Casters of Oblivion
Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Saga
Chapter 5: November
Eleanor's POV
It was November, and Ginger still hadn't snapped out of it. Every day was the same schedule: wake up, go to school, come home, do homework, train, have dinner, and then sleep, followed by nightmares. Every night is a nightmare. She wouldn't talk about the nightmares, let alone describe them. In fact, Ginger hardly spoke. She only talks when answering a teacher's question or when Zelena instructs a new spell. Afterward, she goes mute, back in her zombie-like state.
On the other hand, I have been trying to live in two worlds: the everyday teenage life and the caster's life. When not in the cabin, I hang out with my friends. Jessica and Angela would invite me out for girl time, whether shopping or a sleepover. Somehow, I get excited when the offer comes around. Last week, we drove to Seattle on a Saturday to go shopping. And let me tell you, Jessica is the replacement for Alice. She pushed me to try a new style instead of my modern light gothic chic attire. Instead, she liked me to try bohemian with a pinch of hipster while she goes for preppy, and Angela does modern femme. I tried to drag Ginger along for the trip, and as usual, she refused and went back to her room to mope.
Today was Saturday, and there was nothing to do. I did my usual training, enhancing my abilities to a stronger level. My telekinesis has grown stronger to levitate heavier objects such as a person and a vehicle. I have more control over my pyrokinesis, and my divination is much more precise. Zelena is pleased to see my improvement. Although we haven't set much practice on Vitalum Vitalis in fear of exchanging too much life force. A Caster can live up to three hundred years, especially a traditional Caster like me. But the more you use Vitalum Vitalis, the lesser your life span will be. My grandfather Horatio died at 218 because he used his ability to rescue his comrades during the Civil War and World Wars. Let alone my family is cautious.
Anyway, I'm doing nothing right now besides going over Thanksgiving recipes. Zelena has decided to host a Thanksgiving dinner, inviting Chief Swan, Billy, and Jacob Black for the holiday. Although I debated if it was alright to invite the Blacks over since they were Native Americans, Zelena waved it off, saying, "When you say food, they will come." She did the decorations and invites while I focused on the menu. So far, there is a twenty-pound turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, cranberry sauce, dinner rolls, green beans, and gravy. A lot to do, and hopefully enough to feed six people. Just need to buy the ingredients later today.
"Eleanor," Zelena spoke out of nowhere.
I looked up to see Zelena standing on the opposite side of the table, holding bags of food. Occasionally, Zelena would cook the Blacks and Chief Swan meals when they forgot to cook. Let alone Chief Swan, who doesn't know how to cook unless it's eggs and bacon and cooking fish. As for the Blacks, with Billy's diabetes and Jacob taking care of his dad, they tend not to eat a healthy meal—almost the same as Chief Swan. Zelena remedies that time again.
"Can you drop this off at Charlie's and the Black residence?" Zelena asked.
"Sure," I answered with a smile.
I grabbed my coat and purse, ensuring I had the grocery list before delivering the meals. My first stop was at Chief Swan's house. Once I reached his house, I found Chief Swan taking debris from his backyard and moving it to the garbage can. His neighbor was also out pulling out two motorcycles. The bikes caught my attention, for they brought back memories from my childhood. My father, Gideon, is a fanatic about motorcycles, especially unique or vintage models. Back home, he has over ten motorcycles from different time periods. I got out of the Wagoneer to get a better look.
"It's about time you got rid of those old stupid things, Bob," Charlie said. "Seen one too many bikes smeared on the highway."
"Say what you like, chief. Soon someone hauls these pieces for scrap, you and my wife can rest easy." Bob chuckled. "Hey, what's this word on this bear problem? Folks are saying they're huge?"
"Uh, yeah, that's . . . that's talk," Charlie answered.
"Hey, Chief," I greeted.
"Hey Eleanor, Zelena drafted you into delivering this for me?" Charlie asked.
