DUN DUN DUNNNNN! I'm back! So here's my new story. I hope ya'll like it!
(Yes it is close to The Continueing. I still liked how I was going to take that story but since it no longer is in process since The Reckoning came out I decided to twist it to some new terms.)
DON'T OWN!
Special shout out to my new Beta reader! Thanks you...again.
Oh and also Cuzzie Josie, though all she did was listen to my ideas.... All well! Thanks for the extra ear to my over imaginative mind!
(Chloe's P.O.V.)
~ I woke up this morning
Feeling Alright
I've been fightin' for tomorrow
All my life
Yeah, I woke up this morning
Feeling Brand New
'Cause the dreams I've been dreaming
Have finally came true
It's a new day~
-Will I Am, It's A New Day.
I never realized how stressed I was until the steaming water hit me. Like a flip of a switch, I was from over the edge of my frying nerves to calm, nothingness. I felt great for the first time in the last couple of days. My head felt lighter and my shoulders hang slump. I didn't even know I'd even put the shampoo in my hair until I opened my eyes and it soaked in; stinging like hell. I reached for a washrag and in the process, knocking down all the bath shampoos and soaps. They timbered down with bangs and one monster soap bar hit my toe, causing more pain. So much for a relaxing shower.
I get the stuff out of my eyes and turn the knob off, tired of my awful luck, and step out, toweling myself dry. I pull on a small baby-blue sweater and tank top over my head and my favorite pair of jeans I recently bought; A size bigger in the hips than my last pair. I grin to myself, thinking about how my curves are finally getting in, especially the boob part, and then stopped because it was time to brush my hair.
I don't think I can do it. What if it doesn't come out?
...Oh God, what if it doesn't ever come out?
Don't be a Drama Queen, my inner voice scolded. Always the person quickest to criticize me...myself.
I sigh, take a quick breath, nod in determination, and lift my face to the mirror.
I think the shock showed more on my face than my smile. I looked alive! Not that drowned out Goth, dead in the face look I donned for nearly a month. I mean, my roots were showing, barely, but I couldn't take it any more and told Aunt Lauren, who gave me the shampoo for this. I finally get to see my blondness again, even though the color is a little bit darker than the original....
Just be glad your hair didn't fall out. I smiled at my snarky inner voice; half knowing it won't come true, other...not so much, and lift the brush to my head. Please don't fall out. Please don't fall out.
Closing my eyes I ran the brush through my hair once and forced myself to open one eye and look down at the brush. Okay, good so far.
Once the seemingly permanent knots were freed from my still attached hair (thank God), I decided what the hay? Might as well be looking good if I'm up this early.
So I start curling the now past my shoulder length hair with this curling iron. Fifteen minutes later, I put on a fair amount of make up on, my amulet with its now purple stone, look in the mirror, and smile a gloss strewn smile.
Yep. I decide quickly. This is the best it's gonna get.
I lean closer into the mirror to check out my try of smokey eyeshadow from a magazine tip I read on the way here. Not too bad.
God, I hope there aren't going to be alot of people.
Yeah, there will be and you know it. Who, besides Tori, would have enough makeup products in here to glam up an army?
Ignoring that statement, I unlock the bathroom door and step out into the open expanse of the third floor -girl's floor- and pinpoint my bedroom door; hard, red wood with a painted moral of colors swirling and curling together forming a vague image of a flower with a giant rainbow emerald in the middle. I mentally note myself to remember that that door is my door, not the blue, wavy cut one with gold and brown glittered hearts everywhere and a stylish beaded curtain. I look to the left of it to find Tori's bedroom, a rounded black door with emerald green jewels plastered on the frame work with a matching door knob and a shiny silver tornado on the front with multi-colored sparks coming off of it. Perfect for a queen, as she says.
I roll my eyes remembering Tori's comment, knowing she was only trying to keep up her bitchiness that, surprisingly, has been dwindling down.
I shut the white bathroom door, which has a crude picture of a bathroom on it that looks like it was drawn with crayons, and head toward the big square railing in the middle of the floor that is attached to two massive staircases that branch off at the second floor forming an upside down U, and start tiptoeing down it as quietly as possible, past the boy's floor, trying to find the kitchen.
Hmm, what shall I eat today? Since a good way to met people is not to have your face stuffed when you do.
God, don't remind me, I think to myself. Then think again, I really need to stop talking to myself.
We're at a safe house. Again. I hate it. We don't really have a choice though. We had to get out of New York, which is apparently, The Capital of Supernaturals alike everywhere.
