Prologue: Like The Crack Of The Whip, I Snap Attack

The world is divided into the one percent who pay whatever price they must to use Magic and the ninety-nine percent who would.

It's really more like three percent with as much as one out of ten people dabbling once or twice in their life. One percent is the number bandied about due to the difference between owning a foot from a properly sacrificed/sanctified rabbit and the BIG Magics--like possessing a Grimoire, inheriting an Artifact, devoting your life to following the myriad rules laid down by one of the eight hundred ninety-three Young Gods, or binding your immortal soul to a Demon.

Magic costs.

A rabbit's foot costs cash; the others require a different currency. Of course, no one remembers that the rabbit paid with its life.

"ALL damn it! Can't you do anything right, you fucking cunt?!?"

I rolled over and eyed my alarm clock. Seven-fifteen am! My stepmother's boyfriend was off to an early start. Personally, I think unemployed people should lie in bed until eleven am to stay out of the way of people with things to do, like get to school on time. Climbing out of bed, I tuned the boyfriend out and grabbed my clothes for the day.

My father's life insurance policy and the court's judgment on the airline's liability set my stepmother and me up for life. For all her bad taste in men, my stepmother didn't let them get near the money. In fact, the two no-parachute ejections for a boyfriend were to make a play for the money or lay a hand on me. Unfortunately, she did not mind when they got rough with her.

Sitting at the kitchen table, I studied my stepmother from the corner of my eye. No new bruises! This boyfriend wasn't a striker or maybe he was smart enough to place the marks in easy to hide locations.

"Today is your long day, Michael," my stepmom said as she placed a plate in front of me. I frowned at the food: egg whites, wheat toast, and turkey bacon.

"Yes, Julia Ann," I replied. I hadn't known any other mother, but the boyfriends changed our relationship. Julia Ann never called me 'son' anymore either.

"I know you don't like my food, but I have to maintain my figure," she said, sitting down to my right. "It's good for you!"

A sideways glance gave me a good look at rewards of eating well--firm, luscious tits. Turkey bacon isn't bad! I would have felt guilty about the tightness in my groin, but Julia Ann and I were more roommates than MILF-y stepmom and horny stepson.

"Martial arts," Julia Ann whispered to herself. I started taking classes after the first boyfriend hit her, thinking I needed to protect her. Later, I realized Julia Ann liked a particular relationship with men.

Her boyfriend kicked something in the living room before stomping into the kitchen. He gave me the stink-eye as he sat down.

"Where's my food, bitch?" he yelled at Julia Ann.

I sighed loudly. He smirked, slapping Julia Ann's ass when she stood up. This boyfriend carefully expanded the boundaries of their relationship. Julia Ann had never allowed overt sexuality around me!

"And none of that fat-free crap you eat, bitch!"

I found it much harder to tune him out when he was in the same room.

Girls make high school tolerable! I always wondered what does it for the girls--not boys, since as far as I can tell a teenage boy is a walking, talking sex hormone, myself included as evidenced by the daily stepmother inspired morning wood.

I was NOT one of those guys who hate jocks, cheerleaders, and the popular kids. I would have let them shave my nuts and call me 'Baldy' if it got me membership to the In-Crowd. High school wasn't as much fun as in the movies or TV shows, not that I wanted to mix my teenage years with television grade drama! I'd shoot myself if I got a chick pregnant, was diagnosed with cancer, and lost a parent in the same year. I just wanted high school to be more than a rest stop on the way to adulthood!

I didn't have any close friends so nobody greeted me as I waited for the school bell to ring and the doors to open. I usually went in through the main entrance because my locker was located two floors above it. The limousine caught my attention. Not exactly the motor coach of choice for public school attendees! A man stepped out of the backseat and reached a hand into the vehicle. A blonde girl let him help her out. The girl's head turned to survey the street. She slowly spun around; her eyes moved from kid to kid. I watched her identify and label each of us: geek, jock, cheerleader, nobody, goth-Coven wannabe, future Nun of ALL, etc.

"Pretty blue," I whispered when her eyes arrived at me. Her head reared back! Those blue eyes drilled into me, almost as if she heard me.

Impossible!

"Not impossible," I whispered.

I always forgot about Magic! I'm not one to point the finger, but a limousine is a good marker of success and success is a good marker of Magic use. I'm sure not EVERY successful person cut a deal or sold their soul. The fact is that a large number of them received aid climbing to the heights of economic, social, and political prosperity. Does anybody believe Beamon jumped sixty feet in the sixty-eight Olympics 'au naturel'?

The blonde finished the study of her new classmates and followed the man into the school. She held the door open for a second, turning to give me one last look. She frowned, shook her head, and let the door close behind her.

Chapter 1 »