Wanda
Oh, good golly junior juice, I’m gonna die today …
I’ll say this for my brother: things are bound to get exciting when he’s around.
When my brother was in the eighth grade, he accused a boy in homeroom of being a homicidal freak. The thing is, the boy happened to be the mayor’s son. You could just imagine the hullabaloo surrounding that particular episode.
Never mind the fact that the boy did grow up to be married with the prerequisite mortgage, two-and-half kids … and ended up snapping during the last economic downturn, where he up and murdered his wife and kids by axing them while they slept. People conveniently forgot about the fact that Jasper made the prediction about Jonah Whitmore’s state of mind fifteen years before he went off the deep end.
I’m never quite sure now if my brother’s friends—and I’m using the term generously here—didn’t have something to do with it. The part about people forgetting Jasper’s accusation, I mean. After all, my brother is an empath who seemed to have no known limits to his powers yet. His friend Vince could look up my skirt and down my top without actually having to do so. I wouldn’t put anything past them …
And I’m saying it with love, mind you.
Currently I’m using the euphemism for swearing that my tennis instructors had drilled into me. Figures. Instead of my impressive accomplishments, all that flashed in my head was my summer at tennis camp when I was fifteen. Could be because that was when I first kissed a guy.
And a girl … but that's neither here nor there.
Anyway, if I get out of this alive, I am so going to wallop Vince upside his head with my escrima stick. Well, I could try anyway. I mean, the guy could move. We’re talking Jet Li-level moves here.
Okay, I love kung-fu movies. Sue me.
I recalled bitching to Jasper about my torn cashmere cardy. I mean, it’s a Donna Karan, for Pete’s sake! Vince shushed me to keep quiet. For some reason—don’t ask me why, maybe because he looked so damned sexy when he’s irate?—I actually found myself shushed.
For about ten minutes, anyway.
Okay, maybe I just wanted him to turn those dark blue eyes—so dark, they could pass as violet. Oooh boy, Wanda Amelia Ross, you have it bad!
But no amount of wondering how a five-foot-six guy could floor two men built like linebackers is gonna save me from psycho bitch trying to fry my well-earned-at-the-gym shapely ass!
The gout of flame she projected from her hands reminded me of that scene in Aliens where Ripley torched the entire alien nest. Except now, I’m the alien queen, and I don’t have any drones to fight for me. Pity, acid blood could be useful right about now. For me, at least. Pyro psycho already have too much edge over me.
I dove behind a row of PVC drums marked ‘waste’ and crab-walked back to avoid any nasty spillages. I can deal with torn clothing but splashing in icky muck is where I draw the line.
I made it with seconds to spare as the PVC drums started to melt before the pyromaniac’s onslaught. I was right: icky muck started spreading out. Worse, it’s bubbling from the intense heat. I almost gagged from the stench and took stock of my options. I had hurled one of my escrima sticks at pyromaniac, thinking to distract her. Unfortunately, they had a telepath with them and she—mind-reading bitch!—had alerted the fire-loving psycho. My escrima stick went up in a flash of fire before it even reached her.
Vince is tied up. Doesn’t look like a fair fight at first glance. Besides the two he had already floored, one opponent seemed to be nursing a broken arm, but two more are engaging him. No matter how good he seems, he’s bound to tire soon.
My brother is engaging the telepath in a psychic battle. They seemed frozen in place, neither moving nor flinching at the flickers of flame that had started to crawl up the barn. He had told me how it was like when the telepath attacked him—and me—almost a month ago. We discovered that it’s odd that the telepath could worm his thoughts in my head while Jasper couldn’t even raise the tiniest blip in my head … better do the supportive sister act then, I guess.
My hasty retreat had brought me towards the stairs leading to the second level of the barn. Pyro girl seemed to have lost interest in me, and is moving towards Vince. I noticed that her range is limited, the flaming gouts each five-feet long, roughly thirty-degree cone. Vince is at the far end of the large building, about a sixty feet away. As she’s walking almost leisurely towards him, she’s setting the floors on fire. Dumb bitch. What, running too much for you?
I hustled up the steps, spied a wrench that had been lying on the floor collecting rust and dust and scooped it up. I didn’t spare a single thought about what I’m going to do next. If one telepath could somehow get inside my head, so could another. I remembered that Jasper and the telepath were located a little distance below the gallery formed by the barn’s second level. I made a dash for it, hoping that the same mental barrier that had kept my brother away from inside my head allowed me the same protection against the telepath. I am almost reaching the gallery situated above them. Banisters broken and hanging by the nails. Good.
I picked up speed, gaining momentum and felt my left sole left the edge of the gallery as I made a leap to the telepath’s position, right below me and about six feet away from the edge of the gallery. If I somehow missed and dropped to my death, I am going to be SO pissed! was my last thought before my heels collided squarely with her face. Before the wet splat that subliminally told me I had basically smashed her nose, her goggle-eyed face and gaping mouth made me think of a blow-up doll.
