Wicked Sense (24 page)

I was five; Mona was two. Total calls, letters, postcards, emails since then: zero.

Dad rarely speaks of her. We’re a happy family, but not a complete one. 

After I drive Mona home
, I wait in the living room until she changes her clothes. She comes back with her spunkiness restored.

“Playing the big brother role scares you to death, doesn’t it?” she asks.

“You have no idea,” I say
.

“It’s sweet of you, but you don’t need to worry.” She sits on the couch, and I see she brought some purple nail polish with her. She starts to work on her toes.

“Come on, Mona. What’s going on?”

She shakes her
head, but she doesn’t look up.
“It’s nothing, Drake. Let it go.”

“Is it boy stuff?”

She snorts, her eyes still down.

I wish she were
more comfortable talking to people. Mona saw a therapist a while ago, but left after two sessions—and nobody can make her return.

“I’m not into b
oys,” she
finally
says. “Yet,” she adds when she sees my expression.
She paints one of her toenails deliberately, and I wait. At last, she says, “I’m trying to figure some stuff out. Nothing serious.”

“But the reaction you had—”

“I was feeling down, and you scared the hell out of me. Everything came crashing,” she says, shrugging.
“Don’t worry, it’s not sex, drugs,
or
money problems. I won’t turn into a Lifetime movie, okay?”

What can I do? I have to trust her. “You know you can count on me, right?”

She finally raises her eyes. She smirks at me and cocks her head.

I feel stupid. “Okay, I don’t have any answers, but
at least
I can listen, right?”
I say, my arms
wide open
in an apologetic gesture.

She doesn’t answer. I
stand up,
write my new cell p
hone number on a piece of paper,
put
it
by her side on the cou
ch, and leave.
My clothes are still wet
, and I need
to shower.

Whe
n I’m almost at the stairs,
Mona says,
“Hey, Drake. The lighter. I threw it away, okay?”

I don’t turn. I just keep walking, smiling.

***

I drop by Boulder’s. Of course Sean is there too. I find them in the garage. They’re raiding the
fridge
. Sean has a Mountain Dew, but Boulder got a beer
. The
Mustang’s
radio is on, the announcer trying to sound hip and ten years younger.

“Hey,
D-Man!
Want a cold one?” Sean asks.

“No, my body is a temple,” I say.

Boulder snorts. “Yeah, yeah,
but the congregants are Doritos
,” he says, conveniently forgetting he usually asks
for two meals at
McD’s
. “Where ha
ve you been? You
missed
school again.”

“
Drake’s
got a dark side,” Sean says, faking an ominous voice.

“Do
es
n’t you
r
dad
get
calls from
the
school?” Boulder asks.

“He does, but I tell him I’m not feeling well.” I tap my scar.

Boulder and Sean nod admiringly. I
’ve
earned their respect.

“
I should ha
ve thought of that when I got mine,” Boulder says.

We all feel awkward, thinking the same thing. Boulder’s concussion reminds us of football. Boulder is sitting out his last season. It’ll cost him a college scholarship, probably. In the first game of the season,
he took exception
to
a tackle at his knees, and pushed and shoved the entire
o
-
l
ine
of the opposite team (our hated rivals, the Eagles). He
got suspended
, but he didn’t
stop there: he stole an Eagles
’
offensive lineman’s girlfriend. In his return game, a rematch, he t
ried to take on the entire team,
earning him a ban for the season and a civil lawsuit for brea
king the
Eagles
’
tight-end’s collarbone.

He also ended
our shot at
Regionals
.
Our own team shunned him
. Now he
hangs out with us full time.

And talking about it is taboo.

Sean breaks the stalemate. “You still driving the grandma car?” he asks, pointing his
soda can
in my Volvo’s direction.

I shrug.
I remember the front seats are still
damp
from all the wet people who sat on them today: Skye, Mona, me.

More
uncomfortable seconds pass. Our minds are still on Boulder’s deceased season.

Boulder himself rescues us. “Hey, I didn’t see
your
girl at school today either.” He squints. “What’s going on, D-Man?”

I look away. Sean laughs. “Is he blushing?” he asks.

The best answer is not answering. But Sean won’t let it go. “Nah, it’s probably nothing. You’re not interested, right, Drake? We only saw you with one girl.”

I take the bait. “That’s because I’m discreet.” No, it’s not. Maybe I’m just a
…
a
what? A
late bloomer
?

Boulder says, “Well, D-Man, if you’re not interested, please—
please
—let me know. I’d like to tap that.”

