Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Eight years later
There is a whoosh of magic that makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, and then the ward protecting the building fails spectacularly. Seconds later, there is a crash as the lobby door gets kicked in.
I sit up with a jolt and the crumbs stuck to my pyjama top spill around me. “Oh fiddle-dee-dee” comes out of my mouth instead of the “oh fucking hell” my brain was aiming for. Umm, yeah, thanks for that, Mum.
Bloody two weeks my arse. Eight years and counting and I still can’t swear.
In my head, it is all good, but as soon as I open my mouth, those sweet, naughty swear words transform into torturous embarrassment. The quirk has made me odd, and with the weird way words bubble up out of my mouth, people apologise if they say a bad word around me. Apologise to me as if I’m pious.
Honest to God, they think I’m the swear police.
How can I explain that my mum magically gagged me? And that the spell is so strong, and my magic is so weak, it can’t be broken?
I can’t.
There is no way I am going down that rabbit hole to explain my coven drama.
Oh, and I have this laugh—it makes me almost want to punch myself in the face.
It’s this small, fake titter, and I do this bizarre wave as if I am the Queen and I’m waving away their bad word.
Absolving them. Yeah, I look like a right dick.
A crumb still stuck to my top catches my eye.
Ooh. I hum the Hasbro commercial for the Hungry Hungry Hippos board game as I drop my chin to my chest and, without thinking, hoover it up.
It takes me a second. Eww. I wrinkle my nose and cough—that wasn’t toast. I prod my mouth with my tongue.
I don’t know what the hell that was. It was gritty and now it’s stuck unpleasantly to my teeth. Gross.
Mental note: do not eat strange random crap stuck to you.
Bang-crash-bang. “Crikey. Stealthy, the intruders are not.” It must be a heck of a fumble for me to hear them three floors up. And it is nothing to do with me. My neighbours are a rough lot and the building gets raided at least twice a month. It’s no biggie.
I yawn and lazily stretch, my wrists crack, my left shoulder pops, and my lower back aches.
Ow, I really need to get off this sofa and move around more.
My sedentary lifestyle during my time off isn’t doing me any good.
I flop back and roll onto my side. The zip of the cushion digs into my hip as I glance at the dusty exercise bike rammed into the far corner.
I will start an epic fitness regime… next week, I promise myself.
If I’m not here, vegging on the sofa, doing my version of a couch potato, I am working. I force myself to be manager Tuesday for over sixty hours a week. So, when I get home, I get to be lazy Tuesday in all her glory. I wiggle and point my toes. The evil cushion pokes at me again. Bloody thing.
My eyes drift to the floor as the ruckus downstairs continues. “Why can’t people behave themselves?” I grumble. It’s after ten at night. I shouldn’t have to listen to this. No, I should watch instead.
I lean down and, with my tongue clamped between my teeth, I slap my hand about on the floor—without looking—in search of the remote.
It dropped on the floor a while ago. I ignore the gritty texture of my carpet.
Gross. I need to clean under there at some point.
Aha, it’s disappeared halfway under the tiny blue sofa, so I hang upside down and coax it out with my fingers.
As I sit back up, I spin it around, and with a pew-pew-pew sound, I point it at the television and turn it on.
I’m so glad I don’t have to get up to find out what’s happening.
As I am so nosy, I love the cameras my sister Ava installed in the building.
But though I find watching random people fascinating, I have a rule: no camera time near bedtime, with a cut off at nine.
But I have Sunday and Monday off this week, so a few extra hours are no harm.
I click the app for the building’s security cameras. No one needs to know.
Cross-legged, with an excited shiver running down my spine, I stare at the TV.
The intruders are dressed in skin-tight black suits with stripes of colour along their shoulders and arms. Their faces are hidden behind full headgear.
I can’t help snorting. What the heck? They resemble evil Power Rangers.
I lean forward. How embarrassing. A bad Halloween costume crossed with a military scuba suit.
“Those tight suits have got to chafe.” I tilt my head to the side. No wonder they have their faces covered, as I can only imagine the ribbing they’d get from their friends if they were seen in those getups. Oh my, this is so much better than watching TV.
My eyes drift to my kitchen. I wonder if I will miss anything if I grab some popcorn…
“Flat eight, on the third floor. Harris, you take point,” says the gruff voice of the Red Power Ranger. My eyes widen and with a squeak of shock, I drop the remote.
