Witches & Werewolves: A Sacred Oath (12 page)

It’s easier to focus on the mundane, rather than to fully acknowledge the fact that I’m riding in a car with a person that I’m ninety-nine percent certain is a werewolf. I’m one-hundred percent certain that this whole thing is going to end badly, but I’m two-hundred percent attracted to him. Maybe even three-hundred percent.
 

I pull myself out of my obsessive, lustful moment, and I start to worry about Jen. I feel bad just leaving, but Noah’s waiting.
 

“We have to pick up my little brother from middle school,” I say.
 

“Ok,” Ethan says.
 

I try to call Jen again, still no answer, just straight to her voicemail. I leave a third worried message, telling her where I am and asking her to call me as soon as she can, so I can stop worrying. I hang up and realize that if I want to say something about last night to Ethan, I have less than five minutes to do so. I don’t think I need to be discussing werewolves and brutal murders in front of Noah.
 

“Thank you,” I say.

“No problem. You looked a little lost.”

“This isn’t like Jen to just disappear like this.”

“I hope she’s ok.”

“Me too. It seems like Haven Hill can be a dangerous place,” I say, hoping to elicit further discussion on the subject. I stare intently at his eyes, hoping for the slightest hint of acknowledgement, but his eyes give away nothing.
 

Then, slowly, carefully, he chooses his words. “There are times when it can be more dangerous than others.”

“Like last night?” I ask.

“We’re coming up on a full moon. Things always get a little more… uncertain, around the full moon. If you believe in that kind of thing?”

“After what I’ve seen, I think I believe in that kind of thing.”

He takes a long pause, and his face tenses. “You shouldn’t go walking in the woods at night by yourself.”

Is he admitting that he was with me in the woods last night? That he protected me?
 

“Why not?” I ask, trying to spur him on.
 

“Because it’s not safe,” he snaps. The veins in his forehead starting to bulge now.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he says, with his eyes burning into me.
 

His gruff, angry tone causes my throat to tighten up, and I can barely swallow. I look away, staring out of the passenger window, and I can feel my eyes moisten. Then, I get mad at myself for reacting so emotionally, but my tear ducts take this as a sign to produce even more unwanted lubrication.

“Good, I can look out for myself,” I say, pretending that a lash has fallen into my eye.

“No. You can’t. You don’t know what’s out there!”

“Why don’t you tell me?” I demand.

Ethan’s face tightens, and his eyes narrow. I can see he’s beyond frustrated.
 

I’m feeling saucy, so I decide to push it. “What’s out there?”

“Sometimes you have to worry about what’s inside, as well as out,” he says. He takes a deep breath and lets out a contemplative sigh. I watch dozens of thoughts race behind his eyes as he searches for what to say, and when to say it.

“We don’t have to play games,” I say, with a delicate breath.
 

He lets out a sad chuckle. “You think this is a game?”

“I know what you are.”

“You have no idea,” he says.

His warning only provokes my mind to spin further in a million different directions.
 

We pull into the circular drive of Noah’s middle school, and it seems our conversation is over for now. I roll down the window, calling to Noah, and he dashes to the car. I pull my seat forward, letting him climb into the backseat of the two door sports coupe.
 

I make the introductions. “Noah, Ethan. Ethan, Noah.”

“Sweet ride, bro,” Noah says.

I am utterly shocked. My jaw agape, my eyes wide like saucers. I stare at Noah in disbelief. This is the most he’s spoken since mom and dad died.
 

“Evelyn. Her name is Evelyn,” Ethan says.
 

I’m equally confounded by his response. “You named your car?”
 

“Doesn’t everybody?” Ethan says.

I stare at him perplexed. “You’re not one of those guys who has a name for
everything
, are you?” I say, raising an eyebrow.
 

Ethan tilts his head. “No, just cars and dogs,” he says, with a wink.

“You have a dog?” I ask.

“Yeah,” Ethan says.

“Like a dog, dog?” I say.

“Yes, I have a dog. Is there a problem with that?” Ethan says.

“That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?” I ask.
 

“Now, why would that be weird?” Ethan squirms and furrows his brow, taken aback by my line of questioning.
 

I have to admit, I’m kind of enjoying putting him off balance. “Oh, no reason,” I say.

“His name is Charlie, if you must know,” Ethan says.

“And do you take Charlie on walks through the park?” I ask, teasing.

“Charlie likes to run,” Ethan says.

“I guess he’s like a brother to you,” I say, holding back a grin.

Ethan’s face crinkles up, and he shoots me a frustrated look. Maybe I’m pushing my luck teasing him like this, but I can’t help it.

My phone rings, but I don’t recognize the number.

“Aren’t you going to answer that,” says Ethan.

I never answer calls I don’t recognize, but I have a nagging feeling that this call may be important.
 

“Hello?”

“Were are you?” Jen asks.
 

“I’m with Ethan, we just picked up Noah. Where are you?”

“You are not going to believe what happened,” Jen says.

“Where are you calling from?”

“Ugh, don’t even get me started. I’m in the principal’s office,” says Jen.

“What did you do?”

“Really? Just because I’m calling from the principal’s office you automatically think I’ve done something wrong?” Jen says.

“Um, yeah.”

“I am a model student, thank you very much,” says Jen.

“So what did you do?”

“Without admitting to anything, my car somehow seems to have left campus during fifth period, and it got t-boned on Fern Street,” Jen says.

“Right in front of the school?”