"Yep," I answered. "Still coming over for Thanksgiving?"
"You bet," Charlie confirmed with a grin.
I handed him the bag with three days' worth of meals. Charlie said thanks as he headed inside to put it away. As he did that, I walked over to Bob to take a closer look at the bikes. Bob was surprised as I knelt down to evaluate the conditions of the bikes. Both were worn out, with a bit of patina, while the leather seats were practically destroyed. From what I could tell about the bikes on the model, the red one was a Honda Scrambler, while the black one was a Harley Sprint.
"Are you into bikes?" Bob asked.
"Somewhat. My dad owns a motorcycle collection from Indians to Harleys. It depends on the model and year." I answered.
Bob nodded, "Man must have some good taste."
I got up and pulled out my cellphone, "Mind if I take a pic?"
"Sure," Bob said.
I took pictures of the Honda and Harley and texted them to my father. A minute later, my cellphone rang. I answered it, "Hi, Dad."
"Why do you know me so well?" Gideon chuckled on the other end. "1969 CL70 Scrambler and a Harley Sprint, I haven't seen those models in ages."
"Are you interested?" I asked.
Just saying that got Bob's eyes to widen.
"Their condition has me wary, my dear," Gideon answered. "Not good enough to travel from Forks to Boston."
"What if I restore them here, and later, when you visit for graduation, you can take a trailer," I offered.
"Maybe, but repairing a motorcycle isn't cheap, and I have my eyes set on the Honda," Gideon said. "Is there an auto shop you know that could do the job?"
I thought about it. The only auto shop in Forks is Dowling. However, the owner and mechanic, John Dowling, charged a ridiculous amount, like a modern Scrooge. Say you need an oil change. He charges sixty to eighty dollars instead of a couple twenty bills. The bill would cost ten thousand if I delivered two precious old bikes. Not risking dealing with bankruptcy, I thought about another mechanic. Just thinking about Jacob brought a smile to my face. Maybe he can fix the bikes in exchange for keeping one, or I will pay him for his labor.
"I got somebody in mind," I said. "So you in?"
"Ask the man what he's offering," Gideon requested.
I looked at Bob Marks, who was still standing there, surprised by the sudden interest in these bikes. "How much are you selling?"
"Uh . . . was going to toss them out, actually," Bob answered.
"Offer him a thousand dollars." Gideon offered.
My father is an honorable man. He will pay a bit extra if something is for sale on the market since the economy is not going so well. Even if these bikes are free, paying the man is only fair.
"My father is offering a thousand dollars if you accept," I said.
Bob's eyes widened upon hearing this. A thousand dollars for two old, worn-out bikes. Not a moment of hesitation, he accepted. I informed my father, who was pleased and said he'd cash the money into my debit card. I thank him before hanging up. Bob said he would hold onto the bikes until I get a trailer and pay him. Nodding, we wrote a deal. I left, heading to the bank to get a thousand dollars in cash, then back to the cabin to retrieve Zelena's utility trailer in the garage.
I told Zelena what was happening, and she laughed, "Finally having a rebel moment."
"You're not mad?" I asked in surprise.
"No, but don't let Chief Swan know, and wear a helmet if you dare ride one," Zelena answered.
Her words made me smile, knowing she had my back on this. She helped me attach the trailer to the back of the Wagoneer and wished me luck. I returned to Bob Marks's house, where his son Austin awaited me. I pulled up to their driveway, close to where the bikes were. First, I handed Bob the money as promised while he and Austin helped load the bikes to the trailer and secure them. Saying thanks, I made my way to La Push, unable to stop smiling.
.o0o.
I pulled up to the Black residence, excited and nervous simultaneously. Not sure if Jacob is willing to go with the idea of fixing two motorcycles. Yet going with my instincts, I drove near the garage expecting Jacob to be there working on his Rabbit. When I got out of the Wagoneer, I was instantly in a bear hug and swung around like a child.
