Page 40 of Rise of the Melody
Bonfire
After yet another argument with my aunt trying to get me to stay home and away from the MacCrays, Ron drove me to the mansion street where the mayor lived and pointed down a path between houses. I wasn’t allowed to ride my bike after dark, which I agreed with.
“That path will take you to the private beach.” Ron pointed. “Text me when you’re done and I’ll come pick you up.”
“I feel bad having you come back out,” I admitted. “I’ll call a taxi on my app.”
He chuckled. “We don’t have those driving services here.” Oh. How weird.
“Maybe someone from the party can take me then.”
He adjusted his Benn Shehan National Park trucker hat. “Don’t hesitate to call me. And don’t jump in a car with anyone who’s been drinking, no matter how ‘fine’ they say they are.”
“Yes, Sheriff.” I grinned because I found him so endearing. “Thank you.”
He nodded and I got out, opening the back door for CooShee, who’d had his big head sticking out of the window the whole ride. We walked down the path together, and I took note of my armor. My black jeans were slashed in several places. My boots were shining. My black Metallica shirt had a wide neck and showed one shoulder. My makeup was sharp. Kohl eyes and red lips. And my black hair was down with intricate braids throughout. Lastly, my phone was on and charged, set to full volume in case the mayor needed me.
I felt different walking up to this group knowing that I was part of something bigger. Something secret. And that I could do magic like them. I’d practiced more today, calling items to me from across the room, astonishing my aunt and myself. Now I was ready to see how fae-blooded and mystical people partied.
Smoke danced into the sky and the flames came into view as we approached the darkened beach. The sandy area was small, surrounded by rocky shores on either side. And, whoa…there were a lot more people than the coffee shop group. Someone played pop music on a speaker, and I saw a football fly through the air. Teague was throwing with a guy I didn’t recognize. Not as big as Teague. This guy was smaller and leaner.
“Lettyyyy!” Clare came running over in high, curly pigtails with a can of hard seltzer and hugged me. I hugged her back and then watched in amusement as she grabbed CooShee’s face and rubbed her nose to his, scratching his cheeks. He stood there and let her.
“CooShay! You cute boy! I just love you, yes I do.” OMG, was it my imagination or did his tail twitch like he was holding back a wag? Ha!
“Come on!” Clare linked her arm through mine and looked down. “Do you want to take off your boots?” I looked around and saw everyone was barefoot, so I took them off and dug my red-painted toes into the cool sand. I left my boots and backpack with my water and a sweatshirt by the rocks and joined Clare, who linked her arm with mine again. CooShee ran towards the water, making a group of kids scream and scramble away.
“Are Shani and Nora here?” I asked.
Clare pointed over at a cropping of rocks. I squinted to see the two girls sitting close together. It looked like they were cuddling with a blanket around their shoulders.
I thought about the little touches I’d seen them sharing at the café. “Are they…?”
“A thing? Oh, yeah,” Clare said with a giggle.
I smiled. “That’s so cute.”
“Nora’s parents don’t think so.”
“Uh-oh.” My stomach soured with worry.
“I don’t think they care that she’s a lesbian, but they really need her to carry on the bloodline. She’s the last of her mom’s line.”
“Oh, no. That sucks,” I said, feeling bad for all of them.
“Yeah…” We went quiet, watching everyone.
My eyes kept coasting over to Teague with no shirt on despite the chill in the early evening air. His back and pecs were really built for a teenager…wait. I stopped, wondering something.
“How old are you guys?” What if Teague was actually fifty or something?
Clare peered around. “Um, Declan is the youngest. The one throwing a ball with Teague. He’s sixteen. And I think the oldest is Mairi. She’s nineteen.”Okay, whew.She went on. “It’s funny because mystics in a community usually start reproducing around a hundred years old. They all have their kids around the same time, in groupings.” I thought about it and according to Mrs. Barclay, my mom had been born before 1853. Dang.
“A hundred is crazy,” I said. But Clare wasn’t paying attention now. She was staring across the fire at Mairi chatting with Chrystamos.
“What’s her deal?” I asked. “Are you close with her?”
We looked over at where Mairi was sitting on a log with a red cup. Chrystamos leaned over as if to whisper something to her and instead nuzzled into her neck, making her squirm and laugh, shoving him away. That boy was a shameless flirt.