“Yes, didn’t you see all the shattered glass in the road?” she asks.

“I had other things on my mind,” I say.

 
“Anyway, I’m going to need a ride. Do you think that you and tall-dark-and-brooding can come and pick me up?” Jen asks.

“Yeah, we’ll be there in a minute.”

 
“By the way, you have no idea how hard it was to track down your number. It took an act of congress to get the office to release it to me, cause it’s not like I’ve got it memorized,” says Jen.

“Where’s your phone?” I ask.

“Right here. Mostly. The display is cracked in several pieces. It makes a really attractive farting sound when you power it up, but that’s about all it’s good for,” she says.

I hang up and ask Ethan if he minds swinging back to pickup Jen. He obliges and transforms himself into our personal chauffeur. Jen rambles non-stop from the moment we pick her up. I’ve never seen her talk so much, but I suspect it’s her way of dealing with the accident. Or, maybe she’s nervous to be in the car with Ethan. He can be very intimidating, and I suspect she knows exactly what he is. Her eyes dart about the interior, and she fidgets, constantly shifting in her seat.
 

“Are you sure you’re ok?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” Jen says.

“What were you doing, anyway?” I ask.

“Under the advice of counsel, I’m going to assert my fifth amendment privilege,” she says, wryly. That means it’s a private conversation for us.
 

“You’re so unoriginal Jen. I wreck my car, you wreck your car. Next thing you know, you’ll be dressing like me.”

She snorts. “Not likely, I actually have fashion sense.”

“Hey!” I protest.

“It’s ok. You are learning, under my expert tutelage, of course,” she says.

Then the full magnitude of the situation hits me—neither one of us have a car. “How are we getting to school now?”

“How are
you
getting to school? I’m suspended,” Jen says.
 

It doesn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, I think she kind of likes the idea of having a few days off.
 

Getting suspended never really sounded like an effective deterrent to me. It’s kind of like saying Hey, you screwed up, so, we’re going to give you a vacation. I know, it goes on your
permanent record
. And it affects your grades. But I have no doubt that Jen will use her powers of persuasion to minimize any damage, in that regard. I’ve noticed that people often fall under her spell, and she can get pretty much anyone to do whatever she wants.
 

My chest begins to sweat, and the uncomfortable churning in my stomach grows as my mind searches for a solution to my ride problem.
 
Ethan shakes his head. He know’s what’s coming next, but I’m not going to ask. I refuse to ask him for a ride. But if he wants to offer, that’s another story.

 
Jen finally settles down, leaning back into her seat. But her gaze is fixed into space—her eyes twitching back and forth, like she’s watching a replay of the accident in her mind. I recognize the look all too well.

“I just don’t get it? I’m sure I did everything right.” Jen says.

“Get what?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing,” she murmurs, broken from her trance. “I just loved that car. It was supposed to stay shiny and new forever, poor thing.”

“Is it fixable?” I ask.

Jen bursts into laughter. “Fixable? Oh no, I’m afraid Xander has gone to the great junkyard in the sky.”

“Xander?” I say.

“See, everyone names their car,” Ethan says.

I roll my eyes. “It can’t be worse than mine?”
 

“Honey, you know I’m not one to be outdone,” she says.

“How can it be worse?” I ask.

“Did they have to get the jaws-of-life to pry you out of the wreckage?” Jen asks.

 
My eyes flash to Ethan—he was my jaws of life. I look back to Jen. “What happened?”

 
“You know where the student lot exits on Fern? That’s where I got hit. The eighteen wheeler didn’t even have chance to tap his brakes when I pulled out in front of him. Xander and I ended up over on Perth Street, upside down, underneath the truck.”

“That’s over a block away!” I say.

“Took over two hours to get me out of the car,” Jen says.

I stare at her, slack-jawed.“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Not a scratch.” Jen smiles.
 

“What about the other guy?” I ask.

“He’s okay. His truck’s kinda messed up,” she says.

As Jen recounts the events, my stomach grows queasy, my chest tightens, and I begin to hyperventilate. I can see the twisted wreckage and almost feel the impact. I hear the shriek of metal collapsing and glass shattering, spraying razor sharp shards about the interior. I see the tangled car grind across the pavement underneath the wheels of the mammoth truck, showering golden sparks into the air. The smell of burned rubber and gasoline fill my nostrils, as if I’m actually there. I feel trapped—cocooned by the mangled sheet metal in a claustrophobic coffin. It’s as though Jen is letting me see into her mind.

“Are you ok?” Ethan asks me.

His voice snaps me out of the vision. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look green,” he says.

“I just need some air,” I say.

Ethan pulls over, and I burst out of the car, heaving for breath. I calm down after moment and regain my composure. The imagery in my mind was so vivid. It brought me back to my accident. Back to my parents accident.
 

Jen climbs out of the car and dashes to me. “Drama queen,” she says, playfully. “I’m the one who got in a wreck, remember.”

“I saw it. So real, like I was there.”

“Spooky,” she says, mocking me. “Maybe you can be the one to tell my parents that my car is scrap metal?”

I huff. “No thanks, I’ll leave that one to you.”
 

Aside from being a little frazzled, Jen looks amazing. Almost glowing. I can’t tell if she’s just in some weird state of post traumatic temporary euphoria, or extreme denial. I get it, sometimes surviving a near-death experience can be exhilarating. Empowering almost. Like giving the finger to death. In a way, it makes you feel invincible.
 

“How did you survive that?” I ask, bewildered.