Sidearm & Sorcery Volume Two: Sidearm & Sorcery, #2

Flaxen Wires

by Bryce Beattie

The sun had set, but the city had yet to give up any of its stored heat. The tiny breeze that occasionally wafted about only served to steam bake me more evenly and slap me with a side order of sweaty body odor.

The music festival showed no signs of abating in the little town that wanted to be New Orleans. Bands were scheduled until two o'clock, but folks with instruments would be showing up on stage, sound system or no, until daybreak.

A crowd pressed around the stage, moving in awkward rhythm. The band wasn't very good, but the crowd was willing, and given a chance I might have joined the revelry for a bit to forget how miserably hot and humid this whole rotten place was.

I climbed on a picnic table and scanned the crowd again. Across the park, at the fringes near the back, a girl stood stiffly. No friends danced around her. She didn't move with the beat. Her hair color matched my expectation, except for the blue tips. Her body type was right, and her height. It was just a glimpse from across the lake of people, but there was a strong chance it was the girl I was looking for.

I hopped off the table and lost sight of her in the shuffle. I needed to be sure it was Kamrin, so I kept her spot in my mind, and shouldered my way through the crowd.

I'm not a cop or a private investigator or anything, but when a friend calls and says, Joshua, I need your help, I'm going to help. Plus, when the family says the teen has been attempting to access occult powers and they've found a hand-copied grimoire in the stuff she left at home? Well, that's irresistible to a guy like me. I will investigate and shut down that deviltry until the day I die.

I pulled out my phone and held it close to my chest, then popped out of the crowd much closer to her than I had intended. In the most nonchalant manner I could muster in a throbbing crowd, and without making eye contact, I snapped a picture and kept moving.

As I passed her by, I tried to measure her again against the pictures the family had shown me. The girl was tall for her age, if indeed it was her, with none of the curves that maturity might bring. It was clear she was not having a good time. A large bruise marred her left arm and her eyes bore the red rings of recent tears. I noticed a tattoo peeking out from the neckline of her tank top. She didn't move a muscle

I stopped a ways behind her next to some food vendors, and texted her photo, my location, and this her? to the group chat of folks that were aiding in the search. If it could be helped, it would be better for a family member to approach her first. I just needed to keep tabs on her and not look like a stalker while doing it.

As soon as I stood still, the stored heat in the blacktop crawled up through my shoes into the soles of my feet. It made me want to rush over to the lawn with the main crowd, but there was no way I'd keep track of her from within that gyrating mess.

A man dancing about 30 feet to my left caught me attention. He didn't really look like a zydeco music fan, but you can't always tell. He had shoulder-length greasy black hair and one of those scruffy, short, bad boy beards. Both muscled arms were fully sleeved in ink, and he wore entirely too much black for a town this hot. His arms hung at an angle in front of him, and he did some kind of crazy finger tutting.

The phone vibrated in my hand and I checked the message.

The girl's aunt had responded. That's her! Is that a knife?

Shocked, I scrolled up and zoomed in on the photo I had taken. Sure enough, in the girl's right hand was a four or five-inch blade. I hadn't even noticed it in all the commotion.

My stomach dropped. I looked up to find Kamrin in motion, pushing her way into the joyous crowd, right hand still clutching the knife stiffly at her side. I didn't know what she was planning on doing with the blade, but I was certain it couldn't be good.

My phone buzzed with incoming texts as I jammed it in my pocket. Sweat dripped down my spine. My feet moved her direction almost by themselves and it was a struggle to not break into an open run.

I hadn't made it four steps when I bumped hard against someone. I turned to see Mr. Scruffybeard next to me.

His face was murder, but he kept doing his bizarre dance. Watch it, idiot.

I didn't have time to mess with an angry weirdo. Especially one that apparently spent time sculpting the physique and personality needed to be a professional wrestling heel.

He set back off, running crabways and nearly hitting me again, with his full attention returned toward the stage.

