The Dark Ice Chronicles - The Magi

Chapter 16 - Who Is The Lamb And Who Is The Knife?

I take a few extra moments to look at my half-naked form in the mirror. I never thought about it too much before, but I’m not nearly as skinny and short as your average Dark boy. Sure, I’ve got a borderline skeletal frame, but I also have a lot of lean muscle packed onto it. Where did that come from? Definitely not from me taking up any sports.

I guess I was always scared I would just be another little wimp like every other Dark boy seems to be. It’s probably what makes us such easy targets. Why there’s always bullies waiting to pounce on us, call us “little Dark faggots,” maybe rough us up a tad bit to show us who’s boss.

But now that I consider it, I realize that whatever measure of Ice blood I have, however small, must be even more dominant than I thought. Not only am I able to control a dual power, but my more...um...refined body type also speaks of my mixed DNA. Ice warlocks are known for their slim figures. Maybe that explains why I prefer girls with that kind of body - slender, faintly muscular, but not athletic.

Like Evan. Or Dani.

In the three hours I have before I leave, I make sure my bags are packed for the roughly forty-eight hour trip, have breakfast (two cups of espresso with two sugars each, just to ensure I’m super-hyper-hella hyphy-juiced), and eliminate last night’s Grimm and Constantine from the DVR.

Within the first hour of downing my double espresso, I start to get really nervous again, so I check and re-check my luggage. Two more shirts, plus a third to serve as a spare? Check. Jeans? Check. Boxers? Check. Extra hoodie? Check.

I’m sure that by the time I’m done obsessive-compulsively rearranging my clothes, I’ve forgotten how to fit them into their suitcase.

“Nice mess you’ve made, dude,” Jeremy says, walking into my room. “I did knock,” he adds upon seeing the look of serious surprise on my face.

“A little bit of advice,” I say. “Don’t ever try to do anything requiring full control of your fingers while high on caffeine.”

“You can get high on caffeine?”

“Don’t get any ideas.” I cram my jeans into place and zip my suitcase shut. “I see you like your birthday present.”

Jeremy laughs, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from his black bomber jacket. He’s a big fan of the Percy Jackson books, and especially of Nico di Angelo, who’s pretty much the closest thing to a Dark warlock that series has. I’ve never read the books myself, but Jeremy’s told me a lot about it, including the fact that Nico’s signature outfit is a jacket just like this one.

Based on that, I was able to convince Dad to buy one for Jeremy’s eleventh birthday back in April. Never mind the fact that it would soon be too warm to wear it, and that by the time winter came he might very well be on the point of outgrowing it (turns out, he isn’t.) I just knew that he would be overjoyed to be able to (almost) cosplay as his favorite book character.

Jeremy has given me a lot of Attack Hugs in his day, but none more powerful than the one he delivered when he opened the bag and found that jacket. If I live long enough to get Alzheimer’s, that’ll probably be one of the last memories I allow to fade away. There’s just something about my baby brother trying not to squeal with delight, while vibrating with excitement as he silently geeks out in my arms, that is just so incredibly touching. He wasn’t the only one shedding tears that day, let me tell you.

“It’s about time it’s cold enough for me to wear it, you know?” Jeremy laughs, planting his ass on the end of my bed and bouncing on it a couple of times. “Damn, I forgot how soft your bed was. Why do you never let me sit up here?”