I mean, we have too many groups after us, The Cabals, a Mega-Edison-Group-like compound intent on killing us once they get a chance; The Pack, capital T, capital P, who are now after my boyfriend who they think is a major threat to them; the media and FBI, who have my newly updated picture of me from the psycho Ward photos and who also think I'm a kidnap victim thanks to my boyfriend's previous out bursts.
They were all too much for my aunt and Kit, especially now that they have four teenagers, two that are a couple who are genetically modified not only by their genes but also, they fear, by their hormones as well. Not to mention two hybrid half-siblings with a mutual hatred for each other and they don't even know they're related. Yeah, again, too much to handle.
Though me and Derek do handle ourselves, nothing has gone past first base. Though they still fear, we are just teenagers. God, give us a break.
Anyway, so after Kit happily told us the news (He had walked through the door and threw suitcases at us while we were watching The Sixth Sense, ironically enough). The news he told us was that he had found a permanent safe living quarters, since he thought we were tired of living in hotels, which we were.
We packed up our bags and started on a three day car ride to Michigan. To a refuge area. Where it's supposedly safe.
Never again will I ride in a car that long with Simon and Tori having to sit together in the middle row of the van while Kit tried to make conversation with both of them. Can you say awkward?
Though the ride with my boyfriend in the back was fun, especially when you have two sets of headphones for your iPod so you can drown out sibling bickering and way too formal adult talk and your boyfriend is an excellent pillow and space heater, perfect to curl up to, sleep on, listen to his ragged breathing and heart beat as he softly sings "Wake Up Sleepy Jean" to you....
I pause on the bottom step of the stairs, smiling at nothing and thinking about my boyfriend, Derek Souza. I still haven't officially gotten use to the new terms of our relationship yet, so for now I just call him my boyfriend. Well, at least in my head I do. Though I don't think he would mind much me calling him that out loud. My grin grew wider.
We arrived here last night at like twelve o'clock in the morning at a front gate that seemed to rap around darkness. It was an old gate, like Victorian era old, standing 10 feet in the air with rusted bars and spikes and that went and cut off into the snow-covered forest around us. A big swirly R on a giant golden plague was placed on the front bars of the opening, beautiful and shiny as it glistened in the snow falling night-light. Over all, it was impressive.
Derek sniffed the place like a bloodhound. Kit and Simon went out after him, Kit talking into a non-traceable cell phone while Simon searched the opposite side were Derek was looking, trying out his new spell that his dad taught him, a trick that turns your hands into flashlights, orbs of light illuminating from his palms. The rest of us -the girls- were told to stay in the car. Kit snapped his phone shut a few minutes later.
Out of nowhere then, the gate seemed to glow, light, light blue energy seemed to steam off the gate and then roll up into the sky, forming a misty dome barrier above the trees and whole area inside the gate that went on forever, becoming brighter and brighter until a super nova flash formed, the giant R on the door the brightest. Then the light cleared and I could see again, the gate was opened and I could see a long driveway inside.
"Whoa," Simon muttered, blinking rapidly.
After all that, the ride to the house seemed kind of short all though the road was fairly long. We were all wide-awake then after that whole flash thingy. No one really wanted to be surprised again, especially my boyfriend.
The house, well more like a mansion, was, like the gate, extraordinary. It stood three stories high and seemed to have a gazebo attached to the very top of it, off centered, a little green house on the other side. Also like the gate it was Victorian era styled. Colored in different shades of blues and of blacks, gray and white trimmings and moldings all around, on the doors and windows and on all three of the rap around porches on each floor. The windows were all different shapes and sizes, one as big as the wall, another circular like a boat window, some even squiggly patterns like the inside of a lava lamp. And flowers! Flowers and shrubbery and small trees everywhere, blooming. Some dark red roses and lilies trapped half of the house side, climbing as if toward the sky. Wind chimes blew softly in the snow breeze, making eerily haunting noises in the night. The house was beautiful, yet hauntingly unnatural at the same time. It was perfect.
Derek helped me out of the van, for a moment carrying me bridle style, at least, until Aunt Lauren saw us and gave me that look. But he still insisted taking his and my luggage inside through the huge dark hard wood stained door with an expensive doorknocker the size of my head shaped like an upside down crescent moon.
To my understanding, this place has been here for years. Supposedly the Supernatural government back in the day formed this place to help foreign Supernaturals get used to the new area and to continue to live their supernatural ways or whatever; Derek told me the details. But after the Civil War, not only humans but also Supernaturals fought for their freedom and a new government, the place was thought to be destroyed by a gang of redneck warlocks.