I plunged into the back of the crowd and caught sight of Kamrin. She was only a few feet away. Almost close enough to grab.

Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. Through the din, I heard her say to no one in particular, It's not me. I can't control-

The crowd buried the rest of her confession in an avalanche of whooping and applause marking the end of an already boisterous song. Sweaty bodies bumped up against each other and bounced around.

Kamrin lifted the knife. Through the chaos I saw her mouth the words, I'm sorry.

I frantically shoved my way through those last couple of partiers.

The now sobbing girl thrust the knife forward, stabbing it into the back of a hefty guy that couldn't have been much older than her.

The boy screamed.

I reached out to grab Kamrin, but the crowd's vigor had renewed with the first notes of a rowdy Cajun drinking song, and I was jostled aside.

The victim stumbled forward, grasping toward his own back, but unable to reach the wound.

Kamrin turned and disappeared between a couple of hillbilly kids.

For a moment I was torn. Would it be better to tail the girl or help the stabee? I pushed forward again to get a better look at the victim.

He fell to his knees. Two or three other members of the crowd gathered around him and called for help. He was bleeding, but it wasn't gushing or anything, so she hadn't gotten it deep. He'd be okay.

That was enough for me. There wasn't going to be much time until a voyeuristic mob caught wind of the stabbing and pressed in to catch a glimpse of carnage. I put my shoulder to the still mostly jubilant crowd and pushed toward the fringes.

Happy cheering gave way to shocked screaming as news of the stabbing spread. Attention turned from stage to victim. It wasn't that big a crowd, after all.

I cleared the edge of the physical commotion as the band limped and stumbled to a ragged stop. One of the washboard players leaned into a microphone. Are y'all okay over there?

Two uniformed firemen ran from one of the vendor booths and headed for the crowd.

It was easy to pick out Kamrin once I got back near the vendors. Her running gait was so strange I couldn't have missed it. Her feet pointed out and her knees swung wide with each step to cartoonish effect. It was like she had never run before and was only learning to use her legs just now.

Despite the strangeness, she was moving pretty fast, and if I had waited to give chase, I wouldn't have seen her turn right at the corner.

Close behind her, also running awkwardly was Mr. Scruffybeard. His arms still jutted to the front, and his hands still making a cycle of bizarre, precise movements.

I could have kicked myself. He had never been dancing at all. He was controlling the girl through some kind of spell. Even if I had never seen the craft being used in that way, I should have recognized the influence, but I had allowed the band and the multitude to distract me.

She had been shouting the truth when she proclaimed her innocence. The bloody knife may have been in her hand, but she had not stabbed the kid in the crowd. A muscled freak with a tiny bit of knowledge and a line on some power had harnessed her body to do his bidding. And if he was making her stab others in public, he would be willing to make her do anything.

The thought sickened me.

Almost everyone I've ever met who had gotten into magic did so to gain power. Power over an enemy, power to escape a bad situation, power to get the things they felt they were unfairly denied. Power to make others fulfill their whims. But, long before most of them could amass real power, they learned that there is a cost. Usually, that cost is greater than anyone is happy to pay.

As I hustled after them, I wondered what price the scruffy-bearded puppeteer had paid for his dark power. No matter whatever he had already given or promised, though, I was going to charge extra to meet the demands of justice.

The two continued their weird dance along the sweltering pavement, finally entering a shop.

It is almost impossible to be casual if you are running after somebody, so I picked up the pace. I definitely didn't want to give that maniac any more alone time with his prisoner.

The sign above the door read Germer Ink, Inc. in an over-embellished font. Plush curtains blocked the view through the windows and door. A frosted decal on the larger shop window read, Tattoos, piercings, and revelations granted inside. Even if I hadn't seen them enter, this was the only storefront that screamed Insane occultist inside. If the situation wasn't so serious, I would have taken time to do my eye-roll some justice.

