spellbound | book #1 | completed

I

edited: 26/01/2018

There was only one other person on the beach today: a man, and a tall one at that. Remy couldn't make out much else of him, though his dress sense was rather peculiar. From a distance, she almost thought he was wearing some kind of robe, though it was far too cold for that. Besides, it wouldn't have been the strangest thing she had ever seen in this silly little town where people often paraded to the shops in just their pyjamas, and middle-aged women sported bright pink legwarmers and mini skirts in the summer months. Not the strangest thing at all.

The harsh winter had kept most people away from the seafront for months, and when exposed to the icy breeze that cut through her lilac sweater like a knife, Remy could understand why. Even she was tempted to escape back to the warmth of her home, but she couldn't seem to abandon the beach just yet. It was her favourite place, and the only place she had where she could be alone. Only somebody who lived in an overcrowded house understood just how valuable that was.

She felt a sudden jolt against her sternum and reached for the source, pulling out the black key that had now been strung on a plain silver necklace. She had convinced herself that she was simply waiting until the owner began to look for it at first. Then, when nobody had mentioned it around town, she hooked it onto a simple chain and created a new home for it against her chest. There was something captivating about owning a key and not knowing what it could unlock. She always had loved mystery, and this was perhaps the closest she had ever gotten to one.

Now, the key was hot against her numb fingers, and a buzz vibrated through her fingertips, sending a tingle down her arm. She let it go, allowing it to dangle against the wool of her sweater. She was sure that she was imagining it. Inanimate objects, no matter how strange and mysterious, didn't heat up all on their own.

Her head snapped up at the sound of muffled shouts, and she noticed that the boy on the beach now had company. He was surrounded by three other men, all dressed in black, and bright sparks that flashed black and white seemed to be springing from them like fireworks. She rolled her eyes, wondering what on earth they were doing with fireworks in mid-February, particularly when the sun, though hidden behind an array of grey clouds, was still out.

She was prepared to leave the beach, having no desire to stay and watch a group of teenagers do something that was no doubt a stupid idea, but just as she stood up and brushed the sand from her jeans, she realised that the tall boy was being cornered, and the fireworks weren't fireworks at all—more like sparks of electricity that seemed to fly from the men's fingers.

She shook her head, clutching her necklace again before flinching when one of the men punched the boy.

Without thinking, she ran towards them, ignoring the ringing in her ears that overpowered the sound of the waves washing against the sand.

"Hey!" she shouted, ready to jump between them, but before she could, they were gone, the only evidence that they had even been there at all being the footprints where their shoes had dug into the wet sand. That, and the slight trickle of blood that Remy would not have noticed at all if the boy hadn't swiftly wiped it from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve.

She shuffled awkwardly, her heart racing as she watched the boy with wide eyes. He pulled himself up from the sand and brushed his clothes down angrily, his lips pinched into a hard line. He couldn't have been much older than her, though his angular face and icy blue eyes said he was at least past adolescence.

"What the hell just happened? Where did they go?"

The boy rolled his eyes and walked in the direction of the promenade before them. She couldn't help but narrow her eyes at his gait—it wasn't often that people walked with their chin lifted and their back straight in a town like hers, though his shoulders were still squared with tension. In fact, most people walked quite the opposite, usually hunched over with their phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other.