly lost it. Hell, if she wasn’t going to be my girlfriend I’d probably keep shaving if it felt like this.

“Not really. I just like to try new things. The guys around here have issues with aggressive women. They’re stuck back in the old days when women were supposed to be barefoot and subservient. I just like to have fun.”

I thanked whoever invented really loose knee shorts as I felt her hands work their way higher. “Are you fun, Ariel?”

“I’m pretty fun.”

She eased up, bringing her face closer to mine. “Then why aren’t you touching me.”

~O~

Okay, I love Mississippi. They’re very friendly there.

~O~

While the experience with Susan wasn’t anything I’m likely to regret… ever… I didn’t wake up with the most pleasant feeling. I attribute that to the seriously messed up dreams. All the credit for that probably goes to figuring out how my mother died and how I almost became a charcoal briquette in the same way.

I’m not that big of a horror movie fan. They’re all the same anyway. That’s way I couldn’t figure out where the imagery for all the monsters came from. Slithering things, fangy things, scaly things, things with massively long claws dripping with ichor played an up front and center role in my subconscious.

While I didn’t wake up screaming and dripping with sweat, I pretty near peed myself -- only lost a couple of drops. There have got to be better ways to wake up than that.

I gathered my still wet clothes out of the shower stall and took them to the laundry along with my other dirty clothes and ran load. When I returned to the bathroom, I looked at the bar of soap and thought about what Susan had said about me staying shaved and how much she loved the way my skin felt when she was going down on me.

That’s the reason I went to the third bedroom and pulled out the body wash that went with the melon lotion I’d used the night before. I wasn’t going all girl-like or anything of the sort. The way I reasoned it was that if smooth and fruity smelling skin led me to more of what I received last night then I’d be a melon-washing smooth-skinned mother-fucker.

After putting on some more lotion after the shower, I donned some shorts and a tee shirt then threw the wash into the dryer before heading off to the storm cellar again.

Thoughts of just burning the book and getting on with my life filled my mind, but the knowledge that magic was real stayed my hand.

Instead, I went back the third part and stared at the symbols. Some had become familiar to me after translating so much. Looking at them again, I held a newfound respect for what they were. It was akin to staring at fire; used improperly, it could destroy everything, but where would mankind be without its existence.

Conflicting emotions ran through me as I turned each page.

“What to do with you.”

Thirty minutes or so passed as I pondered my dilemma. Eventually, I reached the end and stared at the embossed symbol of some kind of dragon-like creature on the back cover.

“What am I supposed to do, Mr. Dragon? Hmm?”

I let my finger trace the image and the circle surrounding it.

“You’re not being very forthcoming. Maybe I should put you on E-Bay, at least get something out of the destruction you’ve caused. Hell, even if nobody figures it out, you’re old enough to warrant some serious cash I bet.”

My thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of my cell. When I retrieved it from my back pocket, I was happy to see Susan’s name on the Caller ID.

Opening up the connection I lifted the phone to my ear. “Susan’s love slave, how may I help you?”

There was giggling on the other end of the line. “Now that’s how everyone should answer their phone.”

I shrugged and leaned back on the hideaway. “After the unselfish welcome you gave me last night, I thought it was the least I could do. I still feel bad that you wouldn’t let me return the favor.”

“You’ll get your chance soon enough, Ariel. Besides, I want to make sure we have some privacy when that time comes.”

There was no doubt about that. I wanted nothing but serious uninterrupted time to worship that unbelievable body of hers. “Well, my Dad works days and I’m all by my lonesome.”

“What about your mom?”

Answering that one required a delicate answer so she wouldn’t feel guilty about answering. “She’s not with us any longer.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“It’s no big deal, Susan. It’s not like I said anything about it last night. She died at the beginning of the year.”

There was a little bit of silence between us until she came back with renewed enthusiasm. “I could come over now if you want. Your dad doesn’t come home for lunch does he?”

I tried not to sound overeager. “No, he works on the coast, and I’d love the company.”

Her voice came back with a definite breathy quality to it. “Well then, better do some tongue-ups. It’s gonna get a work out.”

I laughed. “You should see me with ice cream cones. I love a good lick.”

“You have any condoms?”

A visitor in my underwear came awake at the thought. “Several.”

“Good. You live next to Perry right?”

“Yeah, he said a girl named Becky used to live here. I have a place set up in the storm cellar behind the house.”

“Uh-huh. I know just where you’re talking about. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be there in about ten minutes.”