It would have been nice to have prepared a little for whatever was inside the shop, but there was no time. Didn't matter in the end though, the rush I would get from plunging into the dangerous unknown is better than the false security of haphazard preparedness. My pulse quickened as the certainty of battle descended upon me.

I pulled on the door and leaped in.

The inside of the tattoo parlour looked like the love child of a gothic manor house and a tacky roadside museum. The dark damask-patterned wallpaper was plastered with hundreds of framed photos and a couple of gaudy mirrors.  The only light source was a long string of purpley-blue rope lights stapled up in the corner where the side walls met ceiling. It bathed the lower half of the room in eerie shadow.

Half walls separated four working spaces, a pair of bays on either side of the room. Two young men stood frozen, facing each other, standing beside the closest client chairs. Kamrin stood to my left, in between the front desk and a thoroughly hashed love seat. The red rings around her eyes had deepened into deep crimson circles. In the gap at the end of the room stood Scruffybeard. His bizarre motions had stopped. He flexed his arms and cracked his neck.

The welcome sign is not hung in the window, so you arrive unbidden. And I live here, in an apartment downstairs. That means you crossed my threshold. You've lost your power.

Melodrama is a sign of inflated ego, too much time alone, or both. This guy had it in spades, so I was betting both. Juvenile theatrics aside, he had already proven himself extremely dangerous.

Still, I couldn't resist playing with him a little. First of all, have you ever actually fought against someone who uses magic? Are you sure that's how it works? Second, What makes you think I'm coming at you with magic?

I crouched slightly, churning over in my mind various plans of attack, and considering what his might be. This was one hundred percent his turf, and he seemed adequately paranoid.

In that case, keep talking, normie. He spat the word normie like it was the dirtiest word to ever cross his lips. And, judging by his half-crazed-occult-biker look, he had said some profoundly foul things.

I scanned continuously between him and the three young people whom he held frozen in thrall. What had he done to ensnare them? How was he holding them still? Were they all victims, or willing participants? Were they really frozen, or just waiting for an opportunity to jump me? I wouldn't get any answers until I threw a rock into the proverbial hornet's nest. I took a step forward. Release the girl and we won't have a problem.

I won't have a problem as is. You, however, are about to get a whole bucket full of new troubles. His hand shot out in Kamrin's direction and his fingers snapped closed. He unzipped an imaginary zipper in the air.

Instantly, the temperature of the room dropped at least 20 degrees. The blues of the shadows deepened and crawled around edges. It would take years of layering wards and malicious enchantments to make a place have such an ominous effect.

A silvery thread appeared for a heartbeat, connecting Scruffybeard’s hand to Kamrin’s body. With his left hand and arm, the fledgling sorcerer began making unnatural movements, similar to the ones he had made in the park. They had seemed silly then, but now his gestures took on an air of malicious power.

It was certainly meant to terrify, but I was thrilled to my core. My heart raced and my breathing accelerated. This was an actual evil lair. And the man at the end of the room might very well turn out to be more than a one trick pony. I could practically taste the adrenaline pumping into my bloodstream.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a motion.

Kamrin's body shook with a ripple that ran from her shoulders on down to her ankles. She immediately began to whimper. Joss, stop this. I can't- Look out!

I saw the knife in her hand twitch and she lunged forward. It was the right kind of strike for the situation, but with uncertain execution. Like someone had read a knife fighting manual a dozen times, but never actually picked up a blade to make the motions.

I hopped back just in time to avoid being skewered.

She immediately adjusted her stance and swept the blade in an arc toward my face.

I shuffled and bobbed in one motion. If I had a beard, she would have trimmed it with this second strike. The third slash was over extended and went wide.

I took advantage of the opening and placed both my hands near her collar bone and pushed.

The sicko she called Joss let out an oof.

The girl stumbled backward and fell, hitting her head and shoulders on the loveseat. The knife clattered to the floor next to the door. She let out a short scream.

