Chapter Eight

School daze …

Motivated as I was by the desire to see my sister again, I turned the full force of my Will to mastering my magic.  It didn't happen in weeks or even months, but Grandmamma approved my re-introduction to the public school system come the next Fall.  I was an August baby, celebrating my birthday just before the school year started, which meant that I was enrolled in the sixth grade that year. I was just in time to attend the first year that American River Vista operated as a Middle School.

Orientation day was a blur.  Parents accompanied their children, who mostly looked embarrassed to be seen in public together. We received our class schedules and locker assignments before being taken on a quick tour of the campus. A school rally capped the day.  Since so much attention was being paid to pretending that the adult behind them wasn't really their parent, few of the other children made friendly overtures to the new kid.  While a part of me was disappointed, I was more relieved to put off the ostracism I expected.

The next week was the first day of school.  Both Damien and Grandmamma were concerned about putting me in a school bus so my father drove me.  Damien is a stickler for old school formalities, so I got to wait as he walked around the car to open my door. He kindly refrained from ruffling my hair.

"Take care and don't be afraid to call me if you need me," he said, placing a large, reassuring hand on my shoulder.  He watched me walk up to the school entrance before driving away (I looked back).

School opened for business on the day after Labor Day, which meant that the tail end of summer gripped the city.  The Bay Area, sitting as it does right on the sea, has that wonderfully large body of water to help regulate temperatures and add humidity to an otherwise arid air supply.  Sacramento, being inland by a good ninety miles and without the northwest's mountain chain to roll back the moisture, was at least north enough to have green plants that weren't covered in a naturally occurring wax.  On the plus side, being so much more arid meant that you didn't feel the eighty to ninety degree weather as much. On the minus side, Sacramento stayed in the upper eighties until about mid-October, when it was like someone up on high hit a switch and the cold came on with a vengeance. 

Fortunately, Californians actually enjoy our warmth. Air conditioning in Sacramento during the summer is usually set around the low seventies in both public buildings and private residences.  I've heard stories of the freeze they like to build over in Texas.  I'm sorry to admit, but my inner eco-freak cringes at the thought of setting the A/C to fifty in a grocery store during the high-heat months.  Since California schools operate on the same cost-conscious theme as my inner eco-freak, there was no real problem with wearing a pair of khaki cargo shorts and a white short sleeved tank top with a pair of white deck shoes into the classrooms.

American River Vista Middle School was a closed campus occupying an eight acre lot.  It was originally built in the late 1940s.  At the time I attended, there had been two enlargement renovations and a third was pending funding. The main building was a two-story structure.  The first floor held the school library, all the administration offices, and most of the sixth grade lockers while most of the eighth grade classes (and lockers) were housed on the second floor.  You could either walk through the doors of the main building to enter the campus or there was a small gate through the parking lot. I went in through the main building.

My first class was in A Building, a science class, so I took the north exit and trooped on over to the lab building.  I found the room and took a seat near the back.  The teacher, a short round man with a graying comb-over, pursued a copy of the Sacramento Bee.  Using the cover of getting out a spiral notebook and pencils, I studied the other kids.

Three boys sitting closest to the far exit horsed around in their seats.  They wore saggy jeans, big, flashy shoes and bulky sports parkas.  A couple pairs of girls chatted together closer to the middle and a number of solitary students sat in isolated pockets through out the class.  None of their auras indicated the kind of warped personality that enjoyed inflicting pain and I relaxed a little.

Since I had the pencil out and paper before me, I started to doodle, running through the sigils Grandmamma had spent the last six months hammering into my brain. I wasn't invoking magic, just giving my brain something else to think on.  More students trickled in, some taking seats and starting up conversations with some of the solitary students or joining conversations already in progress.  The chair next to me was taken by a skinny kid with bright red hair and happy hazel eyes.  He wore braces on his teeth and freckles all over his fair skin.

"You're new, aren't you?" he asked, his voice a little loud.  It drew the attention of several of the kids around us.

I looked up from doodling, flipped the page and set my pen down.  "How ever could you tell?" I asked, dead pan and arching my eyebrows.

"I know everyone around here and I haven't seen you before, so you must be new. I'm Aaron Kirkland.  What's your name?" he asked, for all the world reminding me of a puppy dog. His aura reflected pure human so I guessed he was just one of those easily excited people.

"Rhiannon."

"Just one name, like Madonna?" he asked, grinning. A couple of the watching students hid giggles in their hands.  I felt my lips curl in a bit of a smile, too.

"Rhiannon Pierce."

"Ah, and here I was hoping for a celebrity," he laughed.  "So, when did you move to Folsom and how are you liking it?"

"I live in the county, not in Folsom. It's different in a nice way."

One of the watchers jumped in, a plump Latino girl with eager eyes. "Where did you move from?"

"Burlingame, near San Francisco."

"Are you gay?" jumped in one of the boys near the back.  He and his friends laughed.

I laughed back at them, "Right, like you're not!"

The boy stopped laughing, his face going all mean while his two friends laughed harder. "What, you saying I'm a homo?" he growled.

"You're the one who's so interested. It's an easy leap to make. After all, if you ain't, why are you asking?"

"Don't you be talking about my sexuality! I'm fucking straight as a board!" he snapped.

"If you can't take the question, don't ask it.  It's all on you," I answered, giving him my best copy of Grandmamma's working face. 

"Just let it go, Bobby.  She got the best of you, it's cool.  No one thinks you're a fag boy," one of his friends said before turning to me. "Name's Ricky Martinez. It's always a pleasure to find a quick mind in a cute lil' shortie.  Wanna hang out sometime?"

I pressed my hand to my chest and, grinning, answered, "Thank you kindly, good sir, however you're just the kind of smooth tongued devil my daddy warned me he'd have to shoot on sight and so I must decline.  I wouldn't want to be responsible for depriving the female population of your charms." I even got a smothered snort from the obnoxious Bobby with that one.

The bell rang, announcing the start of classes.  Aaron settled back into his chair with a palpable air of depression.  The teacher folded his newspaper and stood up.  "My name is Stephen Brahms.  You may call me Mr. Brahms. Let's start with a quick roll call," he announced.  When he got to my name he paused before reading, "Burquet-Pierce, Rhiannon."

"Just Pierce, sir," I advised.

