Foxblood: Rise of the Hellion (WattyAward 2012 Finalist)

Part One

“Come on, Beth, hurry up. We’re going to be late!” I shouted at her bedroom door. “It’s raining, so you know I can’t walk to uni.”

“Can it, Soph. I’ve got a zit and it won’t cover up. It’s okay for you and your oh so perfect skin, but we mere mortals have imperfections, and they’re a pain in the butt. What will Nick think if he sees me with a volcano on my chin? He’ll run a mile,” she whinged.

I wasn’t so sure. Nick never seemed to think anything. Beth’s latest squeeze would be lucky to find his brain.

I heard her fumbling around in her dressing table drawer. “I’m just gonna try a different concealer. Hang on a mo,” she called.

Beth could be so self-centred at times. I checked my own make-up in the hall mirror, smoothing out a splodge of eyeliner, and glanced down at the pendant I wore permanently; a symbol of my new life, and one that I daren’t be without. I really shouldn’t use my powers for such a trivial matter, but needs must. Mr Arkwright had organised a field trip to an old abbey today, and I didn’t want to miss the coach.

With a frustrated breath, I made my decision. “I haven’t got a mo. Get your ass out here and I’ll sort it.”

“You will?” Beth poked her brown curls around the door, hand covering her chin. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you.”

“Stop dancing around and show me then.”

Beth removed her hand. She was right. The spot was a biggie and just about ready to pop. I made a show of kissing my finger before placing it on the offending blemish—the kiss wasn’t necessary, but it would make her feel better.

She checked my handiwork in the hall mirror. One flawless chin.

“Gorgeous as ever.” She preened.

“Can we go now?” I asked, impatiently pushing her through the living room to the door.

It was my gift, the power to heal. One of the many discoveries I’d found out last year, after entering Sebastian’s world. Meeting Sebastian has changed everything. If someone had asked me to describe my ideal man, he would be it. Tall and athletic with muscles in all the right places, spikes of blonde hair framing a beautifully sculptured face, and seductive, turquoise green eyes that would melt any girl’s heart, as they do on a regular basis. But the other girls can’t have him; he’s mine.

“Mind if we stop off at Chico’s?” Beth asked, as we descended the back stairway of our flat. “I need a shot of caffeine.”

God, she could be so annoying. “Yes. I do mind. I’m going to be late. Just go already.”

I was certain that the coach would leave without me. As hard as I try, everything goes wrong for me. I make plans; they get changed. I buy things; they break. A boy asks me out, then laughs and pretends it’s a joke. That’s why I’m so surprised I have a boyfriend at all.

When dad died, in a factory explosion a few years ago, I shied away from forming close relationships with people. It felt safer that way. After all, I had Beth. My best friend was always there for me, and she was a handful all by herself. I didn’t need anybody else. I’ve always been happy with my own company, and I like being able to do my own thing. So although I enjoy the presence of other people, I’ve always been more of a people watcher than a socialiser.

It’s funny how things have changed.

Life certainly hasn’t been boring in the seven months since I moved to Fosswell, but things have calmed down a lot in the last couple of weeks, and at least my bruises healed quickly.

Watching Beth climb into her old heap of a car, I smiled to myself.

Beth has adjusted well to our new life and her newly acquired power, but then she’s the sort of girl to see the bright side of everything, an ability I have always believed to stem from her childhood. I’ve known her all my life. Her mother died tragically of cancer when she was only five, and her father’s never been the warmest of men. Plenty of girls would have retreated from the world and cut themselves off from affection. But not Beth. She went the other way, and I’ve always thought that her struggle to attract her father’s attention has gone someway to account for her loud personality. Personally, I wouldn’t have her any other way.

“You should be safe now. Looks like the rain’s passing over,” Beth said, as we neared uni.

I looked skyward to the patches of blue beginning to make an appearance. “Yeah, thank goodness. I was worried that I’d have to feign a sudden sickness again, and I’m beginning to get a reputation as a hypochondriac, as well as a weirdo.”

Telling the occasional lie wasn’t something I could prevent. Outside studies were more of a hazard than I’d expected, and I wasn’t about to risk a sudden shower hitting my face and exposing my true identity. Luckily, my work hasn’t suffered too much from my change of status and recent extracurricular activities, and I’m still on track for my degree in art and psychology.

In the end, the day was a success. I did some great sketches and was able to get home early enough to complete my thesis on The Impact of Traumatic Events on Development from Child to Adolescent, a subject on which I could draw upon plenty of personal experience.

That evening, I was sitting at the front window of our flat, cup of tea in hand, idly people watching, when someone emerged from Despots, the club opposite. I recognised the guy as one of the glass collectors who worked there, and he proceeded to replace the fading poster in the display box with a new one. I didn’t need to squint to read it. In the last few weeks, my eyesight had surpassed normal human capabilities. A local band, Ironspit, was doing a gig at the club the next evening. I’d heard some of my fellow students talking about them. They’d recently become famous by posting their songs on the internet, and they were supposed to be quite good.

“Beth? Fancy going out tomorrow?” I asked casually, as she strolled over to the sofa and curled up in front of the TV.

“Honey, I thought you’d never ask,” she said excitedly. “I’ve been dying of boredom cooped up in here. What’s changed your mind?”

“Curiosity.”