Calling (The Starlight Chronicles Book 2)

  CALLING

  BOOK TWO of THE STARLIGHT CHRONICLES

  C. S. Johnson

  Copyright © 2015 by C. S. Johnson.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher.

  As always, this is for Sam.

  But also this is for a new friend, Satori, who helped me see this with a renewed vision.

  ☼1☼

  Awkward Games

  “He’s more awkward than a vegetarian in a meat factory!”

  “He’s more awkward than a democrat lowering taxes!”

  “He’s more awkward than a lactose-intolerant ice cream driver!”

  “He’s more awkward than a sumo wrestler trying to ice skate!”

  “He’s more awkward than Tim Ryder trying out for the football team!”

  I put my fingers to my chin thoughtfully, striving to look pensive. As I pretended to think over my decision, my friends began arguing about whose answer was the best.

  “Come on, Dinger, mine’s perfect!”

  “No way, Poncey! Can you just imagine how hard it would be to be allergic to what you’re selling?”

  “Jason, being lactose-intolerant isn’t the same as being allergic. Gosh, you are just dumb sometimes . . . ”

  Finally I spoke up. (The moment of truth . . . ) “All right, guys. Simon, sadly, has a valid point. I’m going to go with his answer.”

  As the rest of my friends let out the last of their chuckles and/or groans, I smirked in satisfaction. “Good one, Simon!” I reached out a fist bump, and my humble sap of a friend vied for it like Olympic gold. “It’s a great description for Apollo City’s new mayor.”

  It was more than appropriate, too. Mayor Stefano Mills had taken office only a few days before and already he’d been hailed as a “Politician’s Politician” by already going back on his campaign promises and seeking a lot of bipartisan agreements–or “settlements,” depending on which news network I happened to be overhearing.

  I felt sorry for Mayor Mills more than anything else, to be honest. Our last mayor, under increasing pressure, had resigned and no one really wanted to take his place. The town council had instated Mills after a lengthy debate followed by a quick election.

  “I knew you’d like mine, Dinger,” Simon grinned knowingly.

  “Yeah, you probably spent all week thinking of it,” my sidekick, Evan von Ponce (more affectionately known as “Poncey” to us), spoke up, the teasing evident in his tone.

  “Come on, mine was much better,” my friend Drew McGill harped. “Can’t you just see a sumo wrestler slapping the ice over and over . . . ”

  Aw. Jealousy can be so cute.

  I sighed happily to myself. “Come on guys, let’s start a new round. Simon’s the judge this time.”

  While Simon tried to think of a topic for the next round of the Awkward Game, I surveyed the room much like I imagined the president did when he walked into the Oval Office. After all, it was all because of me more or less that people were here, at Gwen Kessler’s surprise Sweet Sixteen.

  True, my best friend Mikey Salyards had volunteered his house, since his grandma and mother were out of town for the weekend, and all my friends had invited pretty much anyone who was even decently popular. But I’d been the one who had thought of having the party in the first place.

  The familiar faces of my friends and frenemies were paired around poor Mikey’s house, looking like some sort of bizarre clique collection, laid out in no particular order. With the mountains of pizza boxes, the music of our favorite video games, TV shows, and movies, and the rush of getting together outside of school hours, it was like being in a second sort of home. A home I didn’t have to worry about cleaning after everyone left.

  Yes, I decided. It had been much too long since our last blowout.

  There were good reasons for that, surprisingly none of which involved my parents. The sad lack of parties was mostly due to the last time I was at a party, when my life had inexplicably and irrevocably changed for the worst.

  But I wasn’t really going to think of that while I was at this party–I had much more pressing concerns, as usual. I was focusing all my brainpower, all my available skills, on winning the next round of the Awkward Game.

  The Awkward Game is where a bunch of friends get together and make fun of people or ideas in a more intelligent way than just saying they’re stupid, dumb, or ugly.