"Pierce, right.  You're Lucille Pierce's granddaughter," he stated, pursing his lips in distaste.  The class stirred restlessly. A couple of the kids flashed me looks like they knew Grandmamma's name.

"Yes, sir," I gave him my blank face back, not sure where this was headed.

"There will be no tom foolery in my class. This is a science class and I will allow no hint of your heresy in it, do you understand me?" he snapped out.

"No, sir."

"Just what do you mean by that?" he growled.

"If this is a science class then there shouldn’t be any religion to heresy, so where does that come in?"

"Don't you try to play cutsie with me, young miss. You know exactly what I mean."

"Well, if you're talking about magic, sir, then I don't understand why.  I mean, magic is the art that science is learning to copy.  If you want to talk about heresy, well, science is more likely to be the heresy of magic, not that many right-thinking mages would look at it that way. But, after all, alchemy gave birth to chemistry, astrology to astronomy, and, you know, all that. I mean, every hard science was born from a magical discovery. But," I spoke faster to forestall the storm brewing in Mr. Brahms' features. "it is your classroom and my grandmother would be the first one to kick my butt up between my ears for not following your rules."

"Oh be still my beating heart! Your condescension warms me to my toes!" Mr. Brahms snarled and returned to roll call.

As we were exiting the classroom, our freshly issued science texts in our arms, a blonde girl with bright blue eyes stepped up on my left while the Latino girl who asked me where I was from flanked me on the right.

"Are you really related to Lucille Pierce?" the blonde asked.

"Yes. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

"I'm Mary.  So, does she really like cast spells and heal people with a touch?"

"She channels magic to heal people. I'm not sure if that counts as a spell."

"Oh. My. God! That is soo cool! So, do you like do magic and stuff, too?" the Latino girl asked.

"You're Guadalupe, right?"

"Oh, just call me Lupe, everyone does."

"Ok, Lupe. I just started learning so I've got lots to go before I can do the flashy stuff like call fire or reshape things or stuff, ya know?"

"So, like, what can you do?" Mary asked.

Grandmamma had foreseen this conversation starting up so we had gone over the things I could tell people. At the time, it was a pretty comprehensive list.  We just left out the part about calling the wildness, the Draken, from people around me. As it was one of the magics that Grand-mère and Grandmamma locked away, it wasn't even a lie of omission at that point – at least, that's what I told my conscience. "I can keep the rain off and stay cool out in the sun and I don't have to worry about bugs in my picnic.  I can walk outside of my body, but I can't do stuff in the physical world when I do.  I can set Tell Me wards so I know when things are happening around stuff.  I have to set those wards in person.  If I try really, really hard, sometimes I can move the bones in my face around, but that hurts a lot.  I can heal myself.  I was doing that way before I went blatant." 

"What's blatant?" Lupe asked.

"It's what mages call it when you can start doing stuff that normal people can see.  Calling fire and stuff, that's blatant magic. Subtle magic is like seeing auras and, ya know, things like that."

"Way cool!"

"So, what's an aura look like?" Aaron asked from behind us, visibly startling Lupe. I managed to keep my cool better. Barely. I looked around and realized that half the class was following us to my locker.  I felt a touch of claustrophobic panic rise and squelched it as best I could.  Two things struck me then. One, there was more interest than condemnation on my classmate's faces and, two, we were attracting a larger crowd. That last thought did not help me keep the panic reined in.  I stopped, thinking that if we were in the open it wouldn't be so bad.

Turning to the gathering crowd, I threw out, "I tell ya what, I've got second lunch. Anyone else who does who wants to ask questions or just hear the answers, we can all meet up on the commons in the corner by the temporary buildings & the auditorium.  That way you have more than just the walk to the next class to think of what you want to ask and you can invite your friends and stuff. Just don't be surprised if I keep having to say 'I don't know'. I'm just learning it and magic isn't like Mr. Brahms' class. There really aren't any set-in-stone answers."

There was a mixed bag of reactions to my idea, but I just turned back around and kept on.  Lupe hurried after me.  "What's your next class?" she asked.

I pulled my schedule out of my back pocket and read off, "T2A, Murphy, Social Sciences."

Mary gave a disgusted snort. "You are soo lucky! My brother had Mr. Murphy for social sciences and he said the guy's a blast! I'm stuck with skaggy old Mrs. Worm Hell."

"Worm Hell?" I asked, somewhat disturbed by Mary's disrespect.

"She's really Mrs. Wurmell, but she's evil, man!" the third back-seat boy, Brian Dupree, chimed in. "My brother had her year before last and she made them write reports all year long, five pages every week and ten when she thought the class was screwing around too much. Talk about sucking the joy right out of you." He finished, with a shudder.  He smiled at me then and added, "But that's okay, 'cause I got class with you now!"

"Oh. Great," I said with exaggerated faintness, rolling my eyes and ruining it by joining Mary and Lupe in giggling.  We hit our lockers and split up, Brian catching up with me just as we approached the classroom. 

The temporary buildings were placed to the north of A Building, in what used to be a smaller second parking lot for the school.  There were eight in all set in two groups of four to help conserve electricity, or so the rumor went. The school re-fenced that area when they put in the buildings so students could come and go without piling up at the old, single lane gate.  The commons were to the left as we approached and the baseball field just behind the buildings.

T2 was the temporary building nest closest to the street and A was the street-side classroom closest to A Building.  The classrooms were counted counter-clockwise, A through D.  The door was open despite the September heat and the heat sink & fan unit for the air conditioning was quiet.  I eyed Brian's parka.

"Why are y'all wearing that heavy jacket, any how?" I asked.

"I took the lining out, but I gotta represent, you know?" he said.

"Represent what?"

"The Kings, man! You gotta show love for the Kings!" he said, his face getting all excited.

"Who?" I asked.

"Sacramento Kings, basketball, ring any bells?" he asked, his face almost comical in disbelief.

"Oh! Basketball! Are they any good?"

"Did you just say you don't know the Kings?" one of the boys already seated asked.  He wore a Sacramento Kings ball cap, twisted to the side.

"I don't like basketball. The only games that really work for me with the whole spectator thing are football and soccer and I'd rather play football than basketball, too. In case you didn't notice, I'm not the tallest kid on the block and looking up at the hoop puts a crick in my neck."

