Omens Bite, page 5
There was a long, silent pause. Kirk’s hands fisted against the table. Why the hell hadn’t he thought to try to record some of that bizarre witch shit Hunter had done the night he helped those freaks take some sadness, or whatever, from Mercy? Then everyone would see that he was telling the truth.
Derek, who always had his back, cleared his throat and said, “It’s true. That stuff you were saying, and the, uh, crying part—definitely wasn’t you.”
“Right? That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys.” Kirk tossed him a tater tot, which he caught and shoved in his mouth.
Jarod nodded and spoke through a mouthful of pizza. “The Goode twins are weird. That’s for sure. I mean, hot, but weird.”
Dillon Sanders, who weighed in at an even three-fifty and was the top 2A linebacker in the state added, “Hunter isn’t that hot ’cause she dresses like a dude. Should be, like, against the law for a girl with a body like that to be a lesbo.”
Tiffany Wilson, the cheer captain they called Blow-Up Doll behind her back, smirked. “She doesn’t look like a dude today. Actually, she looks kinda skank-a-licious.” She jerked her perfect chin to their left.
Kirk glanced over to see a girl who had to be Hunter sitting across from pussy Jax Ashley—only this version of Hunter had her long, silky hair free. Her back was to him, but he could definitely see that her vintage tee was short enough to expose a nice length of flawless skin. As if she felt his gaze she swiveled around. She was holding a book that almost seemed to glow white against her black shirt, but he didn’t spend much time looking at just a book. His gaze focused on the deep V of the shirt and the perky globes of her partially exposed boobs. His hands twitched and he felt himself get semi-hard. He knew those boobs. They looked exactly like Mercy’s.
“Daaaaamn.” Derek breathed the word. “Think she changed teams?”
Even from a distance Hunter’s sneer of disgust was obvious before she turned back around. Kirk’s jaw set. He really hated that little bitch.
Jarod rubbed his hands together. “I say we send Tiffany over there to see for sure—and we all get to watch if she hasn’t changed teams.”
“That’d be a mistake,” Kirk said. “I’m telling you. The dyke is a witch, too. A major witch.” A sudden thought had him sitting up straighter. “You know those five weird trees around the town?”
All eyes returned to him. Derek shrugged. “You mean like the palms in the middle of the park?”
“And there’s that super strange tree that’s kinda by the school? The one that looks like it should be on an island or down South somewhere?” added Tiffany.
“Yeah, I mean those and three more. The trees are here because the Goodes are witches. They’re gates to someplace, or something like that.” Kirk paused, trying to remember exactly what Hunter had said that day at the football field when she tried to get him to be part of another freaky spell. “The point is—they’re real witches and they have real powers.”
“Powers?” Derek asked.
“Yeah, dude. How do you think they made me say that cornball shit to Mercy?” His voice turned mocking, “I love you—I need you—whaa, whaa!”
Derek slowly nodded his head. “I thought somethin’ was wrong. Like I said, no way are you gonna cry over a chick.”
“It’s not right,” agreed Jarod. “They can’t just randomly put spells on people. We should tell someone.”
Derek cracked his beefy knuckles. “Or do something.”
The anger that roiled in Kirk’s gut reduced to a simmer. It was working. His crew would listen to him—they always did.
“Hey, why don’t we leave it alone right now?” Heather’s voice grated against Kirk’s ears. “Their mom just died. Plus, have you ever seen them not eat lunch together? Well, I mean before you two started dating and she ate at our table for a while.”
“No, they’re joined at the fucking hip,” Kirk grumbled.
“Not now they aren’t,” Tiffany said as she dabbed a napkin against her glossy pink lips. “I saw them in the library earlier, and they didn’t even look at each other. So something is going down between them.”
“Could have something to do with the fact that Mercy’s bff’s dad just died,” said Heather.
An idea had Kirk’s lips tilting up in a satisfied smile that he quickly squelched. “Don’t you think that’s a bizarre coincidence? The fact that the freaks’ mom died—and then a night later Mr. Parrott was killed along with that old dude with the truck?”
