the seventies’ bridging scandal, lived in a one-story house with a two-car garage on the corner of a block next to an old back road. The exterior walls were a fleshy color that complemented the darker tiles of the roof. Squat bushes lined the driveway and the front path, sloping to the front porch where they formed a small wall in front of the entrance. The front door was set in an alcove, a small porch light on an adjacent wall.
Everett appreciated the simplicity.
He rang the doorbell, sounding an unconventional chime. It was reminiscent of a tune his mother used to hum to lull him to sleep.
The doorbell’s echo faded. Nobody answered.
He rang it again.
Nobody answered.
He called his grandfather and paced the small rectangular front porch. “Are you sure the lessons start today? He’s not here.”
“I’m positive. Is he not answering the door?”
“I’ve rung the doorbell two times, and he hasn’t answered.”
“Ring it again.”
He did and pressed his ear to the door. He heard the doorbell echo, and nothing more.
“I don’t hear anything moving inside. I think he isn’t home,” Everett said.
“We agreed to a timeslot from ten to one. He confirmed it last night.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s not here. Does he have a habit of flaking out?”
Everett expected more from such a powerful and famous witch. He walked the perimeter of the house. What were the chances Omar was tending to his backyard? He peeked into the gaps of the wooden fence around the house. A wooden backyard dining set sat under a closed umbrella. Cobwebs connected the benches to the table. Tiny bushes ran along the perimeter of the backyard, a patchy green.
“He’s not in the backyard either,” Everett said, still poking around the gaps in case Omar was squatting somewhere hard to see.
“He’s a party animal, but he’s not flaky,” his grandfather said.
“I don’t think he’s here. If he is, he’s not going to answer the door.”
His grandfather mumbled profanities. He’d have to close the shop, and they’d lose early Saturday business. Everett should have driven himself here. Omar’s house had been on the way to the shop, so Everett had carpooled to save gas.
“I’ll pick you up. Stay in front of the house and don’t draw too much attention to yourself. Your aura has become very noticeable.”
His grandfather hadn’t explained why Everett’s aura needed to be concealed. He had never heard of witches hiding their auras. There wasn’t a need. Witch auras were very similar to human auras—to anyone who wasn’t a witch. It took a witch to know a witch.
Everett exposed all paranormal residues in a fifty-foot perimeter from the house. Nothing appeared.
His phone rang. His heart leapt at the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Bryce sang. “Are you free today?”
“I think. Why?”
“Ann has time to talk with your gramps about lessons, if you haven’t discussed it yet.”
Everett rubbed the stress line between his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ll have time to do lessons. I’m… moving.”
“Moving,” Bryce deadpanned. “You’re moving.”
“Not far. Just from Ashville to Sundale.”
Bryce exhaled a long breath. “Can’t you commute from Sundale?”
Everett should have been bothered by Bryce’s persistence. Instead, he found it endearing.
“I try not to drive. Gas is too expensive to waste.”
“I could pick you up.”
For every class? “I don’t want to burden you.”
Bryce sighed. “Is there no way to convince you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m free after three tomorrow, so if you want to hang out, come visit the dojang.” Bryce hung up.
Everett watched his phone darken after the call. He sighed at his reflection in the tiny screen.
HIS GRANDFATHER pulled up along the curb. Everett threw his bag in the backseat and dropped into the passenger seat, nearly clipping his head on the doorframe.
“I called Omar and the
Everett appreciated the simplicity.
He rang the doorbell, sounding an unconventional chime. It was reminiscent of a tune his mother used to hum to lull him to sleep.
The doorbell’s echo faded. Nobody answered.
He rang it again.
Nobody answered.
He called his grandfather and paced the small rectangular front porch. “Are you sure the lessons start today? He’s not here.”
“I’m positive. Is he not answering the door?”
“I’ve rung the doorbell two times, and he hasn’t answered.”
“Ring it again.”
He did and pressed his ear to the door. He heard the doorbell echo, and nothing more.
“I don’t hear anything moving inside. I think he isn’t home,” Everett said.
“We agreed to a timeslot from ten to one. He confirmed it last night.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s not here. Does he have a habit of flaking out?”
Everett expected more from such a powerful and famous witch. He walked the perimeter of the house. What were the chances Omar was tending to his backyard? He peeked into the gaps of the wooden fence around the house. A wooden backyard dining set sat under a closed umbrella. Cobwebs connected the benches to the table. Tiny bushes ran along the perimeter of the backyard, a patchy green.
“He’s not in the backyard either,” Everett said, still poking around the gaps in case Omar was squatting somewhere hard to see.
“He’s a party animal, but he’s not flaky,” his grandfather said.
“I don’t think he’s here. If he is, he’s not going to answer the door.”
His grandfather mumbled profanities. He’d have to close the shop, and they’d lose early Saturday business. Everett should have driven himself here. Omar’s house had been on the way to the shop, so Everett had carpooled to save gas.
“I’ll pick you up. Stay in front of the house and don’t draw too much attention to yourself. Your aura has become very noticeable.”
His grandfather hadn’t explained why Everett’s aura needed to be concealed. He had never heard of witches hiding their auras. There wasn’t a need. Witch auras were very similar to human auras—to anyone who wasn’t a witch. It took a witch to know a witch.
Everett exposed all paranormal residues in a fifty-foot perimeter from the house. Nothing appeared.
His phone rang. His heart leapt at the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hey, hey, hey!” Bryce sang. “Are you free today?”
“I think. Why?”
“Ann has time to talk with your gramps about lessons, if you haven’t discussed it yet.”
Everett rubbed the stress line between his eyebrows. “I don’t think I’ll have time to do lessons. I’m… moving.”
“Moving,” Bryce deadpanned. “You’re moving.”
“Not far. Just from Ashville to Sundale.”
Bryce exhaled a long breath. “Can’t you commute from Sundale?”
Everett should have been bothered by Bryce’s persistence. Instead, he found it endearing.
“I try not to drive. Gas is too expensive to waste.”
“I could pick you up.”
For every class? “I don’t want to burden you.”
Bryce sighed. “Is there no way to convince you?”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. I’m free after three tomorrow, so if you want to hang out, come visit the dojang.” Bryce hung up.
Everett watched his phone darken after the call. He sighed at his reflection in the tiny screen.
HIS GRANDFATHER pulled up along the curb. Everett threw his bag in the backseat and dropped into the passenger seat, nearly clipping his head on the doorframe.
“I called Omar and the
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