Wiccan Act One: Occult

1 | With My Last Breath

I

Cyrus

Cyrus never made the mistake of calling himself a good person.

"Dad, if you keep calling me this late, you're going to make me late for school." His neck tensed, cramping in his attempt to keep the small device from falling on the counter.

"I know," a soft older voice sounded from the other end "I have a few minutes before my next meeting, so I wanted to call and wish you luck."

"School started weeks ago. It's a little late for luck."

"No, I mean, since you came back from your suspension, " he corrected. Cyrus flinched from his serious tone.

The line went silent. His father was unfazed by any amount of apologies he could pull out of his hat.

"Just try to relax and not get yourself into any trouble."

"At this point, I could use all the luck I can get. Mr Finch can hold a grudge. Last week he made me- Aww."

Cyrus tussled with the comb, trying to free it from the bird's nest on top of his head, a few teeth snapping off.

"You're eating properly right?" his father asked.

"Mhmm. Aunt Rose tries to shove five meals down my throat a day."

He gave his reflection a questioning glance, mouthing 'stupid'.

"That's Rosey for ya. She thinks everyone has an appetite the size of Texas. Please don't tell her I said that, she'd skin me alive."

"You're secret's safe with me, dad. Especially since you're not here and she would string me alive instead as the next best thing."

Cyrus' dad let out a soft chuckle, resulting in the boy smiling giddily for a second. He immediately stopped himself, fixing his lips in a thin line.

"Oh, are we starting already? Okay. Cy, I gotta go. We'll catch up later. Remember, don't get yourself into trouble. Love ya."

"Love you to-"

A beep on the line cut him off. An uneasiness crept its way back into his chest, causing it to clench.

Still, it beat the one line of text messages his father would send him once in a while. It was a lot easier to respond to those since he never read Cyrus' messages, but calls were a different story.

Except for last week, when he couldn't go five minutes without his phone blowing up. Today, everything was back to normal.

Given the choice, he would have left with his dad a long time ago. Except that was the issue. They did not give him that choice, did they?

Finally able to rest the phone down, he could relax, the tension in his neck being replaced by a slight sting just beyond it. Throwing on one of many black Jurassic Park t-shirts in his closet, along with the first pair of jeans he could scavenge, he was out of the bathroom.

Oh, before he forgot, he returned to the bathroom, reaching under the sink to retrieve a tiny pearl bottle with duct tape on instead of a cap. Ripping it off, he twirled a finger around the base, allowing for what little ointment inside to be picked up. The majority went just below his lips, brushing against the slit in his skin just along his jaw. He rubbed the rest on and around his palms in order to get rid of all the tiny cuts and bruises left around his fingers.

"Cyrus, you better not be sleeping up there!" Aunt Rose wailed from downstairs.

"I'll be right down!" He yelled back.