I grabbed a seat near the middle, close to the Kings cap kid without being too close.  Brian snagged the seat between us.  The Kings cap kid leaned forward to look at me around Brian. "Dude, it's the Kings! How can you not represent your home team?"

"I like the 49ers," I offered up.

"Dude," he sighed, looking thoroughly disgusted. 

Brian stifled a laugh and defended me. "Dude, she's new, just moved from the Bay."

"Oh, well, I guess that's ok then.  I'm Peter," he said, sounding begrudging.

"Rhiannon," I said, letting my amusement show. Peter flushed a bit and turned to his back pack in an obvious conversation stopper.  Brian and I exchanged an amused look and got out our own supplies.

"So you play football, huh?" Brian asked.

"It's been a while.  I used to play flag football with my brother and his friends, but then my dad got custody of me."

"Product of a broken home. Man, that's a bummer," Brian said, looking sympathetic.

I shrugged. "They split when I was still a baby and Mom got remarried.  She never told me that Poppa wasn't my flesh-and-blood father and I used to think my brothers were making it up when they told me about it.  She enrolled me under their family name and when my dad found out he about blew a gasket."

"So, how did you end up with your dad, then?" Brian asked.

I shrugged, trying to appear matter of fact and unbothered as I answered, "Got in a fight with my step-brother and we ended up at the hospital.  CPS came around, he's in a group home and I'm with my father."

"Dude! You put your brother in the hospital?"

I met Brian's incredulous stare with a grim face.  "He's not the only one who got a trip in the whirly light machine to the land of needles pokes and doctor prods.  Just 'cause I can heal myself doesn't mean I heal like a shifter. I'll have calcium deposits around the bone breaks until the day they bury me.  I can work on the scar tissue, but there's no guarantee that it'll fade before I'm ancient.  Lucky me, it's mostly internal."

"No way, man! You're making that up! You wouldn't be in school if you were hurt that bad!" Brian said, rolling his eyes.

"The fight was last year. I got home schooled by my grandmamma for the rest of fifth grade."

"Whoa!" he gasped.

I looked up at the front of the classroom, feeling on edge. Part of it was the crowds. There were just so many people all around me.  Between the way the magic had heightened my senses and the solitude of Damien's ranch house I was feeling just a tad overwhelmed. Being called a liar touched a raw nerve, one that stung even more with the rather glaring omission that Curtis gave me the fractures and scars over a series of beatings and not during that fateful fight.  I was wrestling with myself over whether to correct that omission and reveal the abuse or keep my business to myself and let whatever misconception my words created stand.

On one hand, my conscience would be clear. On the other, what explanation did I owe him?  My words were true whether the impression was accurate or not.  At the same time, even the hint of lying bothered me. Then again, revealing the abuse could very well mark me as a victim while letting the idea stand that I handled myself in a fight well enough to land a boy in the hospital – especially one who put me there, too – could very well make the bullies at least think twice before singling me out.

The bell rang before I made up my mind and my eyes went to the empty desk at the front of the room.  I looked around and met other searching sweeps.  I turned in my seat to look behind me and when I turned back there was still no teacher in the classroom.

"Where's Mr. Murphy?" one girl asked. A lot of nervous shuffling and muttered, "I don't know"s answered her.  A moment passed and then we heard footsteps on the ramp up to the classroom.  A sable-headed shifter poked his head in the classroom and asked, laughter dancing in his voice, "Don't you kids know how to read English?"

I looked around again. The chalkboard was bare and no note hung on the door or sat on our desks. "What does that have to do with why we don't have a teacher in the classroom, sir?" I asked.

The head turned to the chalkboard.  "Hmm. It would appear someone decided to play clean up.  Well, no matter.  Grab your book bags; class has been moved to Room C2.  I'll just have to re-write the note on the board." With that pronouncement, a body walked itself under the head, taking the whole over towards the chalkboard while the auras of at least three-quarters of the girls in the classroom flared with puppy love.  The shifter halted halfway to the chalkboard and turned to look over the class, seeking something.  His gaze honed in on me.  He tipped his head to the side, shook it and resumed. In big, bold letters he wrote:

"Due to building repairs classes will meet in the following rooms for this week:

        1^st Period – C8
        2^nd Period – C2
        3^rd Period – C10
        6^th Period – C3
        7^th Period – C7"

"What about fourth or fifth period?" one of the girls asked.

"All the teachers in the temporary buildings get our grading periods during one of the lunches. Now, let's be off," the shifter answered, briskly slapping chalk off his hands.

We grabbed our bags and followed. A teacher sat behind the desk in room C2 wearing large, recording room sized ear phones attached to a little cassette player.  She appeared to be reading an oversized soft cover book.

"All right, grab a seat for now.  We'll assign them when we're actually in our room.  As you may have guessed, I'm your teacher, Harold Murphy.  Let's get roll call out of the way and get on to business of learning."

I swallowed the urge to giggle, but the idea of a shifter called Harry tickled my sense of humor.  Mr. Murphy sent another assessing glance my way before starting to read off names.  Again, there was a slight pause before the teacher read my name. "Rhiannon Burquet?"

"Actually, sir, it's Pierce."

"Pierce Burquet?" he asked, his mouth twitching into a smile.

I resisted the urge to stick my tongue out and said, "No, my legal name's Rhiannon Pierce. My mother started me in school under Poppa's name."

"Ah. Hm. For some reason, that name sounds familiar," he commented while making a note on the attendance report.

"Maybe it's 'cause Damien's an associate faculty member at Sac State," I offered.  The pencil in Mr. Murphy's hand paused as he froze. 

He looked up from the paper, staring at me in disbelief. "Damien Pierce is your father?"

I nodded.

"I thought a vampire killed his family about a decade ago?"

I took a deep breath and decided, what the hey, might as well make things interesting.  Maybe if I could build a wave of curiosity around me, I could ride it and avoid having the other kids turn their backs on the "witch" in their midst. Maybe if I got them asking questions they might actually be tempted to listen to the answers and see that I was just me and not some freak.  Nerves rolled in my belly and sped my speech.

"I was only a baby, but from what Damien and Grandmamma told me about it he left me with her – with Grandmamma – while Mom was visiting her folks and he got called up for the hunt.  Langston – Nathan Langston was the vamp – he killed this girl in sight of a cop, tried to kill the cop and got run off when the cop's back up showed up so they issued a Warrant of Execution 'cause the cop he almost killed recognized Langston from when he was running drugs before he took the bite. 