What? That’s me. I live in flat eight. Uh-oh.
Whoever they are, they are coming for me.
“No-no-no.” Adrenaline gushes through my bloodstream as I scramble up from the sofa and dash around my tiny flat as if my bum is on fire.
What the heck do I need to do? What do I need?
What do I need? I screech to a halt, panting.
“Stop freaking out.” Helpful. When has telling yourself not to freak out ever bloody worked? I need to decide what to do first. My eyes flick frantically around the room as my hands shake. My fear and panic are making me dizzy.
I tuck a strand of violet hair away from my face.
You would think they’d at least knock rather than destroy everything in their wake.
How the hell did they find me? I have been so careful.
I nibble on my thumbnail. Heavy footsteps and muffled voices are now outside the door, and my heart skips a beat.
They are here. A flash of magic has me scrambling away.
The flat’s ward—done by my sister, Jodie, who’s one of the best witches that I know—groans.
Oh yeah, that’s a great sign. I stare at it with wide eyes.
I bounce from foot to foot and mutter, “This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.” What the heck did I do wrong? Whom have I pissed off? It can’t be about the old lady with the out-of-date fish. Even when she slapped me in the face with it, I gave her a refund.
I am way too young to die, I mentally wail.
With that fun thought, I dash towards the huge safe room, which takes up a vast amount of space in my tiny flat.
In living alone and away from the coven these past six years, this fancy safe room was something Dad had insisted on.
It is one of the best on the market. I cringe when the front door is hit with another blast of magic and the ward lets out another awful groan.
I thought this stupid, expensive thing was overkill.
I guess they weren’t wrong with all their warnings.
In the world I live in, magic is commonplace, with all manner of supernatural creatures: shifters, demons, witches, vampires, and an abundance of fae.
Our world is all about the strong against the weak.
It is all about power. If you’re not powerful or you don’t belong to a powerful group that can protect you, you’re as good as dead.
With a clank, I brace my feet and drag the heavy safe room door open.
This raid has got to be something to do with my dad. The next big war is brewing, and my dad is high in the Hunters Guild. The creature police. They oversee all the other councils.
I shimmy out of my red silk dressing gown and matching pyjamas, and then stuff my feet into my socks and wiggle into my beige thermal bottoms. Since I left home at eighteen, I am no longer protected by the coven. If someone wants to hurt my dad, well, I’m the easy target.
I cluck my tongue as I yank my sports bra on.
My nostrils flare with indignation. It makes me so mad.
Why can’t I be left alone? I haven’t done anything wrong.
My skin is a little damp from my panicked state, so instead of the bra just sliding down, somehow the fabric sticks to my back and then twists.
I blink in shock. Is it stuck? “Cheese-on-a-cracker,” I mumble. I tamper with the urge to scream as I attempt to tug the bra back up. I am bloody stuck. Ha. “Oh, this is bad. So-so-so bad.” I wildly eye my flat door and the groaning ward.
Oh no. Any second now they’re going to bust through the door and I’m going to be standing here, a sweaty mess with my arm stuck and my bra twisted, one boob in, one boob out.
Surprise.
I let out a wild, panicked laugh. What a heck of a surprise that would be!
Who could think this stuff up? This? This is a bloody nightmare…
This could only ever happen to me. One step at a time, Tuesday, I mentally berate myself.
Stop messing about and get your bloody bra on.
I wiggle and tug and just when I think I will have to get my feet involved, one good yank and I free myself from the sports bra.
Phew.
My arm throbs and with a quick glance down, I see I have a bright red line across my left breast and my head itches where I’ve pulled out a chunk of hair.
Good times. I grip the evil bra in my fist, glare at it and grind my teeth.
I take a steady breath and put the bra on again, slowly this time, giving it the respect it demands.
“There, okay, I got this.” Boobs sorted, I put my top on.
As the base layer slides down my torso, I hurry back into my living room and pull out the padded rucksack for my laptop.
I use my bubbling anger at the mercenaries to wash away my fear.
Frightened people do silly things and react without thinking.
I can’t let my fear rule me. I won’t. This isn’t my fault, and it isn’t Dad’s fault either.
