Warlock Brothers of Havenbridge 01 - Spell Bound

For my mother, whose love has always been like magic to me.
Thank you for always supporting me in whatever I decided to do in life.

A
S
USUAL
,
the cafeteria at Havenbridge High roared with conversation. My classmates busily gossiped with one another about the morning’s events while stuffing themselves with what passed for food at our school. Not much could tear them away from their processed lunch and the nasty rumors they enjoyed gorging on.

At least until I entered the room.

From the moment I strolled through the double doors from the main hall, an eerie silence filled the room.

It happened every damn day, and it always made me grin.

Most of them were afraid of me. It wasn’t like I was some jock who could bench-press twice his weight and had more muscle than common sense. I didn’t have scary tattoos or weird piercings, and I didn’t walk around in a trench coat that might be concealing a shotgun.

I was just your typical eighteen-year-old high school senior of average height and lean build.

Still, I terrified them. Their gazes rarely met mine, and whenever I passed, their voices dropped to whispers. Just the way I liked it.

They should be scared of me. I had more untapped potential in my pinky finger than they did in their entire bodies, and they could sense it. They just didn’t know what it was they felt whenever they were around me. It had been that way ever since I was a kid.

If I told them why I had always made them so uneasy, they wouldn’t believe me. My kind had been forced from this world and shoved into the obscurity of myth and legend. It had been necessary for survival.

And it pissed me off.

I was a warlock and damn proud of it. If I could have, I’d have shouted it from the tops of these tables, but that was forbidden. We had to live alongside those who had once hunted us and pretend to be like them. If we didn’t, we’d face extinction once again.

“Mason!” someone shouted from the back of the cafeteria. “I got your lunch, man.”

It was Brandon Priestly, one of the juvenile delinquents I called my friends. He snuck out of fourth period every day to buy my lunch. Since it was Friday, I’d sink my teeth into a wicked juicy hamburger from Barrelman’s. They had the best eats in town.

I strolled over to where Brandon sat in the back with Simon Busby and Eddie Harmon, who made up the rest of my crew. These were the guys who dared to hang with me. Since they usually spent their days causing shit and teasing losers, they believed they were like me.

But I was nothing like them.

I didn’t waste my time with petty crap like bullying someone who obviously couldn’t defend himself. That was beneath me. Where was the challenge in that?

“Hey, Mason,” Laura McBride said as I passed her table. She sat with the other girls who’d gone bad. She flipped her long dark hair away from the cleavage she proudly displayed, and she slipped her bright red fingernail into her mouth. She’d been trying to get me to nail her for two years now. “Can I see you this weekend?”

“Can’t. Busy,” I mumbled as I walked by, and I wasn’t even lying this time. This was going to be a crazy, magical weekend, and my family had a lot to do. And even if we weren’t all gathering for an important ritual, Laura and her slutty friends weren’t for me.

My type tended to have lean muscles, a firm bubble butt, and a nice cock. Now someone like that would have my complete and undivided attention.

When I reached the table where my friends sat, Brandon took the burger out of the bag and moved my drink over to my usual spot. His chubby face twisted in apology; what had he gotten wrong with my lunch today? He was the largest of all my friends, but his mass wasn’t due to being overweight and out of shape. Brandon was one of those guys who were just big, and he used his size to terrorize most everyone else. For me, though, he turned into a lapdog. “They were out of root beer,” Brandon said as I sat down. “I got you Sprite instead.”

Fuck. What was I going to do without my root beer fix? “That’s the second time this month.”

He gave me a small smile. “I spoke to the manager and told him he needed to get his shit together. He said they’d make sure to have some next week.”

I took a sip of the Sprite and grimaced. It just didn’t hit the spot. My lunch was ruined.

“But I did get you extra cheese and bacon on the burger,” Brandon said.

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t totally ruined after all. I patted him on the back. It was my way of saying “good job.” The huge smile that broke across his face practically blinded me.

“We’re gonna head over to Boston this weekend,” Eddie said. His brother went to Boston College and had tons of access to alcohol. We’d occasionally use the connection to get our drink on. “You’re coming, right?”

I shook my head. “Got plans.”

“What?” Brandon asked. If he were any more disappointed, he’d be tearing up right now. “You’ve got to come.”

“Yeah,” Simon chimed in. He was more attractive than plump Brandon or acne-scarred Eddie, who enjoyed getting into fights. Simon had a good complexion and a nice set of full lips, but the boy had absolutely zero ass. It was so square and flat, he might as well be SpongeBob. “We’re gonna stay the whole weekend. Get drunk, smoke some weed, and bang some sorority chicks.”

I had to stifle a laugh. No college girl in her right mind would offer up her T or A to any of these guys. “You boys have fun. I’ve got plans,” I repeated.

“Like what?”

My body tensed. Brandon knew better than that. I asked questions. I didn’t answer them.

“Mind if I join ya?”

No one ever asked to sit with us at lunch. I was just about to tell the newcomer to fuck off when the sight of his big cornflower blue eyes stole the words from my lips. I’d never seen this dude before in my life, and I would certainly remember him if I had.

He was the hottest guy I’d ever seen.

