14.The First Heartbreak
Josh
I think Bane’s avoiding me.
On the bustling streets of Concordia in the afternoon, a familiar brown bomber jacket catches my eye. He’s exiting a store across the street. Our eyes meet unexpectedly and we both freeze.
When I get myself together and raise my hand to wave, he’s gone in the blink of an eye.
Yep. He’s definitely avoiding me.
As I try to track him down over the following days, my mind keeps going over everything I know. I think back on our history.
Mom became High Priestess of the Fern coven and we moved here when I was sixteen. I don’t remember meeting Bane then. Eventually, I did notice the cute guy in the bomber jacket. The guy with the red sports car. That’s all I recall, an eventual awareness of him. No conversations, no opportunities where I had the chance to reject him.
Nothing major happened, not until the bike incident.
The wolves here never need to hide their supernatural side. They grow up freely around other shifters and magic and never learn to ride bikes. Four legs work better than two wheels.
Living here, I didn’t need to ride my bike anymore. I still did sometimes just because I enjoyed riding. Some members of the Clover Pack thought it was silly. And judging by the snide comments some of the Iron wolves grumbled when they saw me riding, it really bugged them. What self-respecting wolf ridesaround on a blue two-speed Schwinn like they don’t have four perfectly good legs to get them there faster?
Bane obviously took offense because he crushed and set my bike on fire when I was eighteen. I stayed the hell away from him afterwards, afraid of what he might do next.
I can’t remember when I stopped running as soon as I spotted him and it all died down. He never pressed his issue with me or tried to attack me in person.
Now that I’m thinking about it, when things settled down again is when he really started showing off in my presence and acting better than me.
What does it all mean? There’s clearly something I’m missing here.
I need Bane to fill in the missing pieces, so I stake out places he frequents. Like the gym where he trained me. In the gym parking lot, I get lucky.
Bane strides toward the entrance, spotting me as he reaches the door. Every muscle in his body locks up and he freezes with his hand on the handle. I expect him to bolt. But to my surprise, he shoves through the entrance and vanishes inside.
I waste no time hurrying after him.
Bane has retreated to the men’s locker room. I think I see him duck inside, but the real clue is what standsbetweenme and the locker room. A group of massive, intimidating bodybuilders blocks my path, positioned like sentries. Their crossed arms bulge with muscles and each one glares at me, practically daring me to start something, but I don’t have a death wish.
“Turn around,” orders the largest guy at the front. “The gym is closed today.”
We’re all standing inside the very open gym, fluorescent lights blazing overhead and the hum of treadmills filling the air. But no one’s going to challenge his blatant lie. There’s no getting past the solid wall of muscle blocking my way.
Bane wins this round.
But I’m not giving up that easily.
Time to get creative. The next time I find Bane, I’m ready for him.
I study my reflection in the shop window, barely recognizing the stranger staring back. The glamor spell has completely transformed my appearance. Gone is the scrawny young guy I’m used to seeing. In his place stands a pudgy man with a red face and dull grey eyes. My shaggy blond hair has darkened and thinned into a receding hairline. Pretty good for my first glamor. Using magic is becoming more and more comfortable for me.
An older, unassuming man peers back at me in the window. Someone Bane won’t glance twice at.
Sure enough, Bane and I spot each other as he heads toward the coffee shop a few doors down. His gaze sweeps right past me. He scans the street with predatory awareness before disappearing inside.
Here goes nothing.
Bane heads toward the exit with a large to-go cup in his hand a few minutes later. I take a deep breath and swiftly push through the door, planting myself firmly in front of him, blocking the exit.
He shoots me an irritated glare. When I don’t budge, his eyes narrow to slits. His nostrils flare and his shoulders tense as he picks up on something off—glamors smell less natural and more like magic.