"Since they had the Warrant, they needed the Executioner and so Damien got the call and he tracked Langston back to his retreat, but Langston didn't show up.  While Damien was out tracking Langston the next night, Mom got back from her visit – Mom's mom is really best taken in small doses. I mean really, really small doses. 

"Well, Mom was settling in when Langston tricked her into inviting him onto the property.  Neither of them will tell me more than that what happened to Mom was really, really bad, but she lived through it, but it really pissed off the local Liege and so he got the entire vesselage of Sacramento out looking for Langston, too, and they invited Damien to the fricassee after they found him.

"Grandmamma patched up Mom, but still Mom decided she couldn't take it and took me to the Bay Area and divorced Damien.  They thought it would be 'in my best interests' if Mom had full custody and Damien and I just, like, wrote each other and stuff, except Mom never even told me about him.  I didn't even know he existed until he took custody of me, which is when I found out that my legal name is Pierce and not Burquet."

The whole class started to throw out questions, but Mr. Murphy cut things short.  "Toot, toot! Let's get this train back on the tracks!  Anthony Chavez, are you here?"

"Here. Hey, what’s a liege?"

Mr. Murphy instructed me to ignore the questions and kept on with roll call.  They still came, as if my classmates decided that they would announce their presence with questions instead of "I'm here"s. I raised my hand after roll call.

"Yes, Rhiannon?" Mr. Murphy asked warily.

"I'm taking questions from my first period class during second lunch in the commons by the temporary buildings and the auditorium.  Anyone who's got second lunch is welcome to come, too, so can we please get on with class now?" I announced, blushing.

Mr. Murphy just gave me a hard look, but the class settled down and we got on with the business of learning – or at least getting our books assigned to us, an overview of the semester objectives and homework plan, and our first homework assignment.

Third and forth periods – Art Elective and English – passed without the teachers singling me out.  There was no text for the elective class, but we were issued a grammar handbook with our English text.

Q & A in the commons

First lunch was served during fourth period and second lunch during fifth, so from English class I went back to my locker, grabbed my lunch and stowed my school supplies.  I kept out a spiral bound notebook and a pen in case there were any questions I thought it better to ask Damien or Grandmamma.  Butterflies beat frantically within my belly, churning and twisting at the thought of being surrounded by so many people.  A part of me wondered if I was nuts because as sure as there is the spark of Divinity in us all – call it pantheistic godhood or Holy Spirit or nirvana or kinetic potential as you will – there would be those who decided to condemn me for being magic out there. It may not be today, but by deciding to be as public as I was being I was practically inviting the confrontation.

This wasn't the time for second thoughts, though. That time passed when I made the decision to be open about whom and what I was.  Being who I was, related as I was to such a public mage as Grandmamma, and having been through the rather dramatic emergence of my blatancy as I had all meant that I didn't really have much chance of making any other approach work well.  Taking several long, shallow breaths, I walked over to the commons.

I studied the kids gathering at the designated spot as I walked up.  So far, there were about fifteen students finding seats on the grass.  It appeared that they were mostly sixth graders, but some of the kids looked closer to thirteen than eleven so I figured that word had spread across the grade levels.  The butterflies in my stomach froze for a moment before spasming.  I picked my way to the corner and sat down, looking for a familiar face. There were a few kids from my first and second period classes, including Lupe who was sitting with her book bag beside her several feet away. I waved.

Lupe grinned and said, "Hey, chica, come sit here!"

I smiled back, shook my head with a sympathetic expression, and declined, "I appreciate it, but let's see how things go first."

"Dude, are you, like, the magic chick?" one of the older looking boys asked.

I brightened my smile just a little and said, "My name's Rhiannon and, yeah, I'm the mageling."

"So, how did you start doing magic?" he asked.

"I was born that way.  I'm told there are ways of getting magic to work for you if you're not born with it, but I don't know what those are."  Taking a hint from Grandmamma, I deliberately pitched my voice just loud enough to be heard over the back ground noise, but still soft enough that our group had to stay quiet to hear me.  I spoke slowly, hoping that if I could just pretend to be calm that maybe the butterflies in my belly would pretend with me. 

Another kid popped up with, "What's it feel like to cast spells?"

"Ok, first thing is that a lot of people seem to have this really weird idea of what casting spells really is.  If you're thinking that spell casting is, like, mixing a pinch of this and that, saying a chant, and doing some funky moves then you're probably thinking of the religious stuff. Grandmamma says there's more of that in Wicca-trained mages than the magic really needs and she says that makes Wicca more attractive to Brown and Green mages than to Red and Shade mages.  Mages don't need spells to make the magic work.  We've got a, a connection to the Quickening, the stuff that holds us all together, and spells – for mages, at least, since I don't know about any other ways of using magic – well, they're more a way of telling ourselves to open up that channel and let the magic out." 

I thought for a moment and in that pause came another question.  "What's with the colors? Is it like in karate and stuff?"

I grinned, relaxing a bit and said, "I don't think so.  I don't know much about karate except what I see in Bruce Lee movies. Um, the colors are the type of magic that a mage can tap into.  Green mages can do lots of stuff with plants and Brown mages work really well with the earth and rocks and stuff.  You know, stuff like that."

More kids were walking up and finding a seat.  One of the new arrivals asked, "So what kind of witch are you?"

I took a deep breath. "I am not a witch. I'm not Wiccan, magic is not my religion, and my magic doesn't ride me. I am a mage – a Red mage.  My magic works best with living creatures.  Most healers are Red mages, but not all Red mages are healers. I'm too new to my magic to know how it'll grow."

"So what can you do?"

"I'm learning how to set wards. They're like a type of magical shield and so far I know how to keep the rain off and how to set them so they tell me when something happens.  Um, I can heal myself, but so far I haven't done too well at learning how to heal other people or pets and stuff. I can Spirit Walk, um, step out of my body, like an out of body experience, and be aware of what's going on in the, the physical world, but I can't do anything in the physical world while I'm Spirit Walking. I can see auras. Like I said, I'm a Red mage so it's really easy for me to see the auras around people and animals and birds and all and the Quickening they leave behind, but I have to think about it to see auras of plants and I have to really, really concentrate to see the auras of buildings and rocks and stuff. And that's about it so far.  Like I said, I'm just starting to learn."  My palms were sweating and my tummy clenching as my nerves returned with a vengeance. While I love being magic, I don't think too many people honestly like being exceptionally different.