A white V-neck T-shirt under a black vest covered his lean, muscular chest, and the arms that held his tray were smooth, creamy, and nicely defined. He obviously spent time in the gym. His shaggy blond hair blocked his vision, and he shook his head to the left to clear his view. When he could see again, he arched a big bushy eyebrow at us and said, “Uh, are y’all deaf or somethin’? ’Cause if this is the short-bus table, it don’t bother me none.”

What the hell did he just say?

“Are you calling us retards?” Brandon asked. I winced. I hated that word, but Brandon didn’t notice. He stood and growled.

“Not really,” he replied through clenched teeth. He clearly didn’t like the word Brandon used any more than I did. “I’m just sayin’ if y’all happen to be special needs, then that’s no skin off my teeth.”

Where the fuck was this guy from? His Southern accent meant he hadn’t been born in Massachusetts, and he definitely wasn’t from Havenbridge. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be talking to us like this. No matter how hot he was, the kid needed to learn his place. My older brothers disrespected me enough; I wasn’t going to let some country bumpkin insult me and get away with it.

I nodded at Eddie.

“This is our table, newbie,” Eddie said. “Why don’t you take your hillbilly ass somewhere else?”

“That’s not very hospitable,” he said as he slid onto the bench next to me. His body heat filled the space between us, and my cock sprang to life. What the fuck? How could this guy piss the shit out of me and turn me on at the same time? Thankfully, Brandon reacted the way he always did. His face turned redder than a clown’s nose. He was about five seconds away from grabbing this guy by the throat and throwing him against the wall.

That didn’t seem to bother the hot hick, though. He unfolded his napkin and placed it on his lap. This guy had balls. I had to give him that much.

“Maybe you’re the retard.” I snapped my attention to Simon as he leaned across the table. I was going to have a talk with these boys about their language. If someone said that word one more time, I was going to lose it. “’Cause I don’t think you’re hearing what we’re saying.”

“Oh, I hear you,” he said, picking up his plastic spork. “I’m just choosin’ to ignore you.”

I’d had about enough of his attitude. I turned in my seat and glared at him. He didn’t acknowledge my presence. He stared straight ahead as if he wasn’t seconds away from a beat down. Or being turned into a fly that I would take great pleasure in swatting. “Is there a reason you’ve come over here to start trouble with us?” He seemed intent on picking some kind of fight, and he was prodding the wrong boy at this school.

He took a bite of his spaghetti casserole, grimaced, and spat it out into his napkin. He had balls and better taste in food than most people around here. “Not at all,” he replied with a smile that was genuine and not forced. What was his deal? He offended us but then had the ’nads to pretend he’d done nothing wrong. “I was just being friendly, is all. It’s your friends here who think intimidatin’ me will make me run off with my tail ’tween my legs. I don’t do that for no one.”

“And we don’t let ‘no one’ just sit at our table.”

“Well, I guess I’m someone, then, ain’t I? Because here I am, sittin’ at your precious table.”

If we weren’t in the middle of the cafeteria, he’d be dead underneath a fly swatter. He was talking to me as if he had magical blood to back him up, but he was nothing more than an ignorant human.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the bottom of the barrel.”

As if lunch couldn’t get any worse. The shrill, annoying voice told me Miranda Proctor had decided to grace us with her presence. Unlike most everyone else at school, she had no fear of me, and it wasn’t just because she was a witch.

She knew my secret.

I glanced over my shoulder and sneered. Miranda stood behind me wearing a white button-down blouse and khaki-colored jeans. What was it with witches and white? Did the color have to be a part of every single fucking outfit? I sure as hell didn’t wear black every damn day. “What did you say? I don’t speak hag.”

Eddie and Simon snickered while Brandon guffawed. The cafeteria, which had slowly resumed its natural hum after I took my seat, once again quieted down. They knew from experience that whenever Miranda and I crossed paths, fireworks weren’t too far behind.

Her cotton-candy-colored lips twisted into a mocking sneer. “And not too good at Latin either, from what I hear.”

I gripped the table until my knuckles turned white. No matter what I said or did, she always reminded me of what I tried to hide the most.

“Who fucking cares about Latin?” Brandon spat. “No one needs to know that shit.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from laughing in my face. “Right,” she said with a wink. “No one.” She turned to the shaggy-headed fucker who still sat next to me. “You seem like a nice boy. Why are you sitting with these losers?”

“Well, thank you, ma’am. That’s very kind of you to say,” he said with a tip of an imaginary cowboy hat. “I was just hopin’ to make some new friends, is all.”

She surveyed our table and frowned. “Next time try my table. The only thing you’ll get here is fleas.”

I had to put a stop to this. Miranda was the only person at Havenbridge High who openly challenged me. I couldn’t very well have her and this new buck, who was obviously looking to carve out a name for himself, become pals. “What the fuck do you want?” I asked Miranda.

“I have a message from Elliot.”

“Speaking of retards,” Brandon said with a sniff.

I pounded my fist on the table. “Don’t any of you use that fucking word again!” That immediately shut them up. The boys glanced at one another before bowing their necks in submission while Miranda and the hick smiled in appreciation of my reply.

I might be a warlock, but that didn’t mean I was an insensitive fuckwad, especially to someone like Elliot Stonewall. Most kids at our school teased him mercilessly because he was mute, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t communicate. Elliot was a wizard who used telepathy to speak when he needed to be heard. Usually the only people he did that with were his family, which consisted of his twin sister Edith, their younger siblings Kate and Keaton, who were also twins, and his parents.