Stranger danger, Dad always used to say. I remember he'd even made his own little ditty about it.
"Strangers mean danger
What can I say, it's not a game
Strangers aren't safety angels or mighty rangers
Unless they're your fans 'cuz you have fame."
Yeah, Dad could sometimes spin a web of poetry or two. What can I say? Like son, like Dad.
My genes totally went in him too. The witches couldn't mess with that.
Well, he’s not around anymore, is he? the jerk section of my brain says.
Shut up.
The jerk section of my brain: All because of you, Mar.
Me: Shut up.
TJSOMB (stands for The Jerk Section Of My Brain; whoa, explaining the acronym took more time than it would’ve if I had just said it normally): And now if your friends and your Uncle-
Me: He’s not my Uncle.
TJSOMB: -if they die, then that’s on you, too.
Me: Shut up.
TJSOMB: You are in deep sh –
‘Shut up.’ I immediately realize I have said it out loud, so I clap my hand over my mouth.
‘You alright, Mar?’ Aar asks, concerned.
I give him a fake smile, then remove the hand from my mouth so he can actually see it (I know, silly me). ‘Yeah. I mean, he’s gonna take us to the Coven. What could go wrong?’
Aar weakly chuckles, shooting a nervous glance at the guy we’re putting our faith in. He obviously thinks a lot can go wrong.
Es brushes right through me – ugh, it’s such a cold, sickly feel, when a spirit does that – and comes out the other end, only to say this to the muscular guy: 'I don’t wike you.’
This doesn’t phase the guy. Like, at all.
'I said, I don’t wike you.’
This is where Bee pops in: 'Actually, I think you mean “like,” Es.’
'I mean wike!’ Es says, and crosses her arms as she shoots higher into the air. I don’t know, man. Spirit moods.
A few steps later, she can’t contain her curiosity, so she goes all in: ‘What’s you name? I don’t wike you, you know. What do you do? I don’t wike him, Marru-parru. Where are you - '
‘You may call me Rasthrum,' the man suddenly speaks up. ‘What I do is none of your business. And if you want to get to the Coven, your petty little mouths better stay stitched.’
All the while, he doesn’t stop walking. I ask him the one question that really matters: 'How do we know you know where the Coven Thirteen is?’
Now, let me tell you. There is nothing scarier than a tall, muscular guy striding towards you with his stupidly red eyes into your own heterochromatic, pinched ones.
‘You wanna know, boy?’ Rasthrum says in his deep, gruff voice. What happens next looks like it’s headed right into the mud at first, because the guy starts removing the scarf concealing his countenance.
But then we see, all of us.
His face.
It is . . . hideous, to say the least. And that’s coming from me, a horrendously ugly teenager. Go back to where I started talking to you. To where you started reading/listening to me.
No, no, I mean it. Go back to “Chapter 1,” if that’s what you want to call it. Go there right now and see how I described my ugliness.
Do it. I said, do it. Come on.
Done? Good. Now multiply that by the biggest (largest? Should I say largest instead?) prime number you can think of.
Great. Now square that. And burn the answer you get. Burn it and mash it and make a stew out of it. That should be a near-accurate picture of this guy's face. It is running with scars and burns and marks and chips. There are no brows. The nose is half-chopped, making him look like Freddy Kreuger trying to do a clown-impersonation.
It’s just . . . you don’t want to see that face. Trust me.
Trust me.
Trust. Me.
Sorry, I just can’t get over how bad it looks. And I’m no one to judge a person by his or her face.
Anyhow, Mr. Om and Bee and Aar (and even See, I guess?) gasp collectively. Es seems to not really care. I guess she also has spirit X-Ray vision or something now, so she already knew how it looked. Gosh, Lakoswanion seems to have really boosted her powers.
The tall, muscular, hideous guy covers his face back up again. ‘Those witches did that to me. And other ghastly things you don’t want to know, kid. I’m quite possibly the only one who has crossed their path and survived with both my sanity and my life. Now . . . if you feel like you have what it takes to hold your ground against the Coven, then follow me. And ask. No. Questions.’
I am zipped. So is the rest of my party. I think Aar might even have pissed his pants. I mean, just saying.
I see him and Bee exchanging looks. I told them they shouldn’t have tagged along.
But I am firm. I need to set this right.
I nod and follow the hideous man who calls himself Rasthrum. I do not care if the others are behind me or not.
Oh, hello. Didn't see you there.
Been a while, crocodile.
See ya later, alligator.