~O~

Regardless of what she’d said, I moved more than a muscle. I cleaned up my mess, stored the book away under the cushions, turned on some music and lit a few candles. That was about all that I had time for before I heard the sound of the door opening at the top of the stairs.

“Ariel? You down there?”

“Come on in, Susan.”

The sound of her shoes clicking on the stairs sent my brain on overdrive. The only thing that was running through my head was you’re gonna get laid, you’re gonna get laid!

I’m sixteen, give me a break.

She was wearing a semi-short skirt and a sleeveless buttondown that barely contained her breasts. I was thinking that she really liked to show them off. Not that I was complaining. I wasn’t stupid.

Her finger came up and waggled back and forth. “Naughty, Ariel. I told you not to move a muscle. Now you’ll have to be punished.”

Holy crap, where did she come up with this stuff?

Susan looked around for a few moments and then before she made herself comfortable on the hideaway, her skirt dropped off to pool on the floor. The waggling finger changed to a beckoning one and she pointed to the floor.

“On your knees and get busy. I’ve been thinking about this all morning.”

I almost started laughing at her bossiness, but again I’m not stupid. If a little playing around got me what I wanted then I was all for it. I kneeled in front of her and set my hands on her knees.

“I’m not calling you mistress. So get that out of your head.”

Her face screwed up playfully.

~O~

My first time was a little disappointing for her, but I was a trooper and made up for it with more oral, until I was ready again. I think that turned her on more than anything. The second round was much more her speed and I found out why she didn’t want me to return the favor. When she finally reached her climax, let’s say that she was very vocal.

“I feel like such a slut,” she said as we were cooling down afterward.

I chuckled a little. “Why? Because you like sex? Welcome to the club. I guess that makes me a slut too.”

She sighed. “Yeah, but it’s different for girls. You know that.”

“Only if you’re doing more than one guy at a time.” I paused for a moment. “You’re not, are you?”

The smack I received on my hip let me know that question was out of line. “No.”

“Well then. See, you can’t be a slut. It’s a rule.”

Susan shifted a little and relaxed against me. “This was fun.”

“Just fun? You seemed to be enjoying it a little more than that.”

A giggle shook her body against mine which was a really nice feeling.

“I can’t believe you went down on me after the first time. I thought that was a guy taboo.”

I shrugged. “I was wearing a condom, so it’s not like… you know.”

“Still, it was really hot. I want to do that again.”

“Right now?” I was up for it in more ways than one.

“Down boy,” she said as she gripped me. “I’m already a little sore.”

A sigh escaped my lips. “Sorry.”

Receiving a single squeeze before she let go Susan looked up at me. “It’s not a bad kind of sore, really. Maybe tomorrow? What time’s your dad leave for work?”

“Seven.”

She cringed. “Too early for me. How about the same time tomorrow morning. We have to get in as much as possible before school starts. The units keep a closer eye on me during the week.”

“Deal. Anything special I can do for you?”

Her head cocked and she smiled at me. “Like what?”

“I don’t know… make you lunch or bring you chocolates.”

That brought a laugh out as she pushed herself up and off the hideaway. “Just yourself, cowboy. And if anyone asks, you’re off the market, I’m your girlfriend.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

~O~

I watched Susan get dressed which was almost as sexy as watching her get undressed. When I started to get up, she made me lie back down saying how she wanted to remember me just like I was.

My life had turned to the fantastic. The only thing that would make it any better was if Mom was in the house.

When I heard the door close, I slid off the couch, pleasantly mellowed out and I cleaned up the mess I’d made: namely the used condoms.

“Eww. You’d think they’d make something absorbent.”

During our time together, I had to move the book because it was getting in the way. What I didn’t notice was where I’d tossed my first condom.

“Aww, crap. That’s going to lower your value on E-bay.” I sniggered briefly. “Yeah, I can see that ad. Ancient Atlantian book of magic. Heavy cum stain on dragon’s face. Bargain!”

I disposed of the condoms in the trash can, stuffing them into an empty Coke can so I wouldn’t get busted if dad decided to snoop. Lectures about sex I didn’t need.

The only thing I had to clean up the mess on the book was my shirt, but since I was doing laundry anyway I used it. The odd part was that when I got back, all evidence of it was gone.

“Thaaaaat’s freaky.”

There wasn’t even a wet mark.

Closing it up, I stowed it away again and donned my shirt before heading back up to fluff and fold.

~O~

“Ariel Chylde.”

The smell of rotten eggs was back, along with a lot of black. The feeling of weightlessness was disorienting and the voice that called out to me was less than comforting.