No, it’s the fault of the wanker who sent the bloody Power Rangers to break down my door.
I continue to layer my clothing and top everything off with yellow hi-vis waterproof trousers, a matching coat, and chunky boots.
I catch myself in the mirror as I shuffle past and wiggle my eyebrows.
Ha, I resemble a bright yellow version of the Michelin man or the giant marshmallow guy off the classic film, Ghostbusters.
A big, luminous body with a tiny, violet head sticking out.
Sexy.
My door shudders and I hunch. Bloody mercenaries.
I dump my discarded pyjamas on my bed and swing the heavy door of the safe room closed.
With a blinding flash of magic that tickles my nose, the safe room protections engage.
As I stand outside the safe room, I nod my head with satisfaction.
The multi-layered ward crackles menacingly and the energy coming off it makes me shudder. That will keep them busy.
I smirk at the red sash of my silk dressing gown as it peeks out of the door. Oh, looky here, Tuesday has run into her safe room. Please spend hours trying to crack it. My lips twitch into a wide grin. It is perfect.
I shuffle back into my living room, and with a groan, drop to my knees.
“Daisy, come on, we have to go.” Thanks to the idiots breaking down the door, she’s hidden underneath the sofa.
With my cheek resting on the carpet, I can just see her if I squint.
Yellow eyes with vertical pupils glare at me, and her third eyelid tracks across the eye from side to side.
“Come on, zig-zag, let’s get somewhere safe.
” I hold my hand out and wiggle my fingers.
A low hiss comes from between a mouthful of razored teeth.
“Hey, don’t you hiss at me, young lady,” I reprimand in the perfect, if not creepy, imitation of my mother.
Her claws dig into the carpet, and she wiggles further back, out of arm’s reach.
“Look,” I huff. “I’m not the bad guy here.
The bad guys are currently smashing down Auntie Jodie’s ward.
Come on now, you scaly little beast, we have to go. ”
Daisy narrows her eyes and her nostrils flare.
She must smell my desperation as, after a long assessing blink and a put-out sigh, she finally crawls towards me.
I scoop her up into my arms and she puffs a smoky cloud of hot air into my already warm face.
Her tail wraps around my wrist, front claws dig into my collarbone, and she wiggles underneath my chin. “What a brave girl.”
I see a flash of red out of the corner of my eye. Blimey, the ward is struggling… Who the hell is out there? There must be a strong magic user. Someone I do not want to meet.
Oh no, the ward! I want to slap my forehead.
My sister is connected to it, and she’ll know that something is wrong.
Goosebumps rise underneath my ridiculous outfit and I swallow down a lump of nerves that wants to crawl up my throat.
I juggle Daisy into one arm and grab my phone.
I quickly send Jodie a text that I am okay and to keep away from my flat.
There are already a few messages that I’ve missed.
But with what is happening outside, I haven’t got time to read them.
I unzip my jacket and carefully pop Daisy inside.
“What a smart, clever girl,” I coo as she snuggles down into the specially made pocket across my chest. I can feel her heart beating with fear, so I take the time to rub the base of her horns and stroke her beautiful, soft scales.
“There, that’s better Daisy. You are safe. ”
Daisy was brown when we first met, her scales sore and flaky.
But after a few weeks and a fortune on lotions and potions, the little dragonette moulted and her true colour emerged.
Gold. Her scales are a bit tarnished on top and lighter on her abdomen, feet and underneath her tail. She is so beautiful.
My waterproof outfit rustles and squeaks as I hurry into the kitchen and grab a potion ball from a drawer.
It’s the size of a marble and it swirls with a goopy green liquid.
My sister Diane is the genius behind this spell.
It is a protective bubble for Daisy. It is designed to maintain oxygen, temperature and to cushion her from any blows.
This fabulous little potion will make sure she is one hundred percent protected while I get us to safety.
I stuff a good handful of dragonette mix into my coat to keep her occupied while I whisper the easy incantation. The protective bubble pops around her. Perfect.
Then I load up. I stuff random potions that my sisters keep giving me and things Daisy will need into my pockets. I finish with a few good handfuls of dragonette mix. If Daisy has food and her water dish, it is all good.
The ward flashes again. I am running out of time. What I can’t do is fight a dozen magical Power Rangers. I’m not a ninja. So it’s time to get the heck out of here.