Lupe chimed in then, in an attempt to be helpful. "You said something about being able to move the bones in your face around, too."

A chorus of "I wanna see!" and "Cool! Do that!" rang out as most of the kids gathered around got excited.  Even though I flinched and held my hands out, shaking my head, I could see that not all of the kids thought it was a cool thing and a part of me respected them. Of course that could have been because I really wished I'd kept that little bit to myself.  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Mr. Murphy and another man, also a shifter from his aura, hanging back.

"Oh, gods, no! It hhurts!" I said.  The kids settled into a chant of "Do it! Do it! Do it!" and, after almost a full minute of the chanting, I gave up. More kids wandered over to see what the fuss was about.

I put my hands on my hips and looked at the kids around me with an exasperated expression and yelled, "Fine! Fine, I'll do it!"  The kids cheered and I waited a bit for them to quiet.

"I'm not holding it for long, though, 'cause it hurts like breaking your bones and I should know 'cause I've had enough of those.  So, y'all need to stay quiet and no asking questions while I'm moving my bones around or you'll break my concentration and I'm not trying twice in one day. Got it?"

A ragged chorus of "Got it!"s answered me.

Heaving a disgusted sigh, I dropped my hands into my lap and let my gaze lose focus.  Having gotten in the habit of explaining what I was doing for Grandmamma, I began my commentary. "Anyone who's a sensitive is gonna at least feel a tingle 'cause I'm setting a ward to keep my magic in.  That way if I screw up, it's gonna be really hard for the magic to go anywhere but on me.  Some sensitives can actually see the sigils I'm tracing. I use sigils as my mechanic, my way of telling my brain that I mean to use my magic and I can relax my hold on my Quickening."

I accompanied my words with the physical motion of tracing an infinity symbol, a sideways figure eight, in the air before me.  I had trained myself well enough with that sigil that the shaping of it with the intent to do magic was all the trigger I needed to snap the ward into being.  In my mage Sight, the sigil expanded and shifted below me before it rolled up so that the ends of the figure eight touched above my head, wrapping me in a sphere of protection.

Taking another deep breath, I reached for my magic. "I'm letting the magic through. If you're sensitive then your hair's probably standing on end.  If it feels like there are things crawling on your skin then you may want to step back a bit 'cause it's only gonna get worse as the power builds up.  It takes longer letting the magic out than if I had a reservoir, but Grandmamma won't teach me how to make one until she's finished teaching me about wards 'cause otherwise I'd be freaking out all the magic sensitive people when I walked by.  I'm shutting up now so I can concentrate on what I'm doing. Don't expect anything for about a minute or so, keep quiet, and you'll know it when things start moving." 

The protective ward soaked up some of the magic I let trickle through me, taking enough to ensure that it would hold long enough to absorb any spillage.  A nervous thought crossed my mind and I directed more magic into solidifying the ward against physical entry.  I did not want some overly inquisitive idiot getting in my face trying to see if it was changing yet.  That kind of startlement was bound to be bad for both of us.

I built the image in my mind of what I wanted my bones to do.  I didn't want anyone witnessing it to be able to write off my alteration as chicanery or flim-flammery and I didn't want to suggest anything Infernal. That left out my two favorite attempts. My favorite was just a slight raising of my cheekbones which relieved some of the roundness in my cheeks from my baby fat.  The other took more effort, but I thought it would make a great Halloween costume.  I made my jaw, cheeks, and brow line grow outward, like ridges.

With those two options out of the equation, I decided to reshape my eye sockets into a flat ellipse, drop and elongate my lower jaw, and push out my cheeks to give my face a look somewhat like a cross between a French mime and a fat Korean.  When I felt that there was enough magic within my wards to work the change, I let the image in my mind become my desire and bent my Will to realizing it. 

The magic poured back into me, this time filling my blood until I felt wonderfully, gloriously alive.  The rapture of the moment held me, completed me, and reaffirmed my connection to the world around me.  This was the gift of my control.  I never felt the connection when my magic rode me. The awe-filled peace that cradled me as I allowed the magic to flow in its proper paths only came after I forged those paths.  The moment seemed to both last forever and be done too soon as the magic raced with my blood into my face.

Pushing and pulling, stretching and squeezing, the feel of the magic made me think of my bones being melted into a clay-like substance and then molded with a heavy hand into the shape I desired.  If I had had breath to do so, I might have screamed, but as it was I whimpered, the pain stealing the very air from my lungs.  Just as the rapture of being filled with magic was both endless and over so soon, the excruciating pain dragged on for an eternity and yet took less than ten seconds to ease. 

I had to keep channeling magic to maintain my body sculpting. I think it's because my body knew its natural shape and liked it well enough.  Regardless, so long as I let the magic change my features my face hurt, like an aching tooth that ebbs and flows in the misery it brings.  The more parts that I changed the more severely I hurt.

The kids around me reacted with both awe and disgust. Some pushed forward, looking puzzled when they hit the walls of my ward and could get no closer while others recoiled in delighted shock.  Some asked for an encore, earning a harsh glare from me.

"The only other thing I'm doing is making my face go back the way it should," I grouched, blinking away pain-tears.  I swiveled my head to show off the change, looking at everyone in our gathering.  Mr. Murphy and his companion both seemed disturbed by my facial shift, but I gave no obvious sign of recognition. "Has everyone had a good enough look?" I asked.

Most of the kids affirmed that they had while a number asked again for me to make a different face. I ignored them and released the magic holding my bones out of their natural position.  I gave an all body shudder as the magic dispersed, racing down my spine like someone walking on my grave, and felt the twisting in my expression from the sensation and the sharp pain as everything settled back the way it was meant to be.  I took a shaky breath and then a steadier one and gave myself over to a fierce, jaw popping yawn. "Ow!" I muttered afterward.

Settling myself, I glared around at the kids who were still crowding my ward.  "Can I get some room here, please?" I asked.  A few backed off, but two boys and a girl both seemed oblivious to my request.  They sat down right on the edge of the ward and started firing off questions.

