Chapter 1

I woke up at my usual time, my usual morning piss hard on between the thin warm thighs of my little sister as usually happened about twice a week. I extricated myself, shook her awake, (it was Holly this morning, her eyes bleary and still not awake. The two little girls seemed to trade off crawling in my bed for reassurance in the middle of the night.) I asked her what was her excuse for being in my bed this morning this time.

"Well, Gosh Z.P., I was cold, Beth stole my blankets and my pillow fell under the bed. You know I can't get my pillow from under the bed after dark, a troll lives under my bed and he might eat me if I put my hand down there. So I came in here, and you are so nice and cuddly and warm, and I just snuggled up and fell asleep. You aren't mad at me or anything, are you?"

I told her that I wasn't mad, and she was cuddly too, for a seven year old, and to go get ready for school. Holly and her twin sister Beth were not alike, except for being about the best little sisters a sixteen year old boy could have. I knew I was still a boy, but not for much longer. Shooing her from the room, I got out of bed and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth and hair, and drain the main vein.

Ahhh, the first piss of the day was always so relieving. Feeling refreshed, I looked at myself in the mirror on my way back to my room to get dressed. Black hair, in my black eyes I needed a haircut and my round face and short stocky body indicating my Central American indigenous heritage. Despite my shape, I was not out of shape, if you know what I mean. Genetics had gifted me with this form, but lifting weights and aerobic exercise every night before my shower and studying kept me fit, if not in classical form.

I am what I am, as Popeye says. Actually, he says I Yam what I Yam, but that is just quibbling. Holly and Beth are the only ones who call me Z.P., my adopted parents, who I call Mom and Dad, and who are called Mr. and Mrs. Cobb by the teachers and principal at school, call me Paolo, and the teachers call me Paul or Mr. Zapata if I am not paying attention. Mom and Dad let me keep my own name, since I was already seven when they adopted me after Abuelita died.

Abuelita wasn't my real grandmother, she was my trainer and I was her apprentice for three years. She was called a Bruja, but she wasn't a bruja as much as she was an Hechicera.

There are two words that are used to mean 'witch' in Spanish, but they don't mean exactly the same thing. A bruja would be like a witch you think of, with potions, incantations, cauldrons, striped socks and black pointy hats. Hechicera means more of a wizard or sorceress.

The verb root of Hechicera or Hechicero is 'Hacer' which means to do, or to make, or to cause. An alternate way of thinking about an Hechicero is to translate it as "Causer' or 'effecter'. That is me, I am an Hechicero, or a doer. Wizard works as well.

The other kids at school call me Zap or Pow-Zap. Mostly they have forgotten the reasons from grade school, since I don't like to Cause. I try not to want and desire, because as my Abuelita taught me, using the Causing Effects for selfish reasons would unbalance the Karma of the Universe, and the rebalancing could be unpleasant for me. She didn't use the word Karma, but it means the same thing.

That is why people have mostly forgotten that I am a Wizard, except on some subconscious level which keeps them from messing with me. Also, I try to be more indirect about it, unless the situation is dire, and that rarely happens anymore since my own warning tingle prevents me from getting into bad situations in the first place, for the most part.

I hurriedly dressed, and went down to breakfast, in order to make the school bus on time. Mom had made refried black beans and tortillas with an egg on top for me, and in a rare show of affection she ruffled my hair. The Cobbs were not a demonstrative couple, having some strange ideas about allowing their children's personalities to develop on their own, without intrusive coercion from the parents. I am afraid that is probably my own fault, a side effect of the magic I made to keep my own name. Even at seven years of age, I had realized that the name 'Steve Cobb' just didn't match my face and form.

Unfortunately, it spilled over onto the twins, leaving them somewhat starved for physical affection and touches, a big reason I found one or the other in my bed several times a week. I hugged Beth hard, and kissed her cheek to give her enough human contact to get her through her day. Neither of the twins would get any physical contact from their teachers, in today's 'bad touch' climate. I slugged Holly lightly on the arm, since she had already gotten cuddles, in my bed last night. The twins caught a later bus in about half an hour.

I gave Mom a quick squeeze of a hug which she endured unresisting but I knew warmed her inside, and dashed off to catch my bus, my book bag bouncing on my shoulder. It was still dark, and pretty chilly, but I usually don't feel the cold except to acknowledge it, accept it as existing, and let it be. Being a Causer puts me in a balance with the Universe, and unless I am Willing an Effect, I just accept what is.

It was my first day in the new high school, having just transferred in as a Sophomore. The Junior High included grades seven through nine in this county. I carefully made my way to the proper seating area in the middle of the bus, not in the Senior territory in the back, nor in the Junior territory in the front, and not too close to either border. Luckily I was not too far along the bus route, and there was a spot for me in the area I wanted.

The unfortunate Sophomores who had to sit too close to the borders, or worse yet within the territory of the higher grades, at least didn't have to endure the put downs and bullying for very long, being the last to board before arriving at school. Boarding the bus for the return home would be a bit more problematical, since the Sophomores had to wait for the higher grades to board, and the Sophomore pecking order dictated the boarding order. I usually was in the middle of the pack on re boarding the bus, and the unfortunates who had to board last and take unfavorable seats could at least move to better seats that were not as prone to hassle as students debarked at their drop off.

I noticed right away that the High School had a strange culture, everyone was wearing black, or at least no bright cheerful colors. The school mascot was a black cat, and I guess wearing yellow or pink or sky blue or green showed you didn't have school spirit. Those unfortunate enough to have worn such colors were picked on as much as a white dove mixed in a flock of pigeons.

I happen to like earthy darker colors, so my dark brown pants and forest green shirt didn't make me a target. Many of the upper grade boys wore long black trench-coats, and the makeup worn by the upper girls was dark lipstick, with too much mascara, and wearing LBDs ... If there were any blonds here, they had dyed their hair black or dark red, except for some of the new students. I was glad my hair was naturally dark already.