Chapter One
"This music sucks" I say to Kara as we make our way into Ruffio's. It might be Kesha’s latest attempt at a song, but who can really tell through all the noise. The smell of pepperoni and marinara assaults me as we weave through the crowed pizzeria toward our regular table. A bass-pounding auto-tune ballad fills the air as Kara plops down in the chair across from me. Yeah, it’s definitely Kesha.
"So what you gonna have?" She asks in her usual chirpy manner, though like always, she's already made the decision for me. "I was thinking we could split a slice of Hawaiian, and a meat lover's calzone."
"Yeah, whatever," I say half listening while my eyes scan the restaurant. Over the last few months, since Ruffio added an arcade room complete with both air hockey and ping-pong tables, this has become the place to be on Friday nights. Business is booming, though Kara and I have been coming here since we were kids. Which, at this point feels like it was about sixty years ago.
"It's crowded tonight,” I observe, twisting my head far enough that my neck pops.
"Looking for somebody to have your ginger babies?" Kara grins.
"Shut up," I say, smiling and running a hand through my flame kissed hair. "More like looking for a date for formal. Its two weeks away and I don't want to have to go stag again. Last time it was just me and Ricky Fuller lined up against the wall. It's embarrassing."
Girls are plentiful in Ruffio's tonight. Though most of them are either already on dates or circled by like-minded friends who talk about how they are 'so over' high school boys, which makes the pickings slim. Kara drums her fingers across the checkered tablecloth and stays pretty silent until the new dark haired waiter comes and takes our order. I'm almost completely lost in thought when she breaks the silence.
"Well... maybe we could go together."
"What?" I ask, sure I've misheard her.
“I don't have a date either and my mom is on my case about 'exploring the whole high school experience'," She puts air quotes over the last part and I can't help but grin. "I mean, I know I'm no Becky Demarco, but I think I hold my own."
"That was two weeks in eighth grade, are you ever going to let me live that down?" I argue in protest.
"She was a female wrestler. When you broke up with her she broke your nose.” Kara deadpans, her dark eyes flickering downward.
"Point taken, I doubt girls will ever really be my strong suit. Though, I did feel safe in her arms."
"I guess you're lucky you've got me then." A wide smile drapes her oval face and she stares at me a beat too long.
A few minutes pass before the waiter returns, setting the food in front of us. The smells intertwine into an irresistible aroma. Having not eaten lunch, I'm starving. I cut the calzone down the middle, divvy it up, and continue.
“Yeah, we should totally do that. We can play Drunk Panda Girl." I shove a hot forkful of calzone into my mouth.
“I looove Drunk Panda Girl.” Kara’s eyes light up.
"Bell!" The call sounds across the dining room. I instinctively duck and a smile dances on Kara's face. She knows I hate the nickname. Davis Etcher sits behind me, yelling through a mouthful of spaghetti. "Bell dude, did you hear? I got that space for my art show. I've got a whole collection ready to go next Thursday. It's titled 'Naval Futuristic Deco: Sea change'. You gotta come."
He spreads his hands wide, framing the empty space in front of him, pleased with himself. I give him a thumb’s up. He smiles and dives back into his mountain of pasta. And I wonder if it’s physically possible for his hair not be spiked in twelve different directions, as I’ve never seen it any other way.
"I can't believe somebody gave him a space.” I say, turning back to Kara.
"Please," she rolls her eyes. "He's been talking about that place on 4th & Asher forever. His dad basically designed the building. It's a whole..."
My cellphone's long beep, the one that signals I have a text, cuts into her words.
"Crap. It's Andrea Anders."
"From Channel 12? I thought your granddad delayed the book.” Kara says.
"He did, but now that's news too so she wants to do the interview anyway."
“Classy.” Kara responds, which is her blanket code for things she’d disagree with if she cared enough.