"Why can't we touch you?"

"How did you do that?"

"Can you do it again?"

"Could you show us how?"

"Whoa! The grass is growing around you! Why is it doing that?"

I looked down and, sure enough, the grass was greener, healthier and lusher. "Mage magic taps Quickening to work.  You know the Clint Eastwood movie, 'The Quick and the Dead'? That's not just about being fast on the draw.  Being 'quick' is an old, old way of saying being alive and healthy.  Quickening is the power that lets us live.  It's the basic, universal energy.  The more magic mages work, the more life grows. Now, seriously, space? I don't want to hit you with the ward when it comes down."

They finally took the hint and gave me breathing room.  Before pulling down the ward, I checked my lunch.  Fortunately, the magic didn't spoil my bologna sandwich. I silently offered blessings to the makers of hermetic sealing for keeping my juice and Twinkies safe.  Despite the heavy-handed use of preservatives in Twinkies, I have seen them spoil in open air thanks to magical influence.  I left one in the bathroom overnight within the first week after awakening Damien's Draken.  It looked like a Chia Pet in the morning.  Grandmamma cussed when she saw it and talked Grand-mère into helping her pull the residual magic over to our node.

Starving now that I'd worked magic, I bit into my sandwich.  As I chewed, I slowly grounded the ward, carefully overseeing the magic as it dispersed into the grass around us.

More questions were pelted at me, but I took the time to finish my bite before answering, picking the one that seemed least controversial.

"Is your dad really on the state spook squad?"

"Damien's not on the spook squad. That's a special detective group and they're out of the Attorney General's office. He's a contractor to the Department of Corrections 'cause he's licensed to exterminate and execute preternatural bad guys, like smoke dragons and ogres and rogue vampires.  There are about twenty exterminators on contract to the state and I think it's seven or eight executioners 'cause there really isn't that much demand.  If California was shaped differently, there probably wouldn't be that many, but as long as we are it takes a while to get from top to bottom so it's easier to just have a couple of the exterminators take the extra courses so they can be executioners, too.  That way, they can have cut the response time down when the Warrants are issued, since a Warrant of Execution is pretty much an emergency."

"Is it true you survived a vampire attack?" asked a shy looking girl.  Her aura quivered and flared, alternating between fear and hope.

I smiled at her, a gentle smile, hoping to draw her forward. "Only if you count not being there as surviving an attack.  My dad left me with my grandmother when he got called up on a Warrant of Execution and my mom was out of town.  She came back early and the vampire he was hunting got a hold of her.  She survived, but it broke their marriage."

"Is it true that vampires can't stand the cross and garlic and sunlight?" A sharp faced Latino boy asked.

Thinking of the shy girl, I answered, "I don't know about holy items. Dad doesn't use them. Vampires have really sharp senses so the newer ones can be distracted if you overload their senses, but it doesn't work on the ones who've been around for a while, like over ten years and sunlight, yeah, it crispy cream's 'em.  If they die in a fire, their bones get really, really solid, like petrified wood, but if they die any other way – even sunlight – they start decaying and if they've been vampires for over a century they turn into dust and stuff. Oh, and, yes, you do have to die to be raised as a vampire and if you have a handicap, like a deformed arm or a bad knee, you're stuck with them as a vampire, too, even bad hearts and clogged arteries, but those can be cleared out after a couple of decades. And they do have to be invited onto private property, but only if the property has been salted."

"What's that mean, salting the property?" the girl asked, intent.

"It means that someone – and it's usually the property owner – walks around the outside of the property laying down a line of salt.  It's a way of claiming the land and it works against fairies, too.  If someone gets invited that the owner doesn't want, he has to salt it again to dis-invite the unwanted person."

"What about shifters?" the same sharp faced boy asked.

"What about them?" I asked back.

"How do you kill 'em?"

I cocked my head to the side and replied, "Are you thinking of becoming an executioner?"

"Maybe," he answered evasively. His aura jumped and skipped, making me think he might have Attention Deficit Disorder or maybe even the Hyperactive kind.  He wasn't a therian.

"I don't think I'm the best person to answer those kinds of questions.  There's a lot, and I mean, like, tons of things you have to know to become a licensed executioner.  At the very least, you have to know, like all the things that cops have learn, and you have to pass the psych tests and know about outdoor tracking and city tracking and in a lot of cases you're working with SWAT teams, so you have to know how to do that, too." 

In point of fact, my father is a rare bird.  Only one other state executioner came in from the preeter side. The rest are all members of the SWAT and Mobile Reserve teams or National Guardsmen who picked up training on how to take down the intelligent preternaturals.  There are a couple of exterminators who happen to be preeters, themselves, but it's a lot easier to find mundanes who are willing to kill preeters than preeters willing to kill preeters in the name of the mundanes' Law and Order.  After all, the premise goes, when you've got Umbreans, who needs cops?

I took another bite of my sandwich and let more questions come my way.  I decided that one question answered and then one bite of my lunch taken was a good routine.  I didn't count the ones that I wrote down with an "I don't know, but I'll ask," tossed to the questioner.  We had less than ten minutes till the end of lunch when the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

I was packing up the remains of my lunch in my little blue lunch box, listening to the new questions when my Spidey Senses flared to life.  I stopped listening and started looking around.  On the street, behind the chain link fence denoting school property, several therians had gathered.  There were three men and two women, ranging in apparent ages from post-adolescent to rather mature.  They wore neat jeans and printed T-shirts in white and black. Their auras mixed in a manner that I later learned meant they were tribal-bound, what the wolves called pack mates.  They were staring at Mr. Murphy and his companion. 

The women appeared to be Asians.  I thought the taller of the two ladies was Japanese with her pale, luminous skin while the shorter one's features made me think of Pacific Islanders.  One of the men was also Asian there was the hint that he closely related to the shorter woman in the way their two auras mingled.  The remaining two men were Caucasians and the taller of them was well tanned and wore his brown hair in a pony tail.

I let my gaze settle on the remaining man. I noticed that the others unconsciously deferred to him, proclaiming him the leader by the subtle manner of their postures.  Without his presence, he could have been a very non-descript man.  His sandy blonde hair was a little bit long and his eyes seemed to be a pale color, but it was really a bit to far to tell for sure. His skin was neither tanned nor pale and he stood about middling height, no more than 5'10", but he had good posture and the kind of assurance that gives a person an air of largeness. 