I glanced momentarily at the scruffy sorcerer, who now made a zipping up motion. Kamrin stiffened in her half-on-sofa position.

I straightened and faced Joss straight on. Release her.

He lowered his head a few degrees and smirked. Why should I? She wanted this. Just like these two fine young men.

She doesn't want it now. Release her.

It's too late. Bit by bit, she has bound herself to me. They all do. I give them a taste of power, and they give me the tiniest fraction of control in return.

I stepped forward. Let her go.

Like flaxen cords winding together to form a sturdy rope, she has given me her freedom. In fact, more than a rope, like a steel wire. She is mine now to do with as I please. The mystical chain is forged and sealed.

How many overwrought analogies are you going to make?

Fine, the time for talk has ended. I was merely opening a windows for you to flee, but I will now crush you like a bug.

They always seem to think that talking tough is going to scare me off, but I don't feel fear like other people. The meaner the opponent, the bigger the thrill. I knew that someday my attitude was going to get me killed, but without the thrills, there wasn't much to live for, anyway. Really? Is that the last one?

What?

I crouched a hint lower. Stupid analogy. With that, I sprang forward.

His eyes widened. By my second step, his shock was already waning. He snapped out with both hands, pointing one at each of the two young men, and made the unzipping motion.

I wondered for a heartbeat if I should have gone back for the knife on the floor. I wasn't keen on maiming teenagers, but it also seemed foolish to let myself be pummeled for my sense of fair play.

Joss did something with his hands and the two youths dove for me with superhuman speed.

I sprinted as fast as I could, but it was not enough. The two of them collided with me, and the three of us crashed onto the floor and skidded to a stop.

The next few moments were a fierce tangle of arms and legs as the three of us thrashed about on the floor. They weren't doing any real damage with their sloppy punches, but I couldn't get up to a good fighting position, either. Every time I'd pull myself up to my knees, one of them would wrap me up and pull me back down.

The boys had big muscles, sure. The product of fortunate genetics and youth sports. But I bet they had never done a full day's worth of manual labor.

I, on the other hand, had years now of daily training and vigorous living under my belt. Still, despite the fact that I was much stronger than either of them, I was having a difficult time escaping their iron grip. They were probably being magically compelled to use far more of their muscle strength than they could consciously access.

We wrestled across the floor and back. Elbows and knees struck flesh and floor. I got a really good smell of one of the youth's armpits, and an extreme closeup view of the tattoo on the bare shoulder of the other.

Joss slowly shuffled toward us, sweating in the unnaturally chill parlor, working hard at keeping control of his puppet thugs.

I twisted and rolled and fought against the magically-enhanced grapple. Despite the cold snap in the air, sweat poured out of my body. My shoulders burned with effort, and my abs shook with the strain. Raising up on my hands, I saw the sorcerer reach out with both hands and perform the zipping up motion.

Through the grunting and the shuffle, I could swear I heard the boy's muscles creak as they froze into place.

Joss was almost on top of me now and he raised his black leather boot to stomp on my face.

I punched up with my left, twisting and straining and finally pulling out of a frozen grip.

The sorcerer's boot grazed the side of my head.

For the next few moments, Joss did his best to stomp the life out of me as he chased me scrambling across the floor. I caught several kicks on my shoulders, side, and arms. Little explosions of pain erupted with each blow. All the while, he taunted me with colorful blasphemy.

My muscles ached from exertion and impact and my breath burned in my chest. Fully swept away in a haze of battle I managed to spin myself around and get my legs aimed at the ignoble puppeteer.

When he came in for his next pass, I kicked out with both feet and connected with his hip.

As he stumbled back into a stall’s half wall, I rolled over and sprang to my feet.

By this time, my smart-ass attitude had dried up. I was starting to get a bit concerned. Joss could run his puppets until their muscles ruptured and their hearts exploded. I was already breathing hard and shaking. If I didn't find a way to put him down, fast, I was toast.