  Here’s how it works: one person is the judge, and the judge will call out a familiar topic. And you can pretty much call out whatever you want, whether it’s the drama nerd you wish you’d never met last fall, the latest bill passed or passed over by congress, or the latest celebrity who’d walked out of their house ‘accidentally’ wearing leeches. Then everyone goes around and makes an awkward comparison. For example, if you pick your school librarian, you could say she is more awkward than a fruit bat sucking blood or a bald man trying to get a haircut. Finally, after everyone puts in their answers, the judge makes the decision on who has given the best response. After so many rounds, you tally up who has the most wins and that person is the winner.

  I won the game a lot, needless to say. But I also relished being the judge.

  Simon looked thoughtful for a moment. “Okay! I got one!” he cheered. “How awkward is Wingdinger?”

  The rest of the guys laughed as I felt the fun flerb out of me. I faked a grin as the guys all began to snigger at the mention of Apollo City’s “superhero.”

  Of course he’d go with Wingdinger. And of course, I have to sit here and take it. Nothing is going to save me from this unless by some miracle–

  Splintering pain slipped around my right arm like a shackle.

  Ah, there it is. Supernatural calling. I grimaced.

  “Hey guys,” I spoke up. “I’m gonna duck out this round. Gwen’s over there and I want to give her my present.” A round of “Oohs” and “Awws” and “Go HD!” and other unintelligible comments ensued.

  Oh, what I would’ve given to be telling the truth.

  I headed out of Mikey’s house as quickly as I could. I didn’t have a lot of time before Gwen headed home, and I hadn’t actually had a chance to give her my present.

  But my other problem, still winding its way up my right arm, had more serious potential consequences at the moment.

  Keeping this at the forefront of my mind, I slipped around corner of the stairs and tiptoed towards the front door.

  Why did I, the great Hamilton Dinger, the pride of Apollo City Central High, suddenly have to leave? What reason called me to sneak out away from the only bright spot of my life since winter vacation ended, jumble my way through the backstreets of the city, and head off in the direction of certain unpleasantness?

  The same reason I didn’t like to think of Wingdinger as awkward.

  For one thing, he’s me.

  For another, I had a monster of some demonic nature to battle.

  And then there was–

  “Hammy?” There was a hand on my shoulder.

  I turned around to see none other than Gwen Kessler staring at me, looking so pretty it just made the ugliness of my situation even more awful. “Gwen!” My voice went up at least an octave pitch, as if I’d swallowed Mickey Mouse and he suddenly wanted to pop up and say hi. I cleared my throat hastily. “Gwen. There you are. I was just . . . ”

  Gwen’s honey brown eyes warmed and I felt part of me melt. “Looking for me?” she ventured a lure, and I grabbed onto it.

  “Yes! I was just looking for you,” I agreed. “I have to . . . ” I have to distract her. “You look amazing tonight,” I said
.

  She giggled. “Thanks.”

  I laughed easily, trying to force my body to relax. Get a grip, Dinger!

  “I was just going out . . . side. For a moment. It’s warm in here. Don’t you think it’s warm in here?”

  Gwen’s eyes lost their sparkle. “Are you going home already, Hammy?”

  I wish. “Oh. No, I just forgot to bring your present, and I wanted to go get it really quick,” I assured her.

  “But you’re not going home? Where is it then?” Gwen looked charmingly confused.

  I was getting there myself, frankly. “Oh, uh, it’s at Rachel’s Café,” I lied. “I was there this afternoon, and I must’ve left my backpack there, and that’s where I put your present earlier.”

  Gwen’s brow wrinkled. “Are you doing okay, Ham? You’ve been acting weird lately.”

  “Weird? Huh. Doesn’t sound like me.”

  “Really?” Gwen held up her hand and began counting off on her fingers. “First, you miss meeting me at Christmas, and call up the next day with some strange excuse of getting lost. Second, at New Year’s, you and Mikey come over on your way to Jason’s, and you leave me and Mikey hanging as you suddenly have to run home for your homework?” She giggled a bit. “I heard you’ve been sick during swim practice a lot too, to the point where even Coach Uzziah is getting on your back. And then, you’re just so forgetful lately, it’s almost like you’ve been avoiding me.”

