Since we drove far from the city, I thought that Woodhidge would be an ugly town that was far away from the normal world with wolves and vampires fighting on the street like rascals. I didn't expect to see a normal town, with stores and popular fast food restaurants—just like the ordinary town you would see anywhere.
Though, I have to admit, there was something weird about the town. It seemed like an ordinary town with ordinary people but something in me was conscious that the town wasn't normal at all. It wasn't only because my Mum had told me a lot about Woodhidge, I felt the town itself was supernatural, thereby explaining why it was the home of all Supernaturals. If that made any sense.
”Now, hun, we are close to my house...I'm so excited to show it to you." Mum said, smiling widely.
"Hmmn." I let out.
"You know when I was little, I would brag to my friends that I lived in castle...and to me at least, I did."
I smiled, trying to match her excited energy. "Oh, really, maybe I would brag to my classmates too when I start senior year."
Mum cracked up, almost taking both hands off the wheel as she laughed. ”You wouldn't be lying though. On a serious note, I see you enjoying your stay and study here, you are in for loads of positive memories.”
I hadn't had the best of my childhood largely because of my sickness. My magic was too ‘powerful for my body' and had made me so sick and until, a year ago, Mum hadn't known there was a cure. Apparently, there was no normal cure for it and I could only be healed with magic. My mother, according to all she told me, was the strongest witch the world has seen in ages. She had told me many times that witches weren't as strong as they had been in the past. In the past, witches were capable of doing incredible things and were greatly feared by the werewolves and even the vampires. But as civilisation came, witches stopped being devoted to their craft, and more importantly, started marrying humans. With the mixing of humans and witches over decades, the power of witches reduced so much that most witches had to take several hours of intense meditation to succeed in lighting a single candle.
Well, Evelyn Ithaca, my mother, was very different. She was strong enough to do many things most witches would only do in the best of their dreams. According to her, there wasn't any coherent reason she had such powers, she just had it. She had always been different, and for some funny reason, she believed I was so much stronger. It was because of my powers that I had always had fallen ill...my mother told me that it was my body's reaction to the pressure of my 'powerful' magic. Whether I had powerful magic or not was a mystery to even me, as my mother had always had a bracelet on my wrist to prevent me from using magic at all.
”Welcome to our humble abode, you are going to love it here.” Mum said as she stopped at the front of a well-built two storey mansion.
"Wait...Mum, this is the house?”
Mum made a face at me and tried a funny dance. ”Yes, it is."
“You don't like it?”
The house was an utter beauty. It stood out and was the ideal home for most people. The exterior features were considerably simple. The rectangular shaped house had a low sloping roof that fit so well on the building, the windows were tall and skinny and rounded at the top. There was a beautiful iron-wrought gate, which was opened by Mum who only wiggled her fingers.
"It is not too bad." I said, as I flashed Mum a weak smile.
Mum nudged me as we got out of the car and stood in front on the entrance of the beautiful mansion. ”Don't tell me you don't like it, Lucas."
“If you want to get me to tell you the house is beautiful...you won't succeed. Okay, it is a nice house, no doubt, a little too big though."
"Come on, it is home now, besides, it is not that big."
I laughed and shook my head softly. ”For someone who has lived in two bedroom flats all his life, living in a hundred-room museum won't be too easy to accept as home."
Mum held her eye brows up and exclaimed. “I love this house so much and you saying it looks like a museum is a little rude."
"Museums are cute, aren't they? I heard some have dinosaurs's skeletons now."
”So not funny, and the house has only twenty nine rooms in total...you will love it here, trust me."
“Sure, we could open our own mini motel, though I strongly doubt anyone does the nasty in this boring town, so it would probably be bad business.”
Mum, clearly tired of speaking with me, popped open her car boot and pulled all the boxes out, one at a time. She picked three and headed into the house.
“Hmmn, someone is already enjoying the scenery, told you you will love it here."
She is going to keep saying that, I pondered.
I went to where Mum had dropped our stuff, picked two up and was about to go see interior of the house when I saw her.
She was my age and if she was any older, she couldn't be more than seventeen. She had a very unique skin complexion—an intriguing mixture of milky white and olive, yet quite indescribably, it all fit well. She rode pass the entrance gate of our ‘new' house, and for a moment on a bicycle that looked way with her on it. Everything stood still for her. I watched patiently, and smiled widely as I pondered why the way she walked was uniquely unusual. It seemed everything worked for her, her feet seemed to make perfect contact with the ground, and while that was absurd, I immediately convinced myself that it was true.
I felt I was going crazy and I couldn't blame myself for that. If the immaculate beauty before me couldn't make me crazy, then I wonder what would. Again, I saw more reasons that everything worked in her favour. The way the cool breeze blew her red hair around kept my dreamy eyes totally glued to her. It seemed my gaze would never leave her, until...well, she looked at her with her bright ocean eyes, and every bit of me seemed to cease to function. For a split second, though it played way longer in my head, our eyes locked. And as I battled to maintain composure, she waved at me. And smiled.
It wasn't a weird wave—it was the normal wave one would get from a friendly neighbour. But to me, it was a lot more. It had to be a lot more. The impact her wave had on me was spectacular and I hoped she hadn't noticed how awkward her presence made me feel, as she was at least fifty feet away from me.