He reeled from the collision with the half wall and retreated to the back of the room.

Kamrin moaned and mumbled something from where she lay.

I frantically looked around for some kind of weapon and spied a line of ink bottles on a shelf.

Joss made the unzipping motion again and the two boys convulsed for a moment and then sat up.

I snatched up one of the glass bottles and threw it at Joss. It pegged him in the chest, just above his left breast.

Kamrin chirped a shocked Ow! at the front of the store at the same time I would have thought Joss should have barked.

A tiny thrill of vindication crept up the back of my neck. The first blow landed always means you're actually in the fight, and not just a victim. Ink bottles weren't about to get the job done, though. I needed to get through the puppeteer’s bodyguards so I could get to work on the sorcerer's ribs and nose.

There was no time to plan. The closer boy raced in and dove for me.

I grabbed his wrist as I sidestepped the clumsy tackle, pulling him off balance. No amount of supernatural strength would keep him from falling.

I heard the youth crash into and shatter a mirror as I turned to meet the second attacker.

Joss's flowing threats and gutteral incantations were interrupted by a scream of pain.

A look of confusion washed over the other boy's face. His arms dropped a few inches.

I took advantage of the moment, closed the gap, and sidekicked him in the chest.

He tumbled backward into and then over a dividing wall.

At this point, I realized that the scream didn't come from the first youth, but from the sorcerer himself.

He still made his mystical gesticulations with his hands, but his face was strained, and he was sweating profusely. And his shoulder was bleeding.

His shoulder was bleeding?

That couldn't be right.

I glanced at the first youth, the one that had collided with the mirror. A large shard of glass protruded at a disturbing angle from his shoulder, but no blood flowed from the wound.

And then it hit me like a bucket of ice water. It was in his shoulder, sure, but not just anywhere, but in the tattoo with the strange runes. Kamrin had a similar one on her chest. The other kid almost certainly had one, too. Part of whatever spell Joss worked on these hapless kids used it to connect them.

The second youth was back on his feet now, his eyes wild. He stammered, Please, stop. Please.

It practically broke my heart. It didn't matter if he was talking to me, or to the sorcerer. Maybe he was talking to us both. He was caught up in a potent enchantment and he couldn't even control himself.

Of course, the boy was talking, so maybe Joss was losing his grip.

The boys took a step toward me, and I had a choice. Continue to try to plow through them, or retreat and find another way to stop Joss.

What's the matter? Joss said. Can't decide what to do? To get to me, you're going to have to hurt them. And they are innocent. Naive, yes. And tempted by promises of pleasure and power. But if you don't hurt them, and you leave now, well...

You promise to let them go or something? I don't believe it.

Oh, I promise to hurt them in ways you can't imagine. All of them. Your only chance of saving them is to break them. Enough so my control doesn't matter. He smirked. But you won't do that, because you're weak.

Anger boiled up inside me for a moment, but I managed to slow my breathing before tunnel vision locked in. After all, I couldn't lose my head. Those kids needed me, and while I wasn't afraid of death, I was not in a hurry to lose my life, either.

The tiny gears in my head began to turn. Guys like this Joss always lie. They can't help it. They are in thrall to the prince of lies. And then it hit me. There were always more options. The fledgling sorcerer was trying to force a bad choice on me. That was his lie.

I feinted forward.

Joss took the bait and both puppets dove to cut me off.

I reversed direction, sprinting for the back.

The two youths collided, and this time both made grunts of pain.

I hurdled the last half wall and landed near the still prone Kamrin. I scooped up the fallen knife, then dropped to my knees and skidded next to the girl's head. I raised the knife and prayed this would work.

Her eyes widened.

Look, your tattoo connects-

I know! Do it, hurry!

A cacophony of shouts and pounding feet shook the parlor's cold air.

I plunged the knife downward into the center of her strange tattoo, then tore it free as fast as I could.

My stomach dropped.