  “Um . . .” I guess Gwen had noticed my rather poor run of excuses.

  Ugh. I mentally slumped over in some kind of defeat. If it had been possible for time to stop for several moments, I would’ve spent all of it complaining about how irritating it was to be running constantly from battle to battle. ‘Wingdinger’ might have been needed on the interdimensional frontlines, but ‘Hamilton’ had a string of present obligations to fulfill. And I could only get so sick, forget so many things, or have my grandmother die so many times before people caught on.

  Pain bit through my arm again, like a shackle shrinking around my wrist. I looked down to see the familiar mark on my wrist glowing. Trouble was brewing. I had to go. A cringing shudder went through me. I had to go, and that meant I had to leave Gwen.

  “I’m sorry, Gwen, I just have to go. Sorry,” I stammered. “I’ll be right back soon!” Dreading the thought of the accusing look on her face, I intentionally turned away from her as I scooted out the door, nearly tripped down the porch stairs, cursed Mikey’s grandmother for needing so many safety railings, and ran away as fast as I could.

  As I approached the end of the driveway, I looked to see Gwen being pulled back into the party by her best friend, Laura Nelson. The music blared out one last time, seeming to give me an extra push as I hurried away. The comforting lights of the fun-filled house diminished with distance, as did any control over my burning anger.

  Awkward games indeed, I thought bitterly to myself.

  ☼2☼

  Problems

  The evening streets of Apollo City were minimally populated, I noticed. The small city sitting on the edge of Lake Erie seemed dark, as though encouraging its inhabitants to indulge in a night in. That was good, I decided. I didn’t need people tripping me up.

  After a moment of quick reconnaissance, I headed off for a nearby community sports field. I smirked as a slight, deadly-colored aura surrounded the area; not only was it (thankfully) close by, I was getting better at finding the battlefields. (The first time I’d seen the deadly shadows of supernatural trouble, I thought I’d needed to go to the eye doctor. Now that I knew what it was, it was the first thing I looked for as I barreled into action.)

  “Kid!” the deep, familiar voice resounded through the treetops as I scuttled through the darkened alleyway leading to the recently renovated Central City baseball field.

  I sighed. I’d recognize Elysian anywhere; then again, how many talking dragons could one person possibly know? Especially one as irritating as Elysian. It had been the right move, as hard as it was, to leave the party, I thought. Recalling the various times he’d come close to being discovered, I had little doubt my self-proclaimed “mentor” would have had the common sense to stay out of Gwen’s party.

  Elysian swooshed down beside me, his long, scaly, fully-transformed body gliding effortlessly through the air. “Transform,” he ordered, his voice deep and rough. “We are getting close.”

  “I know,” I bit back. Glancing down, I saw the black, four-pointed star on my seething wrist peeking out from under my sports wristband. This mark, seared into my skin as much as the power it symbolized branded my life, was key to my power. Pressing it released a surge of energy, scattering lightning across my blood, changing my clothes, sprouting my distinctive wingdings out of my head. Despite the interruption to my life, I grinned. “You know, I’m not stupid. I know how to do this by now.”

  Elysian rolled his glowing, yellow-green eyes at me. “You could still speed it up a bit,” he muttered. “Our enemies don’t–”

  The park ground suddenly began tunneling underneath me. “Run!” I ordered Elysian, momentarily forgetting that in his full dragon form, Elysian could fly.

  No sooner had I yelled when the dirt and grass twisted away from my feet. The ground caved away from itself, as though a giant underground blender had suddenly sucked it through a vacuum. I would’ve sent me spiraling into the earth if it hadn’t been for Elysian’s quick-clenching jaws.

  A quick scream flew out of me as I felt the world drop from underneath me. (Hopefully no one heard me.)

  “Itz zunderground!” Elysian barked with me between his closed bite.