The wind shifted, blowing my hair into my face and my scent into their noses.  The therians at the fence sank into stillness, much like my aunt had Thanksgiving night. The followers slunk behind their leader, visibly alerted.  The leader surveyed the parts of the school ground that he could see.  Streaks of umber tinted his aura, broadcasting frustration and wariness to my Sight.  He pointed with his chin down the street and the therians moved on.

I looked toward Mr. Murphy and saw that both he and the man who stood with him had filled their auras with the bitter brown of fear. His gaze met mine and the fear flared before he took control of himself, forcing the brown to coalesce in the bottom of his aura, suppressed.  He turned back to his companion and I turned back to the questions of my fellow students.

The bell rang shortly after and we were off to sixth period.  Somehow, Math seemed a lot less painful after lunch.  There was a bit of a stir in the class as kids who had been in my earlier periods and eaten lunch with me whispered the news of my strangeness to the kids who hadn't.  I ignored it as best I could and gave the teacher, Mrs. Dobson, really good eye contact.  I realized that it was going to be hard to pay attention for this particular class as she began the class by reviewing fractions.  Grandmamma had had me starting geometry by the time summer came to a close.

Homeward! Or not … ?

My last class of the day was computer lab.  Georgette Meirhem – "call me Georgie" – taught the class.  Her aura sparkled and danced, glittering with fey magic.  I was more surprised to see one of the fey teaching mundane children than I was to see therians in the faculty, even if she seemed far too earthy to be full blooded.  Therians at least started out human and were, by and large, simply trying not to stand out too much.  The magic of the fey allowed them to propagate with many species, but they and their children were still fey.

We weren't given a chance to ask about her modestly pointed ears or her multicolored eyes.  She assigned us seats as we walked in and set us to our first task – making spirals loop around the screen.  By the end of that first class I was entranced. Computers required a way of thinking that was just maddeningly different enough to engage my interest.  Class was over too soon as far as I was concerned and I was reluctant to leave the fun behind. 

Georgie came up beside me.  "You've got the bug," she commented, smiling. Her aura seemed to hum with contented delight.

I grinned back up at her. "This is soo much cooler than writing reports!  That's all Damien lets me do at home.  I can understand, though, I mean, there was that screen saver Grandmamma and I found on that freeware site that turned out to be really naughty, but still, this is fun!"

"I'm glad you're enjoying yourself.  Just one little note, though. Please ground before coming into the classroom.  You're a rather magical critter and the computers are sensitive to the energy you give off," she grinned at me, patted my shoulder and headed back to the front.

A quick glance around assured me that I was the last to leave.  I asked, my voice soft and pleasant, "Are you silver side up?" It was the coded question that Grandmamma taught me to ask the fey blooded.  If they were silver side up, they were raised in the fey courts and aware of their heritage. Most of the courtly fey demanded a whole host of protocols and etiquette or felt themselves insulted when it was not proffered.

Georgie's eyebrows arched high on her forehead, but her tone lost none of its joyful cadence.  "You've not the taste of silver to your scent. How come you to ask such a question?"

"My grandmother's teaching me Old Way manners and you sparkle like the way she said the Silver Born sparkle.  She said I was to ask if the silver side was up so I wouldn't shame her in my depart – my deportment."

"My silver lies along the side, lass, and I'll take no offense if you mind the manners of the Silver Born or the Clay Born around me.  I appreciate that you asked, though."

I ducked my head bashfully, feeling pleased with Georgie's acceptance, and with a merry wave and a cheerful, "Fare well!" took off.  I ran into Lupe as I grabbed my books from my locker to take home.  We chatted on our way out the main building doors. It turned out that Lupe lived within walking distance of the school.  Brian had been heading for the buses out beside D building when he waved his adios to us.

Damien was waiting across the street, leaning against the front of the Suburban as he watched for me.  Both of us always knew where the other was, almost like we had mutual-homing devices implanted in our psyches.  The knowledge was there all the time, but seemed to rush upon us when we were separated by more than a quarter mile and only got stronger the longer we were apart.  I found that connection to be vastly reassuring and I have no reason to doubt that Damien was just as pleased.

The shy girl from lunch stood by the flag pole watching the main doors.  When she saw me her aura reached for me, bringing both Damien's and my gaze straight to her.  Fear and determination warred in her aura, coloring her with sienna and almost blotting out the pastel yellow of her personality. I could practically feel her feeding her determination and I willed her to step forward. I didn't let my magic slip because that would have defeated the purpose.  My heart instinctively went out to her, sensing that she had been hurt. I might not be able heal her myself – in fact, I was willing to lay odds that I couldn't – but if she reached out to me then I had the chance to talk her into seeing Grandmamma and I was confident that Grandmamma could heal just about anything.  Come to think of it, I still am.

Mary rushed up to us, grabbing Lupe's arm and chattering a mile a minute.  Pale gray and lavender streaks of despair consumed the shy girl's rouge determination. Her aura snapped back, wrapping close and tight around her body before hardening as if she had need to defend herself.  I wanted to cry when she turned her back and hurried off down the street. I had to fight the urge to run after her to find out what she wanted.

In the end, it was the memory of Grandmamma sitting at the base my fort-tree that made my feet move toward my father and not the girl in need.  I could sit by the base of her tree, but she had to decide when she was ready to climb down.  Calling her down might make her move before she was ready and that was far more likely to make things worse than to make them better.

I did gather my magic just a bit as I waved good bye to the girls and walked over to my father. I set a small Tell Me ward on my skin to let me know when she was near.

Damien held the door for me and went back around to the driver side. He didn't say anything until after we were several blocks away from the school.

"Got your school books?"

"Yep.  Even got a bit of homework, but I hope I can change math classes 'cause they're still in fractions.  I think I heard that there was a Geometry class at the school, but I think it's for eight graders and I don't think they have anything more than that.  I really don't wanna be bored in a Math class 'cause then Grandmamma will start in on how when she settled in Sac the kids in eighth grade were learning about stuff they don't teach until college anymore."