Or, so they thought. Turns out, Mr. Reddens, the guy that owns the place's, great-great-grandfather, had actually taken the house and the other people that lived here and hid them away with an ancient spell and told the new Supernatural Government that the enemy destroyed it. No one other than a selected few Supernaturals know about this place and Kit is definitely certain that this place is safe. For sure.
Derek says he believes also, and I don't know for certain, but I kinda do too. Shocker, right?
Anyway, after caring the luggage through the house, we were greeted by two people. One was a woman about my aunt's age, tall and willowy, with thick, curly and graying rust colored hair wearing a nightgown and robe, the candle in her hand the only source of lighting in the huge front room we were in. The other was an old man, about my grandfather's age, maybe older. He sat in a stainless steal wheelchair in a pair of pajama bottoms and a red coat, his hands shaking and sweat rolling down his face and into his long white beard, despite the ice cold weather. Although he seemed to be just barely there, there was this twinkle in his eyes and his dried old lips turned into a halfway smile that told you other wise.
Kit and Aunt Lauren -followed by Simon and Tori- stepped into the room then, looking as tired and as strung out as they probably were. Kit took one look at them and dropped his bags respectfully and introduced us, though I'm sure they probably had known about us if we were staying here.
The woman smiled at Kit and the rest of us while the old man kept his eyes on Kit, and if I'm not mistaken, on Simon as intently as well. When their turn came, the woman said she was Connie Croom, a Witch and high school chemistry teacher. I thought that was ironic for a Witch. You know, all the potions and stuff. Simon says only rare Witches still do that and it's also very offensive to them to assume that and all. Though like Socercers,like Simon, cares. What with the whole never ending feud between the two speices. Prejudice is everywhere!
The old man was well; Mr. Reddens himself, an elder Warlock. Kit and Aunt Lauren shook their hands furiously. Aunt Lauren halfway because she was shaking so bad from the cold, Kit like he was meeting a hero or something.
After that we were lead to our rooms, Derek holding my hand the entire time and we almost nearly snuck a kiss in when none of the adults were watching, but Simon jerked him in the ribs hard, making Derek grunt loud enough that the adults noticed. Simon winked at me with a sly smile on his face, as he and Derek were lead to their opposite rooms that had matching twin green doors; well I thought they were, anyway. When I looked at it again after they shut the doors and smiling at Derek, one was forest green with a shaded black picture of a forest and full moon in the middle, the other white with different shades of green all around in small doodles that covered the entire door, top to bottom. My eyes must have been really messed up.
I'm glad Simon and I got over the whole awkwardness thing. He's my best friend now, next to Derek, even better than my old girlfriends. He jokes with Derek and me now about our relationship, and when he can, helps us sneak around, like kisses and dates and stuff. At least, when he's feeling generous he does.
After I'm lead to my door and Tori hers, we nod to each other and to the adults' goodnight and go in our rooms.
My room was breath taking, as big as my room back in the olden days. The walls were the color I always wanted my room to be, baby blue, and the high queen size bed was covered in a comforter with gray and white strips across it and black and blue outlined birds outstretched in mid-flight with artful paint splatters thrown in. A huge window sat behind it, black curtains pushed to sides. Snow embedded into every frame of the window, glistening in the light of the three huge white candles on my black dresser to the left. A similar vanity and closet to the right. I crossed the marble white and black swirled floor to my bed, thinking it's all a dream.
Then I woke up at six o'clock in the morning, realized it wasn't a dream, and couldn't go back asleep. So instead, I decide to lie there. Then with a panic, remembered how wrecked I probably looked and that with Tori on the same floor and who knows how many other people, I seriously decided to start getting ready.
So now forty minutes later, here I am showered, blond again; make up wearing, in one of my favorite outfits, hair slightly curled, ready to face people I barely know. Sounds fun, right?
Just, God, please help me not raise some poor person's dog.I step off of the stairs and look into the big open area were we came in last night, and actually see it now since there is more candle light than just one stick. I spin around on the hard marble golden floor, looking up at the cut in the ceiling of the railings connected to the stairs. The room was alight with candles in little square holes in the white stone walls and two massive ones by the giant door and bottoms of the steps. Amazing I didn't catch on fire.