“Several millennia have passed since I last visited your realm.”

Looking around did nothing to help me locate the sound of the voice.

“Who are you?” I asked the emptiness.

“My one true name is Dormammu, child.”

A sense of dread settled over me when he spoke his name. Something powerful was out there, stronger than anything could ever imagine.

I tried to keep the panic out of my voice, but I don’t think I was too successful. “What do you want? Why am I here?”

His chuckle was vaguely reminiscent of Jabba the Hutt. “It was you that called upon me. You uttered the words of the Dragon and gave of yourself in supplication, thus opening the portal to my dimension.”

Denial was on my lips, but I shuddered to a stop before I voiced them. The incantation and the mess I’d made in the back of the book; that’s what he was talking about.

“You are in possession of the knowledge of Zhered-Na, my last and most devoted priestess in your dimension, and now you have come to retrieve what is yours by birthright. Will you claim the power that I bestow upon you, power beyond your wildest dreams, Ariel Chylde?”

I tried to swallow down my fear. “I… don’t know. W-what is the power?”

The Jabba chuckle returned. “It is what you make of it. Every servant in my employ is birthed with a unique talent. My power will awaken that talent and you will be reborn. Zhered-Na was a Seer and a gifted practitioner of magic. You may be something similar or something that has never before been seen in your dimension. The choice is yours.”

My brain only moved in one direction with the information he just gave me. “Can I bring my mother back to life?”

“It is within my power. Do you accept, Ariel Chylde?”

The thought that I could see my Mom again pushed me forward. “What do I have to do?”

“You allow me to take your hand and bathe you in the Flames of the Faltine, baptizing you in my essence.”

“Flames?” I shrank back. “That’s what killed my mother!”

“Ignorance destroyed your mother’s mortal body, Ariel Chylde. I will enlighten you. You have already taken a small measure of my essence. Have you not shown talents since your last foray into the knowledge of Zhered-Na?”

That took me aback. “What talents? What are you talking about?”

“The women-child that you made yours.”

Susan? “That was because of you?”

He gave a long slow yummy sound. “Mmmmmm, it is what you made of the insignificant amount with which of you have been touched. Think of what you could do with more, a limitless supply of power.”

“My mom.”

“And more. Take my hand, Ariel Chylde and bathe in the Flames of Faltine.”

The darkness receded and a gargantuan red talon hand eased forward. Its skin alit with red and orange flame dancing all across.

I started to reach out for it, but pulled back at the last second. “How do I know I won’t wind up like my mother?”

The hand stopped mere feet away from me. “You have given of yourself in the process, and a quality gift it was. The substance of life is what you chose to sacrifice for an audience with me. Your mother chose to take what was not hers and entered into this realm unprepared.”

I wasn’t about to tell him that a used condom tossed aside so I could put another one on in an effort to bone Susan was done deliberately.

“I don’t know…”

“A further example of my good faith is in order. Something to show you I do not exaggerate in what I claim.” All the fingers but one curled back in his palm. “Voluntarily touch the edge, Ariel Chylde. Brief contact is all that is needed to bestow upon you another measure of what I can offer. Use this as you desire and know that I do not speak false.”

It would be so easy to accept. Just a little more to see if he was bullshitting me or not. Before I could second guess myself, I reached out and grabbed the tip of his talon, wrapping my hand around it tightly.

“Yesssss. Feel the Flame of Faltine and taste what can be possible.”

My hand locked on his talon and I couldn’t pull back. Orange and red fire danced up my hand and across my arm before I could finally force my hand to release and jerk my arm back.

“There, as you see, young mortal, you are in no peril.”

Holding my arm away from my body, I stood transfixed to the flame that was encompassing it. It didn’t burn and actually felt pretty good. Warmth and energy seemed to be emanating from it and then returning, penetrating my skin and filling me with something I’d never experienced before.

~O~

“Ari?”

I started awake to find Dad standing above me while I was laying on the couch in the house.

“Dad?” I looked around. “What are you doing home so early?”

He smiled sardonically. “I think the better question is how long have you been asleep. It’s six o’clock.”

I blinked, surprised that I’d really been crashed out for nearly five hours. “Uh… maybe a couple of hours. Shit, I didn’t make anything for dinner.”

I jumped up and started heading for the kitchen, but he stopped me.

“Don’t worry about it. We can call for pizza. I guess the move finally caught up to you,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s about time. I’ve been dragging ass for the better part of a week.”