"El! Where the hell have you been, loca?" Jacob asked, chuckling.
I laughed at his childish behavior. Once he put me down, I got a better look at him. The last time we saw each other was Ginger's disappearance. We spoke on the phone, by email, and by text. Yet, in October, I was busy watching over Ginger to go out until I decided to live my life after Halloween. Now, looking at Jacob, I gawked. Jacob Black has grown officially six feet tall, his body thicker and more toned, including the baby fat on his cheeks gone. Luckily, he kept his long black hair, tying a portion up, and his deep brown eyes glimmered in innocence.
"I brought you something," I answered. "A bit of a project, actually."
"Okay," Jacob said, smiling.
I went to the trailer, pulling the tarp off to expose the Honda Scrambler and the Harley Sprint. Jacob stood there analyzing the two old motorcycles in the trailer. At first, he was smiling, but then his face fell into a mere neutral expression. I hesitated, thinking this was stupid.
"Wow. Scrap metal. You shouldn't have." Jacob teased.
I rolled my eyes and smacked his shoulder. "I bought them from a neighbor. The restoration probably cost more than they're worth, but my dad is into these bikes, so I thought I had a mechanic friend to help me then–"
"Ah, me." Jacob interrupted, smiling in his bright smile. "Me being the mechanic-type friend?"
"Yeah," I confessed, blushing a little. "First one that came to mind."
"Since when are you into motorcycles?" he asked.
"Since I was a kid. My family is into vehicles." I answered.
"Cool. Yeah," He smiled, then sighed. "The parts are definitely gonna be pricey."
"My dad is funding it, and I have some inheritance," I assured Jacob.
"Your dad . . . inheritance?" he asked, baffled. "What . . . are ya rich or something?"
"You can say something like that. But where's the fun buying a new motorcycle rather than fixing one…or two?" I answered. When I looked him straight in the eyes, I sensed his caution. "Look, I know this is reckless…."
"Yeah, I mean, it's completely stupid and reckless." Jacob interrupted. "When do we start?"
I stared at him, surprised to accept the offer. For a moment, I thought he would reject the project and suggest doing something else. But no, he was in it all the way.
"Now!" I cheered.
Jacob chuckled as he unlatched the trailer's tail and removed the cords that held the bikes in place. He went over to the red bike, pulling it towards him before grabbing it and lowering it to the ground. I was going to use my telekinesis on the bikes to make them lighter, yet Jacob managed to bring the bike down easily. It took both Bob and Austin to get the bike in the trailer. However, Jacob got it down like it was nothing.
"Jake, you're buff," I said, surprised. "How did that happen? You're what, sixteen?"
"Mmm-hmm. Age is just a number, baby," Jacob teased." What are you, like, forty now?"
"Eighteen." I scoffed and then muttered. "Though it feels like it."
Jacob started leading the way back to the garage, pushing the red motorcycle in. "Hmm, well-uh, I got mad skills, which raises my actual age. And you're a shrimp. So that for sure should drop you down a bit, say, like, uh, thirty."
"Make it thirty-five." I corrected, laughing.
.o0o.
Jacob and I spent Sunday in the garage working on the bikes. Jacob started the deconstruction process, setting the parts on an old blanket and sitting on the ground doing his magic. I sat in an old car chair covered in duct tape, cleaning the parts to see if they were salvageable. By the afternoon, we had the red bike stripped to its frame.
The radio played into the background some romantic song called "All I Believe In" by The Magic Numbers. It's something I'm not used to listening to. Yet Jacob nodded to the music, so I let it play.
Jacob seemed to notice my disinterest. "That song's good. You don't like it?"
"Um, it's not my kind of genre," I answered, sitting down next to him as I used a scraper to remove grease and rust from the parts and dunk them in a bucket filled with drain cleaner and water. Jacob heard that drain cleaner is an easier way to clean parts than those expensive auto-shop cleaners.
"Okay. Like what?" he asked.
