Jess leaned her head against the window. She found the gentle, irregular patter of rain hitting the windowpane oddly comforting, as the sound sparked ghost-like fragments of memories long forgotten. Shadows of past feelings, always sweeter in retrospect.
Every so often, a gust of wind would increase the pace and force of the raindrop as well as chilling her back. Damien’s parents had kept the original Victorian windows and though they were beautiful, they were not the most efficient at keeping out drafts.
They overcompensated for the loss of heat by turning the central heating up to full.
Dry heat from the radiator below blasted Jess's legs, warming her lower half. The contrasting body temperatures in her upper and lower body confused her nervous system, giving her the macabre sensation of being half dead, half alive.
She snapped to attention, looking up as Damien approached wearing a maniacal grin, his engraved blade glinting in the light of the moon.
"Geez, you don't have to look so happy about it," Jess teased him, rolling her eyes. "Just get it over and done with."
Squeezing her eyes shut, she turned her head away and offered her upturned palm.
The cut was more painful than she'd expected.
She sucked in a sharp breath as the pain flashed up her arm, determined not to cry out as Kiaan had just been teased for doing.
"What now?" she asked, watching Damien swirl his pewter goblet. It was decorated with skulls, dragons, and symbols, and like most of the items in his room, looked like he'd bought it from some cheap eBay goth shop.
'This whole thing is ridiculous,' she thought, watching him paint a pentacle onto the wooden floor with a Harris 'no loss 3/4' paintbrush.
She looked over at Sammy. Seeing the desperation in his sallow face—pale skin and sad eyes—she reminded herself why they were here. All of them were desperate in one way or another.
Sensing the weight of her gaze, he looked up and offered her a weak smile. He was a sweet kid.
'Maybe if I'd stuck up for him, he wouldn't be here right now,' Jess thought, feeling guilt about her complacency. In her defense, she'd been busy far too with her own antagonists to worry about anyone else’s.
"Right." Damien interrupted her thoughts. "We all need to say the name of our victim and throw one of their possessions into the center."
"It feels weird calling them victims since we are the real victims," Sammy commented. He was correct, of course. None of their so-called victims were innocent.
"That's going to change. After this, they will be our victims. I promise you. This spell will work," Damien assured them, exuding confidence.
Jess didn't believe it, not really, but it was worth a try. At this point, anything was worth a try. At least now she would have an alliance; a support network of fellow sufferers. The worst thing about being singled out and bullied was how alone it made you feel.
"Alright," Caine said, standing up and wiping down his trousers. "I'll go first if that's okay?"
The rest of them exchanged glances and nodded. Caine was the new kid. Being as good looking as he was, he probably would have been welcomed into the 'popular' crowd had Ricky Jameson not made him enemy number one. Why Ricky had gone after Caine so viciously was anyone's guess. Maybe he was simply jealous of the 'pretty boy,' as he liked to call him.
"My victim is Ricky Jameson," Caine said, throwing a battered-looking Adidas wallet into the center of the pentagram.
"You stole his wallet?" Jess asked, suppressing a giggle. "Very brave of you."
Caine smiled at her as he sat, indicating for her to go next. She felt her cheeks flushing and hoped nobody would notice.
The blush in her cheeks deepened as she stood, feeling all eyes on her. It was like being center stage—a feeling she'd never appreciated much.
"Erm, my victim is Catriona Sykes." Jess bent to throw a brush into the center. It still had puffs of Cat's blonde hair attached, which could only be a positive if what she understood about magic was accurate.
"Brush complete with hair." Damien smiled his approval. "Nicely done."
He stood, did a theatrical spin, and threw a sock into the mix. "My victim is Annabelle Ross."
Kiaan frowned, looking down at the dirty off-pink sock. "Where did you get one of her socks?"
"I followed her to the gym lifted it from her bag." Damien shrugged, as though stalking a girl and riffling through her dirty underwear was a perfectly acceptable thing to do.
Kiaan flashed a perturbed look in Damien's direction before shaking his head. "Okay then, my turn."
He stood, holding a hairbrush sprouting the odd strand of sandy brown hair. Catching Jess's eye, he told her he'd had the same idea.
"They're going to launch an investigation into the hairbrush thief," Sammy announced, holding up a detangling paddle hairbrush.
"Great minds really do think alike." Jess smiled. The three of them giggled before a sour look from Damien prompted them to return to the matter at hand.