Standing there I rubbed the back of my neck while I thought about the dream I’d had. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, go ahead and call it in. No veggies on my side. I’m going to get changed.”

I nodded and pulled my cell out. All the important numbers were already programed and pizza had been at the top of the list. I was a growing boy after all.

After I called, I went outside and returned a call from Susan that I’d obviously missed.

It went straight to voicemail, so I pulled up the one she left me instead.

“Shit, Ariel. You need to watch out for Terry, he’s on the warpath. I already threatened him with something if he touches you, but sometimes he can get bull-headed. Call me as soon as you get this.”

Well, I’d already tried to call her and got nothing, and it was three hours since the original. “He’s probably cooled down by now.”

When I went back inside, Dad was already in the kitchen pulling out plates. I grabbed his keys. “Be back in a few minutes.”

He nodded. “Drive safe.”

One downside to living in the country: limited delivery area. In other words, I had to go pick it up.

There wasn’t much of a crowd, only two people ahead of me. When I paid for the pie and made it back out to the car my stomach was already rumbling. Missing lunch and being asleep all afternoon probably had something to do with it.

We made quick work of the large pizza and I even ate an extra slice from Dad’s side. Apparently I was starving to death.

“I’m going out to the cellar to play some video games.”

Dad nodded. “Try not to stay up too late, Ari. It’s time to start regulating your schedule for school in just a few days.”

“No prob. I’ll call it at ten-thirty tops.”

The TV sound raised a few decibels as I closed the back door. It was okay for dad to watch some lame reruns of Miami Vice at full volume, but it wasn’t okay for me to play Duty Calls at the same. Yeah, that was fair. Whatever, I had my own domain that I could call my own. That’s what counted.

When I got downstairs, I turned on the TV and booted up the Xbox 360 before I made a stop at the mini fridge.

“Is this where you fucked my sister?”

I jumped and dropped my Coke. “Terry… shit man, you scared me. Want a Coke?”

He took a step off the bottom of the stairs. “Perry told me he warned you. Why’d you ignore it?”

With a sigh, I nervously popped the top and took a sip before setting the can down on the fridge. “I think Susan’s old enough to make her own decisions, don’t you? This isn’t the 1900’s anymore.”

Terry’s fists clenched and I followed the line of his muscles up his arms. The guy had to play football or something. “You think you’re bein’ smart. Big city boy comin’ in the backward town, fuckin’ the hot girls?”

I chuckled, trying to make light of the situation and maybe getting him to laugh instead of growl. “You think your sister is hot? That’s kinda sick, Terry. I thought that was just limited to Arkansas.”

The look in his eyes told me that was a spectacularly bad thing to say. “You sayin’ she’s not hot?”

Don’t you love these no win scenario questions? Either way I answered was completely wrong, so I chose a third way. “I think she’s beautiful and I’m honored she chose me to be her boyfriend. So, why don’t we cool off? I’ve got the new Duty Calls on 360.”

He looked over at the TV. “Thanks. I’ll take that after I kick your ass.”

Terry took a step toward me and I took one back. “You don’t want to do that, man. You’ll wind up in jail. My dad’s a lawyer and lives for shit like this.”

He stopped again and clinched his fists once more. “They gotta find a body first.”

For the first time in… well, ever… I feared for my life. The likelihood that Terry was just trash-talking to make me crap my pants was pretty good, but the look on his face when he started for me gave me serious doubts about those odds.

He was blocking the only way out unless I could slip past him somehow, and that wasn’t likely either.

My right hand itched and ached deep down when Terry made his move. I was right. He was quick and he was mad. The right cross to my face let me know that right away.

I’ve seen all sorts of movies where the hero takes a shot to the jaw and shakes it off only to return one of his own a second later. It’s all crap. My knees folded and I went down like a deflated balloon. The taste of blood filled my mouth and I tongued what had to be a missing tooth.

He was serious. That’s when it felt like my hand was going to explode.

I spit a wad of blood and saliva on the floor a second before he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me on my stomach with his knee on the center of my back.

I struggled, but he was just too heavy. “Get off!”

“You were warned that I’d rip your arms off if you touched her.”

My wrist was grabbed and pulled back. Then he started pushing it upward toward my head. The pressure on my shoulder joint felt like he was serious.

“Stop! It hurts!”

Something cracked and I screamed out, but it wasn’t my shoulder. It was my right hand. It felt like all of my bones were breaking and my skin was being stretched to its limits. The thing was, Terry didn’t have a hold of that one.

TBC...