The knife was covered in blood. Her shirt had a new hole. But, most importantly, nothing spurted from the site I had stabbed. Other than the tattoo itself, there wasn’t even a mark on her skin.

Her body relaxed and slumped.

I turned just in time to see one of the young men's heads drop out of sight behind the divider wall. The other boy collapsed into a heap in the center aisle.

The fledgling sorcerer, who had played with dark powers in order to steal the agency of the innocent, gurgled a pained scream, clutched his bloody chest, fell to his knees, and then collapsed forward onto the unforgiving tile.

All three of the teenagers sighed protracted groans in unison. They were free.

The chill that had come over the room evaporated into muggy heat.

I helped Kamrin off the floor and onto the couch.

The two boys, as soon as they realized they were no longer under Joss's control, got up and stumbled aimlessly around the parlor floor. Maybe not aimlessly exactly, probably more indecisively. After all, their former puppetmaster lay in a pool of blood on one end and the guy they'd been fighting was on the other.

They needed to know the violence was over, that things could settle down now.

I straightened. You boys all right?

They stared at me for a good fifteen seconds, looked at each other, and turned and went out the back door without so much as a thank you. I'm pretty sure at least one of them was crying.

I realized at that point I was still holding the bloody knife. Probably not the best way to calm down two injured, scared teenage boys.

Fifteen minutes later, Kamrin's aunt and uncle met us in front of the store. I declined to get in with them. When they found out that I had plunged a knife into Kamrin's chest on a hunch, even a good hunch, I'd look a lot less like a hero. I wouldn't be surprised if I had lost my friend for life, but at least the girl was safe.

My hands shook, a result of exertion and waning adrenaline. I watched the minivan drive away and went back into the store. I needed to figure out a way to get the whole mess cleaned up so that it wouldn't come down on either the kids or me. I needed to get it done quickly, before the boys found the courage to tell the authorities. Finishing that, I needed to get out of town. It was going to be a long night.

No one wise ever said doing the right thing was easy.

___

END

More about Bryce can be found at BryceBeattie.com.

First Kiss, First Kill

by Beth Buck

Ifound out last night that my mom has legit magic powers. It was a Whole Thing, man.

So I was sitting there on my bed in the middle of the night and my mom was dressed in her ratty old gray flannel striped pajama pants and a t-shirt from a 5k race she did like four years ago, standing over me with a legit ball of flames suspended in the air above her left hand. That’s nothing compared to the metaphorical flames shooting out of her eyeballs right at me. Her fingers twitched because she was just aching to throw it at something and all I had to do is give her a reason.  

I risked a glance to my right and there was a human-shaped pile of ashes.

Mom, my voice squeaked out. You incinerated my girlfriend.

Don’t be silly, Stephen, she said. The way the veins in her forehead stood out told me with inhuman certainty that she was madder than I have ever seen her in my whole life. That thing was not a real girl and she was definitely not your friend. She dropped her hand and the ball of fire went out with a little floof noise. "She’ll be back. Get dressed, you’re going to help me replace the wards around the house. All three hundred and forty-six of them. Plus the extra seven in the shed out back."

I THINK I’VE ALWAYS known that my mom was weird.  She was born in the early 80s but I swear she’s a straight-up hippie right out of 1969. She grew her hair out down to her waist when I was four, and wears handkerchiefs over it that she tie-dyed herself. She even birthed my little brother in the bathtub at our house. In. The. Bathtub. We’re also all about Whole Wheat (yes, in capital letters) at my house and my mom talks about Twinkies as though they are the unholy spawn of an actual evil spirit.   The last time I got a cold, she brought out bits of her rock collection and placed them all around me and was all like, This is to support your heart and throat chakras. I’ll be out a bit later to help unblock the subconscious obstacles that are keeping you from your healing. Don’t forget to take chi-circulating breaths.

So yeah, my mom is slightly insane, but I thought all the chakra/chi stuff was just because she watched fantasy martial arts cartoons one too many times. I didn’t think she really believed in any of that stuff or that it really did anything.