A giant red curtain hangs around the room, filling in gaps that weren't where the candles were. A couple of stands stood against the walls, holding vases or high in dollar knick knacks. I stopped spinning and then panicked for a minute when I saw two doors.
Which one do I chose?
Right then, I am hit with something so wonderful and so delicious, I have to blink and shake my head to think straight.
What is that? Oh my God! That smells good!
I close my eyes while I continue to sniff the smell, my feet turning to the right from were I was standing, my back to the stairs. I walk dreamily, my steps delicate and silent as it seems that I'm floating toward the smell like you see in cartoons. I'm that attracted to it; my mouth is watering, being pulled by an invisible string.
I open my eyes and find myself in the dining room, I'm guessing. There's this huge black table in the middle of the room, stretching from wall to wall, which the expanse of the room is wide enough that the table seems that it could seat an army.
Maybe I was right about that whole enough supply to glam up an army thing....
Black chairs that look like thrones with velvet red cushions and lion legs are set bunched together but yet perfectly apart a good distance. White china dishes with gold laced around the edges sit in front of the chairs, along with forks, spoons, knives, and whine glasses. White candles like the ones from my room are placed about every three feet apart from the beautiful rose bouquet center piece in the middle of the table, a long narrow gold cloth under it stretching with the table.
The ceiling is painted elaborately with swirly and squiggly black and gold designs interloping, forming a circle around a large crystal covered chandelier, also alight with many small candles.
Why are there so many candles? I know they have electricity; the bathroom had light bulbs and a working power outlet.
Dismissing my question quickly though, because I know I don't know the answer and it would be a waste of time figuring it out, I keep on walking past the chairs toward the smell and find myself face to face to a pair of swinging doors.
I pause and listen through the door to the faint sound of music -Lady Antebellum- singing smoothly through the cracks of the doors. My eyebrows crinkle and I push the door through and find myself looking at the kitchen.
It was nice like the rest of the house; smooth and polished, but not Victorian era. It was modernized and European styled with double stoves and a triple fridge, if that's even possible. The western wall of the kitchen was just windows and glass door, the eastern side wall lined with shelves and shelves of snacks, spices, herbs, veggies, and fruit. An island table top complete with a bar with golden marble swirled with pearl to match the floor was planted firm in the middle of the room, rapping around to join the side of one stove that was overloaded with pans steaming with delicious smells.
I was staring at the French toast and hash browns cooking intently so, that I didn't even realize there was actually someone cooking the food until that person yelped in surprise.
"Oh my, you scared me more than a porcupine sittin' on a whoopee cushion!" A feminine voice said in a very southern ascent.
I blinked away from the food and turned toward the voice. A tall girl with tanned skin who about Tori's age with long, medium dark brown hair and gray eyes stared at me with an amused expression on her pretty face. She wore a white elbow length button-up shirt unbuttoned with a dark blue tank top underneath and tight, form fitting jeans with a tied black apron around her delicately curved waist. A small silver chain necklace with a ring through it hung around her neck as she fingered it, her other hand clutching a pepper shaker. Her glistening white smile widened as she studied me, probably as intently as I was her, dimples forming under her high cheek bones. I blink at her then, realizing she was waiting for me to say something, and idiot me just stood there gaping at her.
"Oh. U-um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you, I just, u-uh, wanted to grab something to eat." I shift my weight to my other foot and try to give her a smile. It turned out to be more like a grimace.
"Oh, don't worry, hun." She smiles at me bigger, her cheeks forcing her long lashed eyes into slits.
She turns back toward the stove to where she adds some pepper to the scrambled eggs. "
I like a good scare now and then. You got me good. I thought I was the only person that gets up t'is early in the mornin'. " She glances back at me and waves her hand to one of the high island table chairs.
Death trap, I think, but stroll over to it and hesitantly hose myself into the seat. Not gracefully I might add. My legs were flying everywhere and my knees are gonna have bruises where I hit the sides of the island. Stupid shortness.
I cross my arms around my chest to try to form some kind dignity and look at the food in front of her distantly as I speak softly and answer her statement. "Well, I usually don't get up this early, either. But lately with the trip and-"
She cuts me off quickly, excitement in her voice like she just figured out the million dollar question, and turns. "Oh, yeah! That's right! Your with that new group that came in last night. I was just wonderin' and wonderin' who ya was. But I didn't want to be rude or anything and ask if I was suppose to know who ya were!" She smiles at me brightly again, but then, as a thought passes her mind, stops abruptly. "Oh, darn it! I didn't even tell ya who I was!"