"We'll swing by early tomorrow and see what needs to be done about that.  If worse comes to worse, you'll just have to deal with it for a bit.  Besides, if we really need to worry about your education we'll take care of it at home.  I'm more concerned about you getting used to being around mundanes your own age again.  I figure you've got the smarts and the interest to educate yourself if it came down to that.  Not that that's a green light to ignore your class work.  If Momma has you as far ahead as it sounds you should be walking out with straight A's." He added the last with a wry smile in my direction. I just rolled my eyes and grinned back.

Shifting in his seat, he asked, "You know what that was about?" He didn't have to be any more specific than that and I knew he was talking about the shy girl.

I looked out the window, thinking a moment. "She's hurt, badly on the inside, not body pain.  I think it has to do with vampires. She asked me about surviving a vampire attack at lunch." 

I snuck a quick glance back at Damien as I admitted, "My first period teacher, Mr. Brahms, he made it a point to tell me not to talk magic in his class during roll call and Mr. Murphy, he's a shifter – I'm not sure what kind yet – he's my second period teacher and he recognized your name and said he heard Mom and me died so I set him straight on the story.  A lot of the kids were asking me stuff and it kept interrupting class so I said they could ask me questions at lunch time and I'd answer 'em and she showed up. By the way, I got asked some questions that I didn't know how to answer so I wrote 'em down to ask you and Grandmamma."

Damien nodded. "We'll look 'em over when we get to the campus.  How did everything go?"

"Pretty good.  I was afraid people might be all mean and all, but they were just really curious.  I made the mistake of saying I could do the bone thing and the kids at lunch were really big on seeing it so I got so embarrassed it was just easier to make a face and move on.  A lot of those kids really like to get in your space, you know? I'm really glad I made the 'tainment ward to keep 'em out in case someone got a case of the stupids 'cause there were these three kids who wanted to touch my face while I was shaping it.  Totally wouldda sucked!"

I paused and twisted around in my seat to face Damien. "Why are we going to the campus?"

"Brenda Mavis, another member of the Preternatural Studies faculty, went into labor this afternoon.  I'm taking over her Tuesday-Thursday class and that leaves me with enough time to run over, pick you up, and run back."

I frowned.  "Is she the one who was due in November?  I thought that was when you were supposed to be taking over her class?"

Damien's lips twitched, repressing a smile. "Yep, but it's twins so we've been half expecting that she would drop early."

I really loved being able to read auras.  Damien's had a tendency to ripple with golden and navy splats of awed pleasure when I did these little things, like show that I paid attention to his schedule or took an interest in what he was doing.  Sometimes the emotion would be so intense that his aura would reach out and, if I was near enough, I could feel his love wrap around me.  More than anything else – even Grandmamma teaching me how to conquer my fears – the incontrovertible knowledge that Damien loved me so fiercely and so unconditionally was what healed me the most from my years under Curtis' domination.  That realization struck me right then and there in the car. 

I suddenly understood that part of the reason I gave up on fighting Curtis was that I began to accept some of the blame for the beatings I endured by convincing myself that I was unlovable and undeserving of the protection of my parents. I was well on my way to convincing myself that I was inherently evil when my magic broke free.  It's only a short step from the premise of inherent evil to being grateful for abuse as a punishment for such wickedness, thereby offering the hope of redemption. After all, the premise of punishment is to goad on reform and not simple to act as a means of exacting vengeance. Being able to see how much Damien loved me made a piss-poor joke out of that chain of illogic. 

I felt my world-view shift two steps to the right and set down, leaving many of my perspectives suddenly feeling alien.  I sat there, stunned by the revelations and vaguely aware of Damien shooting me concerned looks.  His magic reached out to me, like it had a dozen times a day since it awoke, just a quick touch to reassure him that I was whole and healthy, but this time his concern stirred my emotions to overflowing.  Damien really, truly loved me, just for me, asking nothing of me in return, wanting only my happiness and wellbeing and hoping for my love for him to be given just as freely.

My heart spasmed like a muscle uncramping and tears filled my eyes.

"You okay, sweetie?" Damien asked, reaching out to grip my knee.

"You really do love me," I said and I could hear the wonder and the awe of that thought in my quiet voice.

Damien kept shooting me nervous looks. "How could I not love you?  You're my baby-girl, my little Rhi.  Haven't you figured out yet that you've got me wrapped around your little finger?"

The tears fell, flowing down my cheeks. I sobbed in a breath, tried to speak and couldn't so I settled for trying to control my breathing, covering my mouth with my hand and fluttering the other one uselessly by my face as if I could wave away the tears.  Damien gave me time to get a hold of myself and say, again, "You love me!"

"Do you want me to engrave that for you?" he teased, still tense.

"You really love me! I mean, I know you've said it, and it sunk into my brain and all, but when I looked over and I saw how happy you were and I saw how your aura did the ripple thingie, and I realized how many times it does that for these really small, teeny-tiny, little things, it's like suddenly I know you love me, like all the way into my heart I know it!"

Damien's aura turned golden, pure and radiant with love.  It enveloped me and filled a space inside me that I hadn't realized was empty until then.  I gave myself up to the joy of the moment, soaking in the beauty and the peace.  I flashed back to the hospital, the moment when I looked into a stranger's eyes and saw the hope of this moment staring back at me.

My tears ceased to fall. I looked up at my father and felt my own aura reach that golden hue. 

The hand on my knee squeezed convulsively.  "Did I mention I love you, sprite?" he asked.

I laughed and picked up his hand, twining my fingers between his. "Maybe once or twice," I teased, realizing that laughter was Damien's way of dealing with the strength of his emotions.

Holding Damien's hand, I had a vision. I saw Damien's aura glowing this golden for a woman I had yet to meet and I saw her aura glow for Damien, making her features hazy.  The only things I could tell for sure and certain was that she was tall, somewhere between 5'8" and 5'10".  I got the impression that the moment of my vision was not in the immediate future and maybe not while I was a child still.  Just in case it was a product of the moment, I decided to talk to Grandmamma about the vision first. I didn't want to spoil this moment with want might be nothing more than imagination.

 However, the thought that someone else would share in this love and return it felt so wonderfully, joyously right.  While a part of me wanted to hoard up my father's love, the part of me I like much better trusted Damien to know what was best for him and hoped he would do just that when it became an issue.

 Life goes on and cars in motion tend to arrive at their destinations more often than not.  I got to sit in the back of the classroom while my father lectured, the golden lights of his aura slowly blending into the royal blue of his personality.