Sometimes my friends would poke fun at how spacey she was, but it never bothered me much until I met Seraph.

Seraph MacKay. She moved into the neighborhood about a week ago. I remember the first time I saw her like it was yesterday. She came up to me just after fourth period when I was trying to remember my locker combination and she was all like, Hey.

She was the prettiest girl I’d ever seen. Her hair was perfectly straight and shiny, like...like licorice. No, that’s stupid. Like my dad’s obsidian knife. It seemed to kind of float around her like she was a model in a shampoo commercial. Her eyes were light green, and it was like she really saw me, you know? I don’t remember much about what clothes she was wearing that day, but I remember she definitely had some on.

I wasn’t sure at first she was talking to me, so I looked over my shoulder, but she was all like, Can you show me the way to Ms. Franklin’s Algebra class?

I tried to play it cool, so I pitched my voice just a little lower than usual and I was like, Yeah, sure, I can definitely help you with that.

She gave me this glowing smile with perfectly white, straight teeth and boom, that was it. I knew I was in love. Thanks. she said as she slipped her arm through mine. "I’m Seraph MacKay, and I want you to be my boyfriend."

Well, it’s not like I was going to say no to that. Most girls at my school tend to go for the guys who can lift a whole bale of hay with their pinky finger, or the guys with a shot at valedictorian who build laptops for fun. Or the guys who could do both. Girls don’t tend to pay much attention to skinny sophomores with a B- GPA.

So I said something kinda like, Well, It’s not like I’m going to say no to that. She threw back her head and laughed, and it sounded so amazing I thought I was going to die.

You’re so funny, she said. I like that. What was your name again?

I choked out, Steve.

That Seraph, she was really something. What were the odds she would be in four of my classes?  After our last class of the day she came up to me and said, "Thank you so much for all your help. She put her hand on my bicep and smiled at me again in a way that made me have trouble breathing. Are you busy after school?"

Actually my mom wanted me to babysit, I said. I’ve been babysitting a lot lately, because my Dad has been out of town for a while now and my mom says she needs me to help out. Dad typically has a couple of business trips a year, but this gig he’s on has been a little longer than usual. It’s been a bit of a strain, but I haven’t really minded at all until now.

As soon as I said babysitting, Seraph’s face fell and she stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. I hastily said, But I bet you could come over, too. I mean, If you want to.

Her eyes lit up. To your house? she asked. You’re inviting me to your house? Inside your house? She looked almost euphoric I almost forgot how to speak.

Um, yeah I guess? Do you want to come over to my house?

The fluttered her eyelashes and said, Yes, I definitely do, Stevie. Yes! A girl! In my house! I mean like a real girl, my annoying little sister does not count.

I live pretty close to the school so we just walked over. I can’t remember what we talked about but she took my hand and interlaced her fingers with mine, and I thought that was pretty fantastic.

I was feeling pretty great about myself and my apparent nascent manliness if I meant I could attract a girl as pretty as Seraph. But when my mom saw us walking up the path all those good feelings evaporated.

It was...bad. Like, I don’t want to go into all the details of the back-and-forth and whatever, but basically my mom was super rude the second the laid eyes on Seraph.

Mom was dressed to go out, wearing her nice clothes instead of her jeans, with her hair all nicely braided. She stood in front of the door, her arms crossed over her chest. She said stuff like, "Why is she here, and You are not going to bring that into the house."

And I was all like, Mom, you’re being so unfair! I kind of looked out of the corner of my eye at Seraph, hoping she was looking at me adoringly because of the way I was defending her honor. But instead she was looking daggers at my mom.

"You think this is about being fair?" Mom asked. We will talk about this more later. For now this little harpy princess is going to skedaddle off home and never come back.

I looked over at Seraph again. Her face was beet red and she was glaring daggers at my mom. You can’t tell me what to do, she said,