  “No kidding,” I muttered. Elysian underestimated my ability to think clearly quite frequently. Which was a big part of the reason I thought he was annoying. He also thought he was in charge; that did him no favors in gaining my favor, let me tell you.

  Elysian dropped me onto a tree branch nearby, and then proceeded to breathe his celestial flames at the ground. When the ground only caught fire, I groaned; not only was that going to make it hard to see the monster, the park rangers were going to be sending a bill to the mayor’s office–again.

  “Watch the collateral damage, Ely!” I screeched the stern instruction, anger on my flame-lit face. If, by some unlucky instance, the government did manage to find out my identity, I would get stuck working off more than two lifetimes of debt.

  Elysian shrugged, and I rolled my eyes. I would’ve called him on his stupidity if I didn’t need to think of something quickly to stop the demon monster.

  “Okay,” I muttered to myself. “I need a plan.”

  Watching the former baseball field burn, I felt ready to give up. I slumped against the trunk on the tree, my wings bristling at some of the wayward branches.

  Life had certainly changed drastically for the citizens of Apollo City last fall, I surmised, thinking for the hundredth time just how galling it was to find myself where I was.

  When a meteorite had struck the town last October, I had no idea it would’ve brought so much trouble along with it. In addition to causing general city-wide panic, some broken buildings, and even earning me a trip to the hospital, a number of what could only be termed as supernatural creatures had appeared: eelas, bakreels, even some tenwaleisks. Demonic monsters, seeking power by stealing the souls of humans, suddenly rampaged through the city streets under the charge of the Seven Deadly Sinisters and their supposed caretaker, Orpheus.

  You can see where it gets complicated to follow along. If I hadn’t happened to have some kind of superhero type powers–apparently, I was some kind of ‘fallen star,’ some kind of warrior for ‘good,’–you can be sure I wouldn’t have believed any of it. Just even saying it like that makes me cringe.

  But there was no doubt it was all true, much to my displeasure. And when Elysian had shown up, there was much more displeasure to be had. His instruction, while it had given me the basics of defeating each type of demon, and limited insight into what he called the Celestial Kingdom, or the Immo
rtal Realm, it did nothing to comfort me on the loss of my normal, teenage life.

  My less-than-critical thinking was interrupted as the monster finally broke free from its muddy sheath.

  “Grum!” A ring of endless teeth eclipsed my line of vision. It was the framework of a mouth ten feet wide, which was followed by a burbling body of a monstrous mutant worm. I sighed. Another bakreel–a spirit demon. That made three just this week, I thought, annoyed again.

  The only bright side I could think of to this was that at least they weren’t the worst to deal with. In fact, spirit demons were the lowest on the rating of demons for me to kill. They were simple monsters who’d taken up a vengeful residence in some of the silliest places, although there have been a few exceptions. They didn’t seem very bright to me. After all, what could a bakreel really hope to do in the form of worm?

  True, this one was an enormous, evil, flop-happy worm with a huge set of chompers, but still, I’d dissected one of its smaller counterparts in Biology last year. I wasn’t afraid of it, even as giant and mutated as it was.

  I smirked as I called forth my own stream of energy. A warmth sparked from my heart and poured out into my palms. “You won’t worm your way out of this!” I cried. (I could hear the familiar whirr of a news helicopter coming in from behind me, and for showmanship’s sake, it was the only real pun I could think of.)

  My punch’s power, like cackling energy, latched around its neck and tightened, trapping it; Elysian let out another burst of celestial flames as we held it down.

  “Yes!” I cheered as I saw the monster struggling to scurry back underground. I’d learned if it tries to retreat, it usually means it’s been weakened enough for me to go in for the kill.

  And that was when, all of a sudden, my cell phone, tucked in a shoulder pocket of my armor, vibrated and let out a loud ring.

  Unable to help myself, I swiped it up to see Mikey Salyards, my best friend, was calling. Right as I was trying to polish off the gardener’s work (He just had to call right then, didn’t he?)