so would not be showing up on a Friday morning the same day I arrived in town. I sighed resignedly though. Crady would not be swayed and I could read the assignment just as well in her car as I could in the school library.
Crady snorted at me. “I’ll let you know as soon as he gets here. We have to beat the Ticks to him.”
I sighed again. The Ticks, also known as the Deer Run High cheerleaders, were gorgeous, popular and pretty snooty. Crady and I started calling them The Ticks back in middle school when we realized that they would never stop sucking the joy out of life. They would most likely stake their claim as soon as the new kid placed his foot on the parking lot asphalt. I twisted my mouth, unsure how badly I wanted to meet Mr. TDH versus breathing the same air as the Ticks.
I flipped open Wuthering Heights and reread the assignment. I kept imagining Heathcliff. Why did girls go nuts over the dark brooding guys in stories? It seemed like the mysterious silent type would be more trouble than they’re worth. I like my life to be pretty cut and dried.
Ooh, cut and dried. That goes on my mom-list.
I twirled a wave of my brown hair around my fingers while I read, wondering what Mrs. Dietrich would ask on the quiz. Then I heard Crady squeal.
“He’s here! OMG he’s here! And look at that car. What the heck is he driving? Is that a Minivan? Okay, weird choice for a kid, but maybe his dad makes him drive it. At least it’s a cool blue color. Have you ever seen that shade on a Minivan? Oh my heck he’s headed this way!” Crady’s commentary flowed over me like filling up a Coke at a fountain.
I finished the paragraph I was reading and looked up as the car pulled in right beside us.
On my side.
Since I was already looking, I couldn’t very well look away without being totally awkward, so I just went with it. I wasn’t really prepared for what I saw.
Crady’s dad was not too far off the mark. Not by a long shot, in fact. I noticed the boy’s jaw and neck first, and I was struck with the impression of strength and masculinity and determination. What the heck? He was just shifting into park, not wielding a broad sword. His hair was dark brown, the color of molasses, and not quite long enough to need a haircut, but give him another week. It curled just above the white collar of his shirt. His nose was long and beautifully shaped, like some Italian sculpture, and his lips were…perfect. And they opened to reveal even white teeth, clearly enhanced by a stint with an orthodontist in his younger years, I was guessing. And he was looking at me.
3
Zarastrid’s Log Day 37
The Year of Our Loch 107
Agnes surprised me; she challenged me to a game of the chesse. The other women have likewise shown astounding intelligence, considering they are mere females. They are still under isolation, however. The Coven of Lochs can barely keep their excitement in check. The women are healthy and show great promise. Typically the women of our acquaintance have lost most of their teeth by the age of twenty, and end up dying before they reach forty. Our select group still has their teeth and, more importantly, their spirit.
The Warlochs scoured the kingdom. Painstaking lists of genealogy were taken. Simple tests were created. For example, my Battle Loch Zeko, hid food in trees. Those hungry enough to climb were rewarded with bread…if they didn’t fall to their deaths from the height or by being stupid enough to go out on weak limbs.
The Warlochs paid particular attention to those single women or widows who were accused of being witches. Naturally none of them were actual witches; we made sure of that a century ago. But such women weren’t missed if they suddenly disappeared. Many were used to persecution as well.
Our girls appear to be blossoming in their cells. Given enough food, probably for the first time in their lives, they try to engage their captors in conversation. One or two of them have tried to
Crady snorted at me. “I’ll let you know as soon as he gets here. We have to beat the Ticks to him.”
I sighed again. The Ticks, also known as the Deer Run High cheerleaders, were gorgeous, popular and pretty snooty. Crady and I started calling them The Ticks back in middle school when we realized that they would never stop sucking the joy out of life. They would most likely stake their claim as soon as the new kid placed his foot on the parking lot asphalt. I twisted my mouth, unsure how badly I wanted to meet Mr. TDH versus breathing the same air as the Ticks.
I flipped open Wuthering Heights and reread the assignment. I kept imagining Heathcliff. Why did girls go nuts over the dark brooding guys in stories? It seemed like the mysterious silent type would be more trouble than they’re worth. I like my life to be pretty cut and dried.
Ooh, cut and dried. That goes on my mom-list.
I twirled a wave of my brown hair around my fingers while I read, wondering what Mrs. Dietrich would ask on the quiz. Then I heard Crady squeal.
“He’s here! OMG he’s here! And look at that car. What the heck is he driving? Is that a Minivan? Okay, weird choice for a kid, but maybe his dad makes him drive it. At least it’s a cool blue color. Have you ever seen that shade on a Minivan? Oh my heck he’s headed this way!” Crady’s commentary flowed over me like filling up a Coke at a fountain.
I finished the paragraph I was reading and looked up as the car pulled in right beside us.
On my side.
Since I was already looking, I couldn’t very well look away without being totally awkward, so I just went with it. I wasn’t really prepared for what I saw.
Crady’s dad was not too far off the mark. Not by a long shot, in fact. I noticed the boy’s jaw and neck first, and I was struck with the impression of strength and masculinity and determination. What the heck? He was just shifting into park, not wielding a broad sword. His hair was dark brown, the color of molasses, and not quite long enough to need a haircut, but give him another week. It curled just above the white collar of his shirt. His nose was long and beautifully shaped, like some Italian sculpture, and his lips were…perfect. And they opened to reveal even white teeth, clearly enhanced by a stint with an orthodontist in his younger years, I was guessing. And he was looking at me.
3
Zarastrid’s Log Day 37
The Year of Our Loch 107
Agnes surprised me; she challenged me to a game of the chesse. The other women have likewise shown astounding intelligence, considering they are mere females. They are still under isolation, however. The Coven of Lochs can barely keep their excitement in check. The women are healthy and show great promise. Typically the women of our acquaintance have lost most of their teeth by the age of twenty, and end up dying before they reach forty. Our select group still has their teeth and, more importantly, their spirit.
The Warlochs scoured the kingdom. Painstaking lists of genealogy were taken. Simple tests were created. For example, my Battle Loch Zeko, hid food in trees. Those hungry enough to climb were rewarded with bread…if they didn’t fall to their deaths from the height or by being stupid enough to go out on weak limbs.
The Warlochs paid particular attention to those single women or widows who were accused of being witches. Naturally none of them were actual witches; we made sure of that a century ago. But such women weren’t missed if they suddenly disappeared. Many were used to persecution as well.
Our girls appear to be blossoming in their cells. Given enough food, probably for the first time in their lives, they try to engage their captors in conversation. One or two of them have tried to
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