Heather sipped her Coke as she shook her head. “Mr. Thompson died the same night as their mom.”
Kirk had to stop himself from telling her to shut the hell up. Instead he loosened his jaw just enough to grind out, “That pretty much makes my point. The deaths have something to do with the Goodes.”
The table went silent again, but this time it was an electric silence—like they were waiting for Kirk’s next pronouncement—as they shot glances from one twin to the other.
“Come to think of it—that is pretty crazy,” said Derek, whose perpetually flushed face had gone pale.
“Still, guys, their mom just died. I—I don’t feel great talking about them like this,” insisted Heather.
Kirk decided he’d pushed enough—for right then. He held his hands up innocently. “Hey, you’re right. It’s real bad about their mom—and Emily’s dad.” Kirk picked up another tot and tossed it at Derek. He was still staring at Mercy, so it hit him square on the forehead, which made the table laugh. “Dude, where are we partying after practice?” He smoothly changed the subject. It didn’t matter. He’d seen the fear begin to spark in his friends’ eyes and Kirk knew all he needed to do was wait, bide his time, and what he’d begun today would eventually blaze and burn.
After all, the twins deserved it. They were witches.
Five
The bleachers glinted in the late-afternoon sun as Hunter unzipped her backpack and pulled out her new goddess-given book. She flipped past the initial blank page to the fourth. The first three were simple: home protection, strengthening a lunar bond, and a spell to aid in restful sleep. She’d performed versions of each of these the first month she was allowed to practice magic on her own. By now, they weren’t only simple, but boring with a capital B. But the fourth spell … Hunter’s blue eyes traced its simple instructions and the spoken words written in an unfamiliar language for the millionth time since Amphitrite had gifted her with the deliciously otherworldly book destined to change her life. It had to. She was a witch. She must be fated for something more than afternoons spent watching football practice.
A gust of wind blew Hunter’s hair into her eyes and tickled her exposed middle. She sighed and tucked the charcoal-black waves into the collar of her ripped T-shirt. Being different was a lot harder than she’d expected. She snorted. The irony wasn’t lost on her. This was the only time in her life she had chosen to be different, yet she was now more like her peers than she’d ever been before.
Hunter opened her spellbook across her lap and ran her fingers along the title written in bold cursive on the top of the page. WANT. She blew out a puff of air and twisted her ring around her finger as she stared out at the football field. She didn’t really know what she wanted. Being on her own was a start, but it’s not like that and a new look immediately changed the world. A few days ago, she would have used her tarot to guide her and to help her heal the gates, but she’d left her cards behind the same way she had Tyr. The two felt intertwined. How could she use one without the help of the other?
Jax and the rest of the Mustang wide receivers ran drills down half the football field while the cheerleaders practiced a multitude of terrifying stunts on the other. Hunter winced as her best friend jumped seconds too late and missed another ball. He was never this off. Not that Hunter had ever watched him practice before, but she did make it to every game. Supporting Jax was way more important than her dislike of football, crowds, and cheering. She shielded her eyes and squinted at Jax.
“You’re kidding.” She breathed as she locked onto his crooked smile and followed his attention to the gaggle of cheerleaders taking a water break. Jax Ashley couldn’t stop grinning at Kylie York.
A high-pitched boo came from the cluster of girls huddled together a few rows below Hunter. The murder. At least, that’s what Hunter called the group of football player girlfriends who flitted through Goodeville High ready to peck the eyes out of anyone they deemed a threat.
Hunter clamped her mouth shut and rubbed her sweating palms together. There was a chance the murder hadn’t noticed her. She was traveling down a new path and didn’t want to be derailed by the girls who’d tormented her in middle school.
Hunter’s breaths were shallow, shoulders tensed as she studied the group’s perfectly curled hair and polished nails and—
One of the girls whipped around to face Hunter. Shayla’s long strands of beachy blond waves caught in her mauve lip gloss. “You really need to take control of your man.”