She wipes her flour dirtied hands on her apron and reaches out her hand to me, a silver tennis bracelet with bell charms clanking together.
"Forgive me. My names, Twila. Twila Naaz."
"Chloe Saunders."
I reach out toward her sturdy looking long fingers with my nimble short ones and shake her hand. I was expecting to feel her hands warm from how close she is from the stove and oven, but surprisingly her palms are cold, like the snow falling outside the giant window cold. Ice cold.
A shiver runs up my back, prickling all my hairs up to my scalp, my teeth chattering loudly. Twila smiles apologetically and moves her hand away quickly, resting it against the counter top.
"Sorry," she says. "I can't control the temperature thing."
I frown at her, confused.
Her eyes fog over with some distant emotion. "They call me a Li-lix Half Demon. I can supposedly control the weather. Or that's what Mr. Redden says I can do, anyway. I don't really know though, all that ever happens to me is that whatever the weather is outside, temperature wise, is what my body heat forms." She smiles then, though the emotion in her eyes is slightly still there, "Weird huh?"
I muster up a smile like hers, "Not really. I've seen worse." I try to down play her confession, switching where the sympathy is going.
"Really?" She says, curiosity twisted in her words. "What are you?" A pause, a slight blush. "I mean, you don't have to tell me I was just wonderin' what it would-. Look at me babblin' again. I told myself not to do that, and look at me now, babblin' like a baboon. I really-."
She takes one look at me and the blush brightens on her cheeks. "Sorry. Do ya mind tellin' me what ya are?"
I smile at her, amused at her babbling. Then remembered why she was babbling. I really need to pay more attention.
I duck my head to the side, braking eyes contact. "Well, I'm a-."Right then I was cut off by the door on the eastern wall slamming open, sending icy air though the room with it. A big bulky figure stood in the doorway carrying a basket. I yelp in surprise, falling backwards in the chair with a thud as I hit the hard marble floor.
Twila came running to help me, shoving the chair up in place. Once she lifted me up, she looks over at the figure and starts yelling at him.
"Logan did ya have to come in so quietly! You nearly gave her a concussion!"
The figure-Logan sets the basket down on the island and takes his hat and hood off. He looks up and smiles at me, a nice big white toothy smile that gleamed in the stove light. He has shaggy brownish yet blond in some places hair and deep chocolate brown eyes. And he was TALL. Like Derek tall. And I'm beating if he didn't have so much clothing on I would say he had the almost the same muscle form too.
"Sorry, Darlin'. I didn't mean to scare ya or put a bump on your noggin'," He says with a big twine of a southern ascent. He holds his hand out to me; smile still sketched on his face. I reach out and shake his hand, my other hand resting at the back of my neck, shining my grimace smile.
"Don't need no welcomin' after that jump start ya gave her heart," Twila mutters under her breath.
Logan lets go of my hand and crosses his arms looking at Twila, smile widening by the second, eyes softening into relaxed amusement.
"Now, Twila, I already told the girl I was sorry," He says in a stern voice, trying to hide the laughter that tings his charade.
"Her name isn't the girl," Twila speaks in mock irritation, trying to hide a smile as she looks at him with narrowed eyes.
Logan smiles and looks at me. "Then what is the girl's name?" He asks, keeping up the emphasis.
I return the smile, a real one this time. "Her name's Chloe." I say.
"Well, I'm honored to meet ya Chloe." He says and does a mock bow. "I'd be much obliged if you please don't press charges against that awful fall I severed you in some way."
"I can press charges here?" I ask while I laugh with him.
"Sure. You just go to Miss Priss over here," he points his thumb toward Twila, "and tell her what crime I've done to ya. That way she can add more chores to this list of errands she has me doin'." He reaches over and picks up a starch white piece of paper on the counter top, ink seaming to be blotted all over the page.
"Logan! You're the one that asked for somethin' to do t'is mornin'. Not my fault ya didn't know what ya was askin' for!" She says, walking over to the stove to turn off a switch.
Logan turns to me in a fake exhausted voice, "She works me to death. I'm just a work horse to her."
Twila turns around quickly, lips twitching for a smile. "Oh that's a lie!"
Logan rolls his eyes and continues to smile at her. He goes to say something else to her when a loud crashing noise comes from somewhere in the back of the house. Logan jerks around toward the door, confusion in his whole body language, while Twila and I connect eye contact.
"Now, what in the world-. " She starts, Right when then yelling picks up.
Hoped Ya'll liked it!
R&R please!
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