"My victim is Grace Holloway," Kiaan uttered, placing the brush gently beside the other items.
"And my victim is Michael Strawbridge," Sammy added quietly, placing the last brush into the pile.
"Is that it?" Sammy asked, looking to Damien for answers.
"Stand in a circle, holding hands," Damien demanded. Jess wished she were standing closer to Caine but reluctantly took Kiaan and Damien's clammy hands when they reached out to her.
"Say these words three times," Damien ordered.
“Shadows lurking in the night, I summon you, come to us tonight.
Give us the revenge we seek, Twist the strong and make them weak.
I call on you to make this spell magick, so mote it be."
After the third iteration, Jess looked about the room and noticed the others doing the same.
Brows raised, Kiaan asked, "Is something supposed to happen?"
"Not now," Damien assured him. "But it will. Trust me."
"What are you going to do with this stuff now?" Jess asked, poking the pile of hairbrushes with her toe as Damien paced the room.
"Open a hair salon?" Caine suggested, causing the others to giggle. He had a humorous and kind-natured personality on top of being good looking. Why someone like Caine had fallen victim to bullying was a total mystery to Jess. The rest of the group were socially awkward oddballs, Sammy the most notably. Sammy hid quietly behind his waterfall of long hair, trying desperately to elude the attention of the bullies. It was safe to say this evasion tactic didn't work.
Damien—on the other hand—wasn't shy as such, just odd. His goth aesthetic earned him both positive and negative attention, and he was quite popular within his own clique.
Kiaan, one of the few Indian boys in her school, was bullied in the form of jealously disguised as racism. His family owned a chain of shops and a popular restaurant. They had a huge house and posh cars, a fact that didn't sit well with Grace, whose Mum had been fired from working in one of their shops. Grace was a monster. Even the political correctness fanatics couldn't quell her rampant fascism, as much as they tried to defend the poor lad.
"I guess I'll burn them?" Damien shrugged. "Bonfire?"
"Oh! Do you have any marshmallows?" Caine asked.
"I do actually," Damien replied, raising his eyebrows.
Moonlight filtered through tree branches, casting sprawling shadows that melted into the light from the bonfire. The smoky scent of burning wood mingled with the caramelizing sugar from the toasted marshmallows, making Jess's stomach rumble.
As she turned her stick, trying to get an even coat of burn on all sides, she heard Sammy let out a sharp cry.
"Argh," he yelled, jumping back from the fire and pawing at his long, dangly hair.
"Be careful," Damien scolded—a redundant warning if she'd ever heard one.
The pleasant smoky aroma was replaced with the bitter odor of burnt hair. Sammy looked at his singed hair with sadness.
"Come to mine after," Caine offered, inspecting the boy's damaged hair. "I'll even it up for you with my Mum's hairdressing scissors."
"Erm, th-thank you," Sammy stammered, blushing deeply.
'Does he also have a thing for the new boy?' Jess wondered.
"Did you take the money out of the wallet?" Damien cried, ignoring his own warning and leaning over the fire so far he almost set his hair on fire. "There's a twenty in there!"
"I'm not a thief." Caine shrugged.
"Isn't it illegal to burn an image of the queen?" Kiaan asked face stretched in worry.
"That's the bit you have a problem with?" Sammy asked.
"We are using blood and stolen items to raise a demon that will torment our enemies, but burning the queen's face is where you draw the line?" Damien snickered.
Kiaan shrugged and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot as the others teased him.
"Shit, my parents are home," Damien cried, stamping out the fire as a car pulled up. The others joined in, helping him extinguish the flames before following him into the house.
His parents stood by the front door, removing coats and shoes as they placed bags of shopping haphazardly, spilling boxes of cereal and punnets of oranges onto the floor.
"What's that smell," Mrs. Cross asked, sniffing at the air like a bloodhound. "You've been burning that bloody incense again, haven't you?"
"Yes," Damien replied flatly, probably grateful to have an excuse offered up.
"Oh," Mr. Cross said, eyes widening as he took in the group behind his son. They looked nothing like his usual group of friends.
"Study group," Damien explained to his confused but happy looking father.
"Great," Mr. Cross said, smiling that 'parent' smile. They all had one.
"See you tomorrow, guys," Damien said with a wicked grin, showing the others out. "Tomorrow, everything will be different."