Sometimes, Sally Jackson couldn't believe this was her life.
"Honestly," her son's teacher hissed. "You should send him off to military school or ― or something. He needs to learn restraint, Ms. Jackson."
The teacher, Ms. Melbourne, winced as she rubbed her chest, where her son Percy had punched her earlier. She stood next to the door to Principal Hawthorne's office, forcing Sally to crane her neck if she wanted to look the woman in the eye. On any other day, Ms. Melbourne would be a pretty blonde-haired woman in her late twenties with a kind smile and sparkling green eyes. But today her smile had warped into a frown, and her green eyes glimmered with unshed tears and hidden frustration.
"He doesn't listen to me," Ms. Melbourne said, sighing. "He doesn't listen to anyone. He doesn't sit still, and he gets into fights constantly." Ms. Melbourne gritted her teeth. "I don't like to think badly of children, but that boy is a little hellion!"
Sally flinched. Ms. Melbourne didn't notice. She'd turned her gaze toward her chest, where she was pressing an ice pack the size of a football. But Principal Hawthorne did. He was a balding, middle-aged man with an upturned nose and thinning mustache. He sat behind his mahogany-colored desk with his hands folded as if praying. He gave Sally a sad, pitying smile, and she suddenly knew what was coming next.
Her stomach dropped.
"Sally, look," the principal began, softly, "I'm afraid that we don't have the ability here to help such a... a troubled child like Percy."
Sally's fists clenched beneath the desk, and she fought down the bubbling cesspool of anger, frustration and sorrow trying to claw its way up her throat.
"We've tried to help him," Principal Hawthorne continued. "We've called in guidance counselors and therapists. We've tried hiring specialists to help him manage his anger. And while we believe in second chances … this ― punching a teacher ― Percy's gone too far." He drew a fortifying breath and refused to meet Sally's eyes. "I'm sorry, Sally, but I'm afraid we're going to have to expel him. I'm sure there are schools around the state better prepared to help him overcome his anger, and we'll even help you find one. It's the least we can do."
The man kept on speaking, but Sally tuned him out. She knew his speech like the back of her hand. It was the sixth one she'd heard. This was the sixth school Percy had been expelled from. It was the same message every time: Your kid is too troubled for us to help. Sorry. Better luck next time.
It was tiring, and she didn't know what to do. Percy had already been ejected from so many schools, and… Her throat constricted.
They'd have to find another school for him. Again. And he'd almost made it through the year… If only he hadn't gotten in another fight ― Sally stopped that thought immediately. She fought the urge to take her head into her hands. That's not right.
It wasn't Percy's fault...
…Tousled hair as black as nightmare framed an aristocratic face. He was tall, over six feet, and looked like an Olympian athlete ― bronzed skin, muscled and born to stand out. But what took her breath away was his eyes. Pure, electric blue… It was like staring into a campfire as wood crackled and wisps of smoke escaped into the sky. But it was a cold heat, a sinister heat.
His lips twisted into a slow and sinuous smile once he saw her staring at him. He winked at her and began walking toward her, black trench coat billowing behind him. Despite wearing all black in July, he didn't seem the least bit bothered by the heat. She watched him approach warily, equal parts thrilled and equal parts repulsed. His coat shifted as he came closer, and she could just make out the Rolling Stones emblem on his shirt.
"Hello there." He had a deep, velvety voice that sent a shiver down her spine. "What's your name?"
Sally slammed her eyes shut, banishing the memory from her mind. She took a deep breath.
No, it wasn't Percy's fault.
It was hers.
"Percy, can you unlock the door? I'm going to get the mail."
They'd just got home. The sun had begun to set, casting a golden shadow over New York City, but neither Sally nor Percy felt like admiring it. Percy had heard every word in that office. It didn't matter that he'd been waiting outside in the secretary's office. He might as well have been in the room, and the words weighed him down like baggy clothes in the ocean.
She couldn't even protect him from that.
Fists clenched, Sally walked down two flights of stairs to the lobby of their apartment building. Inserting the key into her mail slot, she opened the tiny door and took out several envelopes and postcards. When she returned to their apartment, she found the door slightly ajar. Through the small crack, she could see Percy lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling. She couldn't see his face.
Closing the door, she dropped the mail on the kitchen table. They lived in a modest, two-bedroom apartment with a kitchen, living room and two bathrooms. The washer was in the kitchen near the sink, and they didn't have a dryer, but they had a tiny balcony to hang up their wet clothes.
Sally hadn't bothered to furnish the place too much. They tended to move around often to allow Percy to attend other schools, but she treasured what little furnishings the little apartment had ― namely the few pictures of a grinning Percy hanging on the wall adjacent to the TV. Pictures of a better time.
The couch squeaked as she sat down, and she sunk a little too deeply into the pillows, but she had long gotten used to it. Sighing, she pulled Percy into her lap, the top of his head just tucking under her chin. He didn't say a word. Sally frowned.
"Percy," she started. "Honey, what's wrong?"
She felt him shift uncomfortably, but he remained silent. Sally chewed her lip as she rubbed circles into his arms.
