Destiny's Witch (BxB)

Chapter 1: The Myth

Perry

I would rather be punched than fall in love.

Context. You need context. Imagine you're just living your life like a regular high school student, and suddenly you're launched into a world of demons and magic. And by demons and magic, I mean more demon, less sparkly unicorn.

It makes the world a little less starry.

Because it is.

I should probably explain, among other things, who I am. My name is Perry Renner. Well—Bennett. Depends on the day you ask, and which parent. My father's an old-fashioned kind of guy, while my mother and grandmother believe my brother and I should take their family name. My grandmother always says Porter—my brother—and I are the first males to be born into the Bennett family in generations.

To make a ridiculously long story short, the women in our family have always kept the Bennett name. Whether that's tradition or just a side effect of my mother's very vocal hatred of my father's family is still up for debate. It's a sore subject in our household—mainly because my grandmother and my father can't agree on anything. Like, ever.

I'm doing it again. I tend to be... sporadic. My friends call it chaotic. My dad calls it unfocused. Porter says it's annoying. Personally, I prefer the term cagey and unpredictable. As the baby of the family, it works for me.

Back to the punching.

"Duck!" Alan Renner yells.

The large, umber-skinned man with a ridiculously prominent nose shouts from the crypt he's watching from—cheering me on, if you can call it that. Our new normal involves strolling through cemeteries hoping to find a putrid-smelling demon to practice on.

His unimpressed tone doesn't quite hide his worry—it would kill him to express it like a normal person.

I strafe backward, away from the incoming punch. A quick twirl puts me behind the gray-skinned former linebacker in the shredded black suit. The suit, as expensive as it might've once been, is in tatters. His bald head and glowing blue eyes make it impossible not to notice him. He roars, loud enough to rattle my bones, and swipes at me.

"The legs! Go for his legs!" Alan shouts.

"Yes, Dad," I grunt as I duck another punch. "Please continue announcing my next move—super helpful!"

"Stop talking!" the lumbering man growls.

"Right. Sorry."

With another wild swing, the vampire throws me backward. I roll to a stop, my entire body aching. The blow caught me off guard—and it's sparked something in me. Something hot, furious, and completely unwilling to back down.

My eyes land on a nearby crypt, where a set of gardening tools has been left behind.

Either the gravedigger fled—or he died. Either way, the odds just tipped in my favor.

The vampire stomps toward me, aiming to crush me underfoot. I roll forward, snatching up the shovel. I swing it like a staff, slicing the metal end clean through the vampire's neck. His head pops off, and he combusts into a bloody, ashy mess as the shovel clatters to the ground.

"Good job," Alan says.

I sigh. "Yeah. Probably shouldn't have worn my new school shoes. Then again, I didn't think we'd be... auditing?"

"We're not calling it auditing. I prefer patrolling."

"'Patrol' is so... been-there-done-that." I say. "How about shopping? Exploring? Fishing! You like fishing."

"I don't know where you came from."

"What exactly am I supposed to tell Mom? Where does she think we are?"

Alan exhales. "I told her you were considering trying out for the football team."

"And she believed you?"

"No. She thinks you're just trying to impress me. As if you'd ever want to do that." He laughs, half-heartedly.

The truth is, since I've been hanging out with Alan, I've come to realize how much we don't actually know about each other. He's always had a certain connection with Porter that I never really understood. And as much as he'd deny it—Porter is his favorite. He's most people's favorite. I'm not even sure I crack Alan's top two favorite children.

Did I mention he has two children?

"Yeah."

The sounds of the night drown out the weird silence that follows. The cicadas rise above everything else as we stand in the moonlight. Alan looks bigger out here—like the shadows make him sharper. His eyes are a shade of brown that almost looks unnatural, too dark for anyone human. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out a small locket.

The symbol on it sort of looks like someone mooning me.

"I meant to give you this on your birthday," Alan says, "but, well... it's a little late. It's an Akoko Nan symbol. A powerful protective emblem from Africa. I had other sigils etched into it too."

"Wow. You think I need that much protection?"

"This isn't a game. I can't protect you anymore—at least, not like before. You being called by destiny means the Infernum is stirring again. First time in centuries. That means demons will come. And they won't be friendly."

"Yeah, well. They shouldn't be."

"Don't get cocky. I've seen a lot of hunters get cocky. Most of them died."

There's something in his voice when he says that. Something tight and raw. My dad's family are Hunters—have been for generations. They're humans chosen to track and destroy supernatural threats. Demons, witches, dark mages—you name it.

Hunters aren't necessarily anti-magic, but if a practitioner steps out of line, they won't hesitate to eliminate the problem.

Alan once told me that Hunters are enhanced human beings, with above-average strength, sharper senses, and the ability to detect supernatural energy. Even after death, their memories linger and feed into something he called a memory bank—like a shared psychic archive every Hunter can access.

Their power dates back to the dark ages, gifted by some kind of ancient deity. Most Hunters are either born or "called." The art of initiation has been lost to all but the oldest of them.

See? I listen.

"We should get home. Remember, we came to practice football."

"Shouldn't we be dirtier, though? Boots aside."

"We came. You remembered you hate sports. You yelled at me, and we left. That's the version your mother needs. It'll satisfy her."

"Right. Lie."

"Only about this."

"Uh-huh. Lie."

"No—literally, only about this."

I think it over. "I don't know. I literally just heard you say 'lie.' You sure you're not becoming a hypocrite?"

Alan groans in that exhausted, "I'm too old for this" kind of way and starts walking toward the cemetery exit, muttering something under his breath about boarding school.

It makes me laugh.

Could be worse.

He could've had me committed.