Spell Bound

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."

"Come on," Caine said, taking Sammy's hand.

Sammy looked down at the time on his phone, worrying that his parents would be expecting him home.

"It's late, I have to ring my Mum," Sammy explained.

After a couple of rings she answered, sounding like she was speaking from the bottom of the ocean. Despite telling her off numerous times, she never put the phone close enough to her mouth. Someone had told her about phones causing cancer and since then she was wary. Sammy figured one day he would return from school to see her holed up behind the couch in a makeshift fort and tin-foil hat. It was only a matter of time.

"Is it okay if I go over to a friend’s house?" he asked her.

"A friend?" his Mum asked, sounding so deeply shocked it was borderline insulting.

"Of course, of course, darling," she gushed. "Stay out as late as you like."

He shrugged as he put the phone back in his pocket. "It's okay, but I don't want to put you out."

"You aren't putting me out. I offered."

Sammy couldn't help but feel he was a burden. He always felt like he was a burden to everyone, even his parents.

'Sometimes, I think they regret having me. Maybe we would all be better off if they hadn't...'

He followed Caine up the garden path and through the large wooden doors into his home. Being led through the large, pristinely decorated house, Sammy couldn't help but feel out of place. The art on the wall looked like something you might see in a gallery, and the surfaces and tabletops were sleek and clutter free. He thought of his own home, littered with his mother's dusty cat ornaments, and felt his face flush with shame.

Grabbing the scissors from a kitchen drawer, Caine led Sammy up two flights of stairs to his bedroom. He was out of breath by the time they arrived.

"Right." Caine clapped his hands and rubbed them together. "Sit here."

He pulled his computer chair away from the screen and into the center of the floor.

"Sit," he repeated, louder this time.

"You're kinda bossy," Sammy mumbled as he took a seat.

"Chin up," Caine demanded, ignoring the bossy comment. With his thumb and forefinger, he lifted Sammy's chin and leaned in to inspect the damage.

"Just, don't cut too much off," Sammy pleaded, making big eyes at Caine. He'd been growing his hair for years. It was his ultimate defense mechanism, hiding his tears from the cruel faces that taunted him.

"You don't need to hide a face as beautiful as this," Caine said, gently pushing the last stray hairs from his cheeks.

Sammy felt his neck snap back so hard it cricked his spine.

'What the hell?'

He sensed his face was turning a ridiculous shade of red but was powerless to stop it.

'Did he just call me beautiful?'

Tears filled Sammy's eyes. He tried to hold his eyes open, knowing that to blink would mean releasing the pearls of liquid swelling up behind his eyes. He tried everything to keep it in, holding himself completely still, even holding his breath.

Inevitably the tears came.

"Oh, come on now, it's just hair," Caine soothed, misunderstanding the cause of the tears.

Sammy looked at him through a panel of blurry tears, face defiant and smoldering.

"What's wrong?" Caine frowned.

Sammy didn't answer. Couldn't answer.

He turned to face away from the ridiculously handsome boy, unable to stand up for himself.

"Tell me," Caine asked. He knelt between Sammy's thighs and got right into his face; his crystal green eyes full of concern that looked so genuine. But Sammy knew better.

"Y—you shouldn't tease people. It... it's cruel," Sammy managed to stutter.

"I'm not teasing you," Caine assured him.

"Yeah, right. I get it okay. I'm ugly and pathetic. It must be so much fun to pick on me. I guess that's why everyone does," Sammy blurted.

Caine pulled away and stood. He walked over to the bed where he sat, head in hands.

"All I wanted to do was help, and you attack me like this. What did I do to deserve it?"

Sammy looked up, tears pausing for the moment. Was it possible Caine hadn't been teasing him just now?

'Is it even remotely conceivable that Caine finds me attractive?' Sammy asked himself. 'Surely not.'

"I—I'm sorry, I thought," Sammy stammered, tentatively making his way over to the bed. "I thought you were teasing me."

"Well, I'm not," Caine said without looking up.

"I'm really sorry. Caine—"

"I am teasing you now." The handsome boy looked up wearing a grin from ear to ear. "I'm not mad. I completely understand why you don't think anyone would find you attractive. Those jerks at your school have conditioned that mindset into you. But they are going to pay."

"Do you really believe in Damien's spell?" Sammy asked. He'd personally only gone along with the whole thing because Caine was a part of it. Plus, he also liked Jess. If he had the popularity to choose friends freely, he would pick her over the mean girls at school.