And finally, after a few minutes, Percy spoke.
"I'm sorry, Mom."
His voice sounded small and weak, and he kept staring at the wall.
Sally sighed. She burrowed her nose in his hair, arms wrapping around his stomach and pulling him closer. She tried not to think about the two bumps pressing into her chest. Instead, she smiled as she felt him relax into her embrace.
"It's OK, Percy," she whispered into his hair. "We'll find you another school. You nearly made it through the entire school year this time. I'm proud of you."
He didn't answer.
Frowning, she turned him around in one quick motion so that she could see his tear-stained face.
"Percy," she said, staring into her baby's eyes. "I mean it. It's OK. Everything's going to be OK. I promise."
Percy nodded halfheartedly. An inky black tear escaped his eye, but he made sure to wipe it away before it touched Sally.
Percy had inherited his father's beauty. He had the same bronzed skin and stunning blue eyes. But while his father's gaze was cold, Percy's eyes were warm and welcoming... most of the time. When he got angry, they seemed to burst into blue flames and a cruel crimson seeped in around the edges of his irises.
His tousled hair was as dark as a raven's wing. She had him keep it chin-length so he could hide his pointy, elven ears. She could detect hints of his father in his smile, too, and the way he walked ― confidently, gracefully. But his heart and his personality were all hers, and it was that knowledge that allowed her to hope for the best.
"OK," Percy whispered.
He hugged her tightly, causing Sally to gasp in pain. She could feel his steel-like arms squeezing her rib cage. "P-Percy," she wheezed. "Not so tight."
Eyes wide, he let go immediately, and Sally drew in a deep breath, heart beating wildly. She gazed into his beautiful blue eyes and gave him a sad smile.
"You've gotten stronger, haven't you?" It wasn't really a question. They both knew the answer.
Percy looked down.
Sally hummed. She wasn't surprised. When Percy was five, a big man tried to mug Sally as they were walking home. Percy had instinctively pounded his little meaty hands into the man's stomach, sending him back into the wall and knocking him unconscious with a sickening crunch.
And when Percy was eight, Sally's car had broken down along a back road while she'd been driving Percy home from school. No one had been around to help. Percy must have sensed her desperation because he'd gotten out of the car and asked how he could help. She hadn't responded, so he'd thought to pick up the car and roll it home. She nearly had a heart attack when Percy picked up the front of the car with little effort and ask where he should take it.
Now that Percy was nine, who knew what he could do?
It was hard for Percy to control his strength, and when he got into fights with bullies at school, people often got hurt ― like Ms. Melbourne, who'd jumped in between Percy and another student today just as he'd been about to punch the bully. Even holding back, he'd probably bruised her ribs, if he didn't outright fracture them.
"Chin up," she said, caressing his chin and forcing him to look up at her. "Your strength isn't something to be ashamed of, Percy. It's what makes you special."
Percy scowled at her. "Even if it's his strength?"
Sally swallowed uncomfortably. "It's not his, Percy. It's yours." He moved his gaze away from her to a spot on the wall behind her.
"Yeah, sure," he mumbled. She let go of his chin, and he took the opportunity to run out of the room after a minute. Sally closed her eyes.
Sometimes she'd wondered if she'd done the right thing by telling Percy who his father was. But he'd started to manifest his father's abilities, and his appearance had become steadily less and less human. No normal mortal had such sinful beauty, and Percy ― even as a young, naïve kid ― had begun to wonder.
His ears became pointed when he turned six, and everything else shortly followed. His canines nearly poked through his lips, and when he cut himself, shining black blood burst from his veins and burned whatever it touched. He healed within minutes, too, from injuries large and small. Two mounds of hard skin had recently begun to bulge on his back just below his shoulder blades, as if he were growing baseballs beneath his skin.
But his fire was the straw that broke the camel's back. Last year, he'd gotten so angry that he'd burst into ethereal blue flames so hot that Sally had found it hard to breathe. His flames were beautiful but deadly, and she instinctively knew that one touch would disintegrate not just her body, but her immortal soul. Percy had freaked out over the flames and unsuccessfully tried to stop, drop and roll. It would have been funny if Sally hadn't been so terrified.
Percy's father had been adamant that he wouldn't inherit that. None of his other children ever had, and it was that… that monster's most powerful ability. The ability to completely and utterly destroy everything and everyone, even immortal gods. If he found out that one of his sons had inherited it… Sally shivered. He'd stop at nothing to get his hands on Percy to create his perfect weapon, his perfect soldier. Or worse, she thought grimly, turn him into the heir to his wretched kingdom.
Percy knew this. She'd made sure of it and told him never to use those flames. Never, not even if mortal peril. Just run, she'd said. Because if Percy used those flames, he'd find out and come running.
And Sally would die before she let that monster take her son away like he'd stolen her virginity.
Just an idea I've been mulling over in my spare time. Some parts are inspired by Blue Exorcist, as you all have probably already realized. If there's interest, I'll continue the story. I've got some other things written and ideas in the works, but I've already seen a few stories that explore a similar premise. Thoughts?