I've seen my grandfather maybe six times my whole life and none at all in the last eight years. Apparently though, those meetings were memorable for him because not long after they stopped he used me as the inspiration for what has become a wildly successful book series. Set in the tiny village in Ireland where my grandfather lives, it's the story of a boy who exists in a world of leprechauns, fairies, and hidden treasure. It's all based on the old Irish myths he used to tell me as a kid. The character is younger, but undeniably me. He looks like me, talks like me, he even has my name, Anthony. Not one to leave well enough alone though, my grandfather gave the character the dubious nickname ‘Bell’, a fact that has not escaped even one of my classmates, all of whom decided I should wear it too.
Now every time one of his books is about to be released reporters swamp me, all vying to ask me the same stale set of questions: “What does it feel like to have millions of kids read about you?” “Are you ever going to go back to Ireland?” “Do you believe in leprechauns?' That one's my favorite.
"Are you going to do it?" Kara asks, taking a sip of soda.
"I don't know, maybe. Usually once I give one of them an exclusive the whole thing dies down for a bit." I glance at my watch and see it's getting late. "I need to get home." I pull out a wad of cash and leave it on the table.
"Oh okay. Wanna split a cab?" Kara asks, standing herself.
"I think I want to walk."
"Your loss, firecrotch," she shoots.
"Shut up.” I say again, smiling and heading for the door. "I'll see you tomorrow loser." I wave as I hit the city streets.
Cool breezes lick my face as I make my way down the street, but that's Boston in the winter. My ears and nose chill first. I shiver as a particularly strong gust cuts through my navy fleece jacket. The fullness in my stomach makes me tired and I lament the fact that I still have to swing by the store. I bundle into myself to safeguard from the cold and my phone lets out another text indicating beep. No doubt from Andrea Anders or one of her brethren. I sigh a little and don't even bother checking it.
Three blocks from the store my feet slap heavy against the pavement, as I lose myself in a bout of anxiety over the interview. It's not that answering a few questions is a big deal; honestly at this point I have my answers so down pat that they could probably just run old stock footage and get the same result. But I don't feel like I should have to. My life shouldn't be held up to a spotlight every time some guy in Ireland puts pen to paper, even if that guy is my grandfather.
A sharp clicking, loud and echoing, pulls me from my thoughts. I spin around but find the street behind me empty. In fact, for the first time, I notice just how abandoned the whole block is. Stores, sidewalks, and stoplights stretch out before me, but no people. A dull ominous feeling begins to creep up inside. I begin to wish I had brought Kara along. Not that, at 5'2, she'd be a very intimidating presence, but it beats being alone. And besides, once she got that mouth of hers going, any advisory would have a whole other set of problems to deal with.
The clicking returns, louder this time. I stop in my tracks, and notice an odd smell that begins to fill the streets.
Tck.tck.tck
It shifts. Behind me, then in front of me, then behind me again echoing out all around me.
"Hello?" I say aloud.
Tck.tck.
"C’mon Kara, I’m too sleepy for this crap.” I try not to let the fear building up inside resonate in my voice.
"Is anybo-"
TCK.
My words are cut off by the ever-louder sound. Figuring that it's coming from an animal, I begin walking again. My stride grows quicker as I decide to forget about the store and go straight home, but the sound keeps following me.
tck, t
ck. TCK. TCK. TCK!
I break out into a full gallop and look around for any signs of life. New plan. The grocery is probably a block away and if I can make it there, I can duck inside and wait out whomever, or whatever it is that seems to be tailing me.
I hear it as though it's right on me, but there are no footsteps, no other noises anywhere. I can see the light of the store up ahead and I am almost there when something hits me and takes me to the ground. My shoulder slams against the pavement and knocks the wind out of me as I grapple with the unknown weight that is now pressing on me.
Trying to take stock of the situation, I see that my attacker is a man. He stinks of the sewers and rotting flesh with eyes of bright sickly yellow, but he is a man. Taller than me, and heavier than he looks, my attempts to remove him prove futile.