Hunter couldn’t swallow past the ball of nerves tightening her throat. She hadn’t gone unnoticed. She’d gotten caught in the murder’s territory.
“I mean, if Jax plays like this all summer, we’ll get slaughtered next year for sure.” Shayla tilted her head from side to side and examined Hunter with the beady-eyed intensity of a crow as she swept her hair free from her lips. “You don’t want him to be the reason another perfect season is ruined, do you?”
Two other girls turned, and then two more, and then three more, until they all stared at Hunter through their expertly lined eyes, ready to attack.
Hunter’s tongue stuck to the back of her teeth as she shook her head. “Jax’s isn’t my man.” She cleared her throat. “There’s nothing I can do about how he plays.”
Isabel swept up her brown curls and tied them into a perfect messy bun on her first try. “But you’ve, you know”—she waved her hand in Hunter’s direction—“changed and everything.”
Shayla adjusted the lacy straps of her Mustang-red tank top and giggled. “I mean, you’ll always be the same loser doormat person you’ve been since middle school, but at least you look half-decent now.”
Hunter pressed the fleshy cover of her book against her bare stomach.
Cara cocked her head and fiddled with the large gold hoop that dangled from her earlobe. “We figured you updated your style because you and Jax finally hooked up.” She tapped her long fingernail against her earring and shrugged. “But why he’d want to stick any part of his body even remotely close to yours is a mystery to me.”
Hunter stiffened. “You all think that I changed my hair and my clothes because I’m suddenly straight and with Jax?” Her cheeks burned as if the murder had clawed her face with their talons. “You have to know that’s not how sexuality works.”
Shayla pursed her mauve lips. “But you could, like, switch to bi or whatever to at least try to make yourself more interesting.”
Hunter’s fingertips tingled and the book heated against her belly. “Yeah, totally.” She snatched her backpack off the bleacher and stood. “I’m going to go, like, rub my vag all over Jax so he doesn’t fumble any more balls. Goooo Mustangs!”
The murder sucked in a collective breath and Hunter felt their gaze press against her back as she stuffed her book into her bag and stomped down the bleachers. Tears burned her eyes and the cold rock encasing her heart heated. Why did everyone have to test her? Sure, Goodeville wasn’t completely filled with people as ignorant as the murder, but anyone birdbrained or with hate to spew always seemed to be the loudest and always seemed to target her. Hunter was tired of being laughed at and bullied. It was time for things to change.
She yanked her backpack over her shoulders and clutched the railing that protected shouting fans from faceplanting onto the gravel track that bordered the field. If only they’d seen how she’d conquered Polyphemus. How she’d drawn down the power of the stars and melted the skin from his bones. Metal groaned under her grip. She hopped backward and shook out her hands as she stared down at the railing. Indentations the same fiery orange as the blood moon remained where her hands had been.
Footsteps clanged against the bleachers behind her, and Hunter whirled around, hiding the railing with her backpack.
“I know you think you’re royalty because some man named this town after your dirty dishwater family.” Shayla spat, her finger inches from Hunter’s face. “But you’re nothing.”
Fire raged inside Hunter’s belly. “Sarah Goode named this town Goodeville because of everything she did to—” Hunter grasped the metal railing and steadied herself. No more telling of family secrets.
Salt filled the air and a cold spray dusted Hunter’s arms. You don’t deserve this, Witch. Amphitrite’s voice snaked like a river between Hunter’s ears. You have the power to stop it.
Hunter’s gaze searched the stands for the brilliant blue goddess, but Amphitrite was nowhere.
“Are you finally realizing how pathetic you are?” A grin stretched Shayla’s lips as she crossed her arms over her chest and cemented her place between Hunter and the only set of stairs. “I don’t know which is more depressing, being a slut like your sister or an ugly dyke no one wants.”
Harness your power and use it, Witch.
Metal melted under Hunter’s grasp, molten pieces sizzling when they hit the ground. “Leave me alone, or else…”
“Or else what?” She scoffed.