”You are new here, right?" The girl yelled from the porch of the house she was in.
“I am a...a very, very, very new here.” I said, still struggling with a sudden anxiety.
Oh, great, first statement I make to her is riddled with bad grammar—not to mention whacky composure.
Without saying a word, she walked into the blue one storey duplex just beside ours. Covering my face in my hands, I wondered why I had been terribly nervous. Fine, I wasn't great with girls but that was common—and expected—among teenage boys. While I wasn't the regular extrovert, I was very much not an introvert. I had always found it easy to relate with people even if those relationships were never tested by time. Why I had been a sissy before the girl was still a mystery to me.
Picking the luggage I hadn't an idea that I had dropped, I walked into our new home, and because I had the mystery girl on my mind, I didn't initially realise that the interior of the house was even more beautiful than the exterior—which I had thought was incredibly impressive from the very first glance.
Damon and my brother had invited me to Damon's new home which he had apparently rented though his home was only a ten minute drive from his mother's house. The invite, of course, was just to get me to help them set Damon's new home. It didn't bother me because I knew quite well that my brother and Damon would only talk and talk and talk, and would still need me to get things done. That was what I thought at least.
As I cycled to meet up with them, memories of my childhood flashed through my mind. I wasn't the easiest kid to raise, in fact, that was me going nice on myself. I was quite difficult to teach anything because of my obstinacy and inflexibility. Right from age eight or nine, I had been a huge problem to my parents—my mum in particular. It wasn't the normal problem most parents had with their kids, I wasn't just strong headed. I had a rock as a brain and no amount of teaching or scolding would get through. It was only when I changed for the first time, my behavioural ills reduced. Then my parent got to know that I had been battling with a male wolf inside of me and that made me unusually stubborn. It was then they knew I was Crosswolf.
Crosswolf is the term use to describe a female werewolf who is unable to change to to a female wolf but instead, would change to male wolf. Crosswolves were so rare that no one I know seem whether one had ever existed. Beside me, of course.
“Look where you are going, kid!" A fat lady in a purple minivan cried as she drove by hastily.
“This is not the motorway, banshee!” I yelled back at her.
I guess I was still one hell of a stubborn kid.
Having random things on my mind, I didn't even know I had gotten to my destination. I pedalled slowly and rested my blue bicycle on the finely painted fence. I was calm. Everything was alright before then. I wasn't nervous or anything—and I don't get why seeing a random boy would make anyone nervous. It did.
He had a black round T-shirt on, with a blue faded jean jacket that rhymed so well with the T-shirt. He also had a black skinny jean trousers that seemed like it went all the way into his shiny white trainers. A pair of glasses hung loosely on the collar of his shirt, and for some reason, this dashingly hot boy was staring at me like nothing else existed. I would have felt very flattered if I wasn't doing the same thing.
Oh, he is so cute.
I waved to him, took a deep breath and regained my composure because I knew just how much a first time impression meant, and then I yelled out to him. “You are new here, right?"
He said something but I couldn't make any sense out of it. I wondered whether he stammered a little or it was just my ears, which still surprised me as I was supposed to hear him anyway, I was a werewolf and our senses were heightened. I guess he didn't really have much to say, which was alright, I didn't either. By the way, who would?
I flashed him the typical Tilda Rowland smile, and headed into Damon's new home.
“Tilda, what do you think?” My brother, Mason, asked as I walked into Damon's new home for the first time.
I was so shocked to see how furnished and organised the house was. The house was a glass house but built in such a way that one wouldn't lose privacy. There were white sofas arranged in rectangular form in the living room, that was to the left when coming from the entrance. The whole house was beautiful and I loved it particularly because everything was white, and the only colour contrast was the touch of gold that was seen on the fancy white throw pillows that were kept neatly kept on the sofas. The house was very much ventilated and illuminated, as was expected of conventional glass houses.
”What do you think, Tilda?" Damon asked the exact question Mason had asked a moment before.
"It is really nice and I love the way you guys had it done...I thought you were moving into an empty house."
Damon smiled and pulled me softly, ushering me into the kitchen that was just as beautiful.
“You see, I had a professional interior designing team set the whole place up...he has me to thank for this." Mason voiced, as he had the coffee maker doing its job.
“Yeah, and it cost me an arm and a leg." Damon snapped playfully.
I shrugged softly. "I'm so happy you got someone to get this place fixed, we would have never been able to make here look half as good as it does.“ I drew closer to Damon punched him in the stomach—he always liked it when I hit him. “Though, I have to say that this house deserve a way better owner, you know, like me.”
Mason, Damon and I chatted as we had coffee and some biscuits. It felt like the good 'old' days. Damon had been so close to Mason that from some point in my life, I decided to see him as a brother. And he had more or else been a second big brother to me, and him also being a werewolf made everything easier.
My mind, acting on its own, decided to drift away from the fun conversation I was having with my two favourite people, to begin to think about the boy I had seen just outside the house. My very busy mind began asking me funny questions, and truthfully, some deserved to be asked. Why was I so eager to wave to him? Why did I ask him if he was new? I'm not even from this part of the town. Why did I feel that way when I saw him? He was super cute, but still, why?