Chapter 1 Grease is the Word

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The guy arched an eyebrow at him. "Ivers, you're twice as big as I am. You 'onestly think I'd jump you? Do I look stupid? I need your 'elp. That is why I'm 'ere. I know your parents." It seemed as if he'd thrown the last bit of information in as an afterthought.

His accent was off, British, but not quite. He couldn't place it. The fact that he claimed to know his parents did get his attention. "How do you know them?" If this little weirdo knew his parents, why didn't his parents ever mention him?

He glanced away, frowning. "It's a long story. I'd prefer not to get into it. Especially not 'ere."

He crossed his arms over his chest, sinking back into the chair. "Then I'm not moving," he said in a huff.

The guy leaned over, placing a hand on each arm of the chair as he spoke in a quiet voice. "Your parents are the Chosen. Your mother 'as the power to 'eal. She can throw 'er thoughts as well. Your father is a sensitive. Is that proof enough, Ivers?" He pushed away from the chair and stood back. Waiting.

Ken leaned forward and quickly gathered his things, stuffing it all haphazardly into his backpack. No one would know about his parents except another sorcerer and there were very few they would trust with the secret of their powers. "We can talk at my apartment. Do you have a car? I came on my bike, unless you don't mind riding with me," he asked as he continued to shove things into his backpack.

The guy tucked his hands into the pockets of his jacket and shook his head. "Got my own bike. I'll follow you."

He paused in his rush to jam everything into his bag, grinning at the guy. "A bike, really? What kind?"

He laughed over Ken's enthusiasm. "1953 Indian Chief Roadmaster," he answered.

He gave an appreciative whistle. "Wow, classic. Mine is a lot newer. Suzuki GSK-R1000." The guy made a face. "You got a problem with my bike?" He rose and slung his backpack onto his shoulder.

There was an answering shrug. "It's a motor on wheels, covered in plastic and fiberglass. It 'as no character."

He laughed and slapped the smaller man on the back. It was kind of nice to have someone to talk motorcycles with, none of his friends were into bikes. Together, they walked out to the parking lot. Neither spoke as the made their way through the library to the door. Ken sent a sidelong glance at the leather clad sorcerer. There was nothing that told him who the guy was or how he knew his parents.

They pushed through the doors and stepped outside, walking down the path to the parking lot.

"My bike is at the far end of the lot. Where are you parked?" In answer to Ken's question, he nodded to a black bike parked at the curb under the glow of a streetlight. Ken stared at the bike. It was in mint condition. It didn't appear to have a scratch anywhere on it, though it was hard to tell in the dark. "Man you weren't kidding. Great bike. I'm jealous. I doubt my mom would let me near a bike like that. She'd ramble some nonsense about how unsafe it was and that it probably costs too much to maintain." He arched a brow at the guy, when he saw him hunch his shoulders and look away. He had the distinct feeling he was laughing at him.

"Mmm, I guess she'd see it that way, sounds like 'er. The bike is mine, original owner." He shrugged as if that little tidbit of information meant little.

He eyed the guy a bit more closely. Originally, he'd believed him to be no older than he himself was, obviously, he was wrong. With sorcerers it was always hard to tell. The aging process slowed to a virtual crawl. With a sigh, he turned away. He wasn't going to get any answers until they could talk private. "I'll go get my bike."

After a jog across the lot to where he parked his bike, he grabbed his helmet and jammed it on. Sorcerer or not, if he didn't wear it, his mother would kill him. It was her one condition for allowing him to get the bike. The engine started and he grinned, nothing like it in the world. When he pulled the sleek, blue and silver bike up beside the black Indian bike, he had to admit it look puny beside the classic. "Ready to go?"

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