You’ll show her why you should be revered and not reviled.
Hunter’s heart thrummed in her throat. Amphitrite was right. Hunter deserved better. But even if she knew how, she couldn’t harness her power here in front of everyone.
Another sharp boo from the stands, and Shayla’s attention snapped up to the murder who disapprovingly shook their heads at Jax and his most recent failed catch. Hunter glanced over her shoulder as Coach Jamison barked commands from the sidelines and Jax jogged, shoulders slumped, to collect the lone pigskin before he joined the rest of the players in a huddle.
Practice was almost over. Shayla, the rest of the murder, and the parents, students, and faculty all watching from the stands would descend and see what Hunter had done and know that she was a true witch who couldn’t control her gifts. She needed to get out of here, get under control.
She elbowed past the blonde, the sharp point of Hunter’s crescent ring catching on Shayla’s tank. The delicate rip of fabric was ice water through Hunter’s veins.
Shayla screamed and covered her exposed bra with her hands. “You ripped my fucking shirt, you bitch!”
The murder stood, their feathers flapping as they rushed down the bleachers.
“You gross, desperate cow!” Shayla cawed and rushed toward her group.
Hunter’s breaths were crashing ocean waves roaring through her thoughts as she hurried away from the bleachers. She would go to the parking lot and hide next to Jax’s car and never come to another practice again.
Don’t run, Witch. Amphitrite’s voice coated Hunter’s ears like oil. They need to learn their place.
Gravel dust billowed around Hunter’s boots as she dashed to the shuttered snack hut and pressed herself into its shadow while she again searched the bleachers and the field for her new goddess.
I don’t have to be in your presence to see you, Witch. Amphitrite’s laughter was the metallic shink of sharpening knives. As I told you, I am always watching.
Hunter sagged against the paneled side of the snack hut and wrung her trembling hands.
“Hey!”
Hunter yipped and clapped her palm over her mouth as she spun around to face the voice.
Kylie York stood in the sun-drenched gravel. Her Mustang red sports bra and shorts beamed like rose petals. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Hunter hooked her thumbs around the straps of her backpack and shook back her hair. “I’m not Mercy.”
“I know. Although, when you didn’t answer, I thought I might have messed that up.” Her smile tugged at the corners of her hazel eyes. “Glad to know I was wrong.” She cocked her head and her reddish blond braid slid off her shoulder. “Or right?” She shook her head. “Practice kicked my ass and now my brain is mush.”
Hunter didn’t know what to say. Had the murder sent Kylie to deliver a final blow?
“Looked like a lot of drama back there, but Shayla would probably shrivel up like a raisin if she wasn’t the center of attention.” The cheerleader adjusted the thick strap of her sports bra and scraped the toe of her white-and-red sneaker against the gravel. “Your backpack is unzipped, and you dropped this.” She held out her hand. The bubblegum-pink Lamy fountain pen stood out like a glowstick against Kylie’s sandy complexion. “That’s why I followed you.”
Hunter stepped into the sunlight and plucked the pen from Kylie’s outstretched hand. She smoothed her thumb over the scratch that marred the cap and smiled. “Mercy found this at the pawnshop. She got it for twenty-five dollars. The owner had no idea what he had.” Hunter’s cheeks heated and cooled just as quickly. Who cared about Mercy or fancy pens? She certainly didn’t. And neither did Kylie. Hunter folded her arms in front of her midriff, suddenly very aware of how bare it was.
“I’m more of a Montblanc girl.” Kylie twirled the end of her long braid. “Glitter and Glue has one of their amazing limited-edition fountain pens in the locked case by the register. I stare at it every time I’m in there.”
“Oh yeah!” Hunter lifted onto her toes. “The Moctezuma. I saw that last time I was in. It looks like an—”
“Atlatl!” they said in unison.
Kylie’s laughter was morning time and chickadee calls, sweet and light and everywhere. “I thought I was the only one who even knew how to say atlatl.” She freed her hair from its braid, and it fell against her shoulders in reddish blond waves.