Seriously, the things our mind come up with sometimes.
The telepath collapsed in a heap, landing me in a tangle of limbs. I was about to bring the wrench swinging to meet where I gauged her head was going to be when I realised she wasn’t moving.
“No need,” Jasper said. “She’s out.”
“Oh thank God!” I gusted out. “I wasn’t looking forward to another brain-freeze!”
“Come on,” my brother said, grabbing my arms and hoisting me up. “Vince looks like he could use our help.”
We turned towards Vince’s direction. Let’s just say our version of Jet Li didn’t exactly need help. Now, I pride myself on my self-control, but watching him drawing out what looks like a wickedly serrated blade from pyro girl’s eye socket almost made my knees buckle … I spared a quick glance at his other opponents. The jumble of shapes hinted at several broken limbs. Some in multiple places. And that’s when my knees decided to take a quick nap on me.
Oh God. What kind scary freaks have my brother been associating with …? I drew in large gulps of air. Having psychics around me is a novel experience, I guess. But I know my brother enough to know that this—this carnage!—wasn’t the first one he had witnessed.
“You okay, Wanda?” Vincent’s voice came to me, near my right shoulder. I jerked sharply when I felt his hand touched it.
“Stay away from me!” I growled at him. I had somehow found my feet, and having dropped to my knees didn’t loosen my grip on the rusty wrench. I pointed it at him, almost accusingly. “You,” I began to say but faltered. “You killed them!” I managed to get out, my mind still trying to come to grips with what had just happened. “Not just killed them, you mangled them!”
“It’s either them or us,” Vince shrugged, stating it matter-of-factly.
I almost hurled the wrench at him then. I wished I could discard the horrible tableau as flippantly as he did. I turned to Jasper.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” I asked him, turning it into an accusation.
Jasper looked away. For a brief moment before he turned, I almost could see an expression of pain etched in his face. Almost. But it was gone in a moment, so fleeting as if it was just my imagination. That’s my brother for you: stoic and inscrutable.
He exhaled slowly. “Yes.” He answered simply. “Twice, before you start asking.”
I swallowed. He continued, “Here, I think you should see why first, before I start with the stories and explanations.”
I moved away, looking for my purse that I had discarded in my haste. “Do I even want to know, or see?” I shot back at him. From the corner of my eye, I could see Vince wince slightly. Whatever, I hope it hurt.
I found my purse, lying forgotten almost by the doorway of the barn. I hoisted the straps so they end up crossing my chest diagonally, like a bandoleer. I remembered taking it off because I wanted to be unencumbered if there is going to be a tussle.
Be careful what you wish for, Wanda Amelia Ross, I thought darkly. You might just end up regretting it.
“I’m going to talk a walk out,” I announced loudly. “I need to … think,” I finished lamely.
The sharp crack of Jasper’s alarm-filled cry—“Wanda, duck!” —and the swift patter of footsteps behind me made me turn around. It was Vince running with a look of alarm mirroring my brother’s voice on his face. His wide-open dark blue eyes looked a bit vacant but there was no mistaking his intent: the guy is about to tackle me to the ground. I’m not usually prone to poetic moments, but with the angle of the setting sun hitting his face, I realised that Vincent it heart-throbbing handsome. Oh my, was the last thought that was going through my mind as he slammed into me, both of us dropping to the ground—I could almost hear a whizzing sound and three dull thuds impacting on the doorjamb where my head was earlier situated—and somehow managed to roll me away from the door and back inside the barn.
Jasper shouldered the door shut, and as the door slammed close I could see three six-inch long arrow-like projectiles embedded deep into the wood of the doorjamb. My brother dropped the bar into the cradle, effectively blocking the barn’s main entry.
“Oh God,” I almost moaned, getting up from where Vince had rolled me. Guy was all hands, I can tell you that. The sardonic look he threw confirmed my suspicions he managed to cop a feel. Ass. I turned towards Jasper and Vince. “Please don’t tell me there are more psycho psychics coming!”
Vince chuckled with black humour. I wished I still have my escrima stick or the wrench with me. One hit for that God-awful sense of humour. Another for feeling me up. I glared at Jasper.
My brother gave Vince a look that could’ve blistered paint off a wall then turned to me. “Not exactly,” he hedged.
“Meaning?” I asked, my voice and panic starting to rise.
“Spellweavers,” Vince murmured succinctly.
“Spellweavers?” I echoed, not liking the fact I sounded like a clueless damsel-in-distress.
“Witches,” Jasper replied by way of clarification.
“Witches,” I repeated dully.
“Battle-witches, to be exact,” Vince added, morbidly helpful. Oh God, I want to strangle him now.
“You’re not helping!” Jasper hissed at Vince.
“Battle-witches,” I groaned. “Anything else you might want to spring on me? I think I wouldn’t be surprised if you told me there was a nix living in the pond back at Gram’s cottage.”
Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised to find out if everything I’ve read from Grimm’s are true!
I’ll say this for my brother: things are bound to get exciting when he’s around.