"One way or another, those jerks will pay," Caine said rather cryptically. "Now, let me cut your hair. I really do want to see that face."

For some reason, Sammy thought he might burst into tears again. He had to swallow it back, returning to the chair with his face hidden as usual.

"Please, please try to keep as much as possible," he begged.

Caine sighed. "Just trust me. You are going to look so much better after I've done. Do you trust me?"

‘Do I?’ Sammy wondered. ‘I’ve only just met him.’

Sammy nodded reluctantly. He watched as stands of his long dark hair fell to the floor with a sick sense of dread.

"Can I take a look?" he asked as Caine pulled at his hair, measuring to get the sides even.

"No, not until I've finished," Caine said, eyes fixed in concentration as he worked.

The anxiety built up as Caine continued to snip, look, remeasure, and return to snipping away at his precious hair.

"Okay." Caine led him over to the full-length mirror.

It took a while for his eyes to register what they were seeing.

"I—I lo—I look a bit like you," Sammy said, leaning into the mirror and pulling at the hair. It was now cut into a longer version of Caine's style. How was it possible that he now looked similar to the unbelievably handsome boy sitting next to him?

'Am I good-looking too?' Sammy asked himself. He could hardly breathe.

"How is it possible that a haircut could make so much difference?" Sammy whispered.

"It isn't," Caine assured him. "It's the spell working. You're starting to see yourself as you really are, not how those bullies made you feel."

"You really believe that?" Sammy asked, still staring at his own reflection. He couldn't seem to pull his eyes away.

"I feel it," Caine said. "I have very strong feelings about things. I'm an empath, you see."

Sammy nodded. He'd come across the phrase before, probably via something his mother had posted on social media. He'd always figured it was a load of BS but would never say as much to his new and only friend.

"I think it would look even better if you let me dye it," Caine said with a giant grin.

"Oh, I don't know about that—" Sammy argued.

"Go on. I've always wanted platinum hair, but mine is just too dark. Yours is the perfect color to bleach," Caine insisted. "Please? Please let me. Come on. Please?"

Caine kept on at him until Sammy felt he had no choice but to give in. He wasn't assertive enough to say no or shut him up and didn't want to resort to tears without his protective layer of hair.

"Okay, okay, just please don't make me look ridiculous," Sammy conceded.

The smell of the bleach hit him before the pain, filling his nose so entirely it stung the back of his throat. It was cold as it went on, but after a second it became tingly, then hot, then painful.

"Is it supposed to hurt?" Sammy asked.

"Oh yes, it's very painful. Did I forget to mention that?" Caine winced. "Sorry."

He tried to think about something else other than the pain. Anything else. It was useless. It felt like hot little needles poking at his scalp over and over without respite.

"Okay, I'm done," Caine announced.

Sammy breathed a huge sigh of relief. "You are? I can wash it off now?"

Caine carefully removed his plastic gloves and popped them into the bin along with the black plastic container and brush.

"Oh, no." Caine laughed. "You need to leave it on for forty minutes."

"Geez, what?" Sammy cried. He’d figured the pain would subside as he got accustomed to the feeling, but that wasn’t the case. It felt like his scalp was melting right off his head. Like a thousand angry hornets were swarming about his head.

"Hmmm," he whimpered, looking at Caine with sad eyes.

Caine leaned in, placing his hands on the chair arms. His cat-like face pressed so close against Sammy's he felt like a mouse pinned by a predator's unblinking gaze.

"I'm sure there is something we could do to take your mind off it." Caine grinned.

'He doesn't mean sex? Surely to God!' Sammy felt panic rising from the depths of his stomach. He'd never even kissed anyone aside from his mother and he was fairly certain that didn't count.

"E—erm, could... could we watch a movie or something?" Sammy stuttered, barely able to choke up the words. Every time he took a breath, the smell of bleach would fill his nostrils and sting his eyes.

"Aww, you are so cute and innocent." Caine tutted. "I'm going to corrupt you. I've decided."

'Please don't,' Sammy thought but didn't dare say. He was afraid. Afraid of being liked by someone. Afraid of relationships that could easily break or go badly. Part of him thought it was all just a very elaborate trick. Some cruel prank dreamt up by his tormentors.

Yet, there was also the part of him that wanted it to be real. He looked at Caine, so self-assured and perfect in every way. Could this boy really be interested in him?

'I want to believe in you, so please don't break my heart.'