This gets me going.
I put my finger on Boulder’s chest, which looks ridiculous, because he’s like a foot taller
and another foot wider
than me.
“Hey
! Hands off. She’s mine,
”
I say.

Boulder and Sean
look at each other
for about two seconds, and then
they
laugh at the same time.
Radioactive-green soda
comes
out of Sean’s nose. Now I’m really blushing.
I step back.

“
Who knew there
wa
s a caveman inside Drake?
”
Boulder says. Sean high-fives him.

I look outside, to the rain falling on the street. Images of the make
-
out session at
U-Dub’s
parking lot come to my mind.

“No, I don’t mean it that way.
I just like her.
I think we might be soul mates,
”
I add. My brain
betrays me again
.

Sean
stares at me.
He’s
too stunned to even laugh.

Boulder puts his free hand on his forehead.
“You
sooo
need to get laid,” he says.

Drake was supposed to come to
Gemma’s
for our morning ritual, but I called him la
st night and
canceled
. Today I’ll
do a proper
ceremony
, something that I’ve been putting off since I ar
rived. I need more protection. T
hose improvisations I do every morning
help
,
but aren’t powerful enough.
The ideal spot would be the wilderness, away from the city vibe. But one of Seattle’s many green areas will have to do for now. 

I leave the house before dawn and
go
west to a bus stop on Aurora Ave. The early morning walk is invigorating. The streets aren’t busy: the businesses are closed, except for the coffee shops, and only a little traffic disturbs the chilly city. The bus leaves me a few blocks away from Ravenna Park.

With
my
hands tucked in my
jeans’
pockets the whole way, I arrive at the park.
I don’t see anyone around and
just keep walking
.
Bird
calls saturate the air.
The early fog brings
a primal quality that can only be helpful to my purposes
—the mist beckons
to me
.

At a creek
,
I discreetly fill a vial for my ritual.

A perfect spot is hard to find, but I settle
for
a small clearing behind the yellow-leafed trees. It’s far from the pathways. I need some privacy, even though I haven’t seen other people in the park yet.

K
neel
ing
o
n the dirt behind a thick hedge, I
line up my props on the ground. I
do
my breathing exercises, and when I feel relaxed enough, I
begin
the placement. The only moment I lose focus is when I ring my ceremonial bell
:
someone might hear it, even
from
a
distance.

In the dirt, I draw a
circle, then
a
pentagram
inside it
with my
ceremonial knife—my
athame
. It has a white handle with my family crest embossed in gold.
The preparation is part of the
ritual
, helping
the Sister
s transition
in
to a heightened state of consciousness.

Before touching each of my items, I rub a little bit of the
lake
water
from
the
vial on my hands. It doesn’t matter the water is not clean
, just that
it’s from a natural source.

I put a single candle in the middle
of my arrangement
and light it. I add my selected herbs
to
the
cast iron mortar:
wormwood and hyssop
.
Then it’s time for my
special gesture, unique to my ritual: I touch my
chest,
mouth
,
and forehead
slow
ly
with my left hand
. A long time ago, I realized this
combination
brings me peace and comfort, so I incorporated it
in
to my rituals.

After grinding the herbs with my iron
pestle, I light the mixture. The flames liberate
its
fumes, which I inhale.

I pray to the Goddess for protection. I ask for special shields for me and Drake. I beg for Mum’
s
health (even though I know London’s Mothers are performing
much more powerful
circles of prayers with the same intent).

M
y own magical energy
mesh
es
with the world’s magic and return
s
to me. The sensation, an elation unlike any other I’ve e
ver experienced,
over
takes me.

Judi, my teacher before my Daybreak, once described it to me as
“sensual
,
”
which
at the time
didn’t help my understanding of it at all. After she saw my
twelve
-year-old
,
clueless face, she settled on
,
“it’s like a hot shower after a
long
walk in
cold rain.”

It’s much more than that. It’s a high, not a drug high, but a universal, ancient energy flow that, for those brief moments, invades your body and permeates you, bringing clarity to the mind, peace to the heart,
confidence to the gut,
and
happiness to the soul.

I reach an enlightenment that I can’t explain or understand. Only it doesn’t last. I don’t care.

It’s t
he instant you’re one with the Goddess. It’s what I live for.

***

“Are you all right?” Priscilla says. “You missed school yesterday.”

“
I’m fine,” I lie, hoping my hair still hides my scar.
I thought about
wearing
a hat, but decided against it. I
t would
call
atte
ntion to the area, not divert
it. Besides, t
he Allure Charm should take care of it soon.