"More alternative music, a bit of rock, too, if not modern folk-style music," I answered.
"Huh, maybe later you can hook up your iPod." He suggested.
I nodded, "Hey, if we're gonna do this every other day, we have to set some ground rules."
"Ground rules, like what?" Jacob chuckled.
"You know, fit in our homework." I clarified. "I don't want Billy thinking I'm a bad influence on you."
"You? Influence me? Please." Jacob said humorously.
"I'm older than you...therefore, I'm the influencer, and you the influencee," I stated.
Jacob laughed, stopping his work. "No, no, no. My size and knowledge base actually makes me older than you because of your general paleness and lack of know-how."
"Really? Did you know Alexander the Great died at age 32 from malaria?" I challenged.
"No," Jacob said. "But I'm still older than you."
I laughed, "Last I checked, I convinced you to build two motorcycles with me. Don't you think that makes you naïve?"
Jacob turned around, giving me a 'seriously' expression. "Okay. So where do we stand?"
"I'm 35. And you, you are 32." I declared.
"Come on," Jacob protested.
There was a knock on the door, catching our attention. Two boys came in, having the same Quileute traits of russet skin, brown eyes, and dark brownish-black hair. One was slender and almost as tall as Jacob. His black hair was chin-length and parted down the middle, one tucked behind his left ear while the right side swung free. As for the other, he was a tad bit shorter with cropped black hair and a more rounded face.
"Yo, Jake, you in there."
I debated whether to go. Maybe Jacob should spend time with his friends since he hung out with me yesterday. I was about to get up when Jacob placed a hand on my shoulder.
"It's okay," Jacob said to me. "It's just my boys."
"Hey, Jake." The boy with shoulder-length hair greeted.
"Hey. Guys, this is Eleanor." Jacob got up and introduced us. "Eleanor, that's Quil and Embry."
"Hello," I greeted.
"I'm Quil Ateara," The one with cropped hair replied.
I smiled, not sure what to say to that. The way he spoke it was as if he were the bad boy type. Embry puckered his lips, trying to prevent a laugh or snort.
"So the bike building story is true." Quil continued.
"Yes, I taught him everything he knows." I teased.
"What about the part where you're his girlfriend?" Quil asked.
"What?" I replied, confused.
"Ooh, burn." Embry laughed.
"Actually, remember I said she's a girl and a friend." Jacob corrected.
"Embry, do you remember him making that distinction?" Quil asked his neighboring friend.
"Nope," Embry answered.
"So you boys have girlfriends?" I asked.
Jacob and Embry burst out laughing, holding their stomachs. Meanwhile, Quil tucked his hands in his pocket as Embry rubbed his arm sheepishly. I assume their body language means no.
"Yeah, right," Embry answered, unable to stop smirking.
"Quil's actually taking his cousin to prom," Jacob added.
"Yeah, that's still a riot." Quil sarcastically said. "You want funny, Black? I'll give you funny."
Suddenly, Quil and Jacob were wrestling on the dirty concrete floor, laughing. Embry cautiously walked over to me, avoiding the two Natives fighting. The two argue in the fight about what is legal or not. Tossing each other in the air and such, like any male species.
"I got five bucks on Quil." Embry betted.
"You're on," I said.
After the wrestling match, Jacob won. I won five bucks, which went towards the order of pizza shared with the guys.
The rest of November has been spent mainly with Jacob as we worked on the motorcycles. Every other day, we were in the garage restoring those bikes, as the red one would be a gift for my father. Gideon would send a constant reminder and transfer money to my card to purchase any parts. Jacob was hesitant when there was a part he couldn't find for the cheap. I told him not to worry and to order the parts; no questions were asked. It was fun to hang out with him, especially when Quil and Embry joined the project.
However, the excitement vanished when I return to the cabin where Ginger is wallowing in her head. Every night was filled with screams from constant nightmares. I worry about how long she could last before her magic kills her.
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