"Take whatever you want. I have money," I say, battling the man's hot rancid breath.
He smiles, revealing a set of yellowing teeth with sharped points, he lets out a laugh so loud and horrifying that I stop moving completely for a second. I can see his skin reflecting in the grocery store light, its’ unusual, with patterns of either scars or tattoos. I can't tell
"Not money," he hisses out, his first audible words. ”Blood.”
I panic, struggling against him, thrusting wildly. Adrenaline pulses through me, and I’m able to, not only push him off me, but toss him well into the air. I stand dizzily and begin to run, but he is quick. Moving faster than anything I have ever seen, he glides in front of me. His footsteps still eerie and silent, he makes no noise as he grabs my arm. His jagged nails cut the sleeve of my jacket and he flings me into an alley near the back of the store.
My body collides with a group of trashcans. I crumble onto the ground, dazed and helpless. He comes toward me, flashing his horrible teeth again. I see his hands as he settles over me. They, like his teeth, point into claws. He runs them across my cheek. I bristle as the sharp ends of his fingers slice into my face. Blood covers his hands and he lifts them to his mouth, licking them clean. My stomach turns into knots at the sight, and my dinner threatens to come back up, though I shudder to think what he might do with that.
He leans down to me, chomping his teeth and settling his face inches from mine.
"All for me, she says I can have it all.” He hisses. I feel him synchronizing his breath with mine, as I breathe out, he breathes in. I panic and hold my breath, which only seems to anger him even more.
I notice a deep fog begin to form around him and the smell from a few minutes ago returns, stronger than ever. I choke on the thick air. He doesn't notice it at first, lost in the stream of blood now pouring from my face. When he does however, he rears back and swings around frantically.
“Mistrunners,” he says through a clenched jaw.
The fog grows rapidly, threatening to cover everything and distorting my view. I can tell my attacker has moved away from me now. Squinting, I see he is a few feet from me. I consider making a break for it when I notice another form.
One, two, three people seemingly appear from nowhere as the fog dissipates. A girl with sandy hair and bright eyes the color of sea foam stands across from two other boys, one dark skinned with a mop of black curls, the other fair and tall with close cropped blond hair. My attacker panics. He hisses and strikes at the trio as they surround him.
If he is quick, they are quicker. If he is strong, they are unstoppable. Though the three look to be about my age, they move with the precision and teamwork of a group that has been working together for decades. The girl pulls a blade from the inside of her boot and throws it to the dark haired boy. He catches it and slices into the attacker, who screams and howls in pain. An awesomely strange glove, glowing and intricate appears on the blond boys’ right hand, seemingly from nowhere. He holds it out into the air in front of him and it begins to move in and around itself, almost as though it has a life of its own. Bright yellow light covers his hand and forearm and illuminates an area beneath the attacker's shirt.
"Found it,” he shouts, as the girl jumps into action. She springs directly for the glowing red circle in the man's shirt. She rips into the garment, revealing that he is wearing a flat silver disc hanging from a chain around his neck. He hisses as she grabs it. Pulling it off of him, the man screams and goes still with either pain or terror. He begins to glow and change. Before my eyes, the once six foot man shrinks into little more than three feet. Always strange looking, he now looks less than human. His face is scrunched, scarred, and ugly. His skin is burned and his hands and feet are cloven.
He shrieks, even his voice is different. Whatever fight was he had is gone now. He runs, his stubby legs sending him waddling toward the street. My safety apparently isn't good enough though, because the dark haired boy takes aim and throws the knife. It hits the shrunken creature in the head. I gasp, not only because I've just witnessed a murder, but because after he is struck, the creature's body begins to literally melt into the street, leaving behind what can only be described as steaming vomit.
They watch him disintegrate and then turn toward me, but I am already gone. Stumbling to my feet, I take off with my heart and head racing. I rush out into the road and toward home, ignoring the girl's voice echoing behind me.
"Bell, wait...”