Destiny's Witch (BxB)

Chapter 2: The Future, or Lack Thereof

Perry

Inside the walls of my family's craftsman-style home, my father's lie sailed clean over my mother's head. It's honestly a miracle the pastel blue paint in the hallways hasn't peeled from all the heat we've thrown at each other over the years. From the outside, the exposed beams, low-pitched gable roof, and tapered columns create the illusion of a loving family that never argues.

The well-manicured lawn and pristine landscaping only enforce that narrative, with the rose bushes offering just the right touch of aesthetic deception to push it over the top.

Drifting again.

A goodnight and a hot shower later, I'm lying in bed, thinking about what my father said. I'd never seen a vampire before the night I was called. The world feels different now—darker, colder, somehow more aware of itself. I know I should be afraid, but I'm not. Not as much as I should be. The things that dwell in the shadows concern me, sure—but I can't help feeling confident I'll be able to handle whatever comes my way. Alan warned me that kind of thinking is dangerous.

He's probably right. I've seen enough TV to know situations like mine aren't some breezy romp through a daisy field. The danger is real. The idea of going to school and pretending everything is normal feels... laughable. I'm expected to sit in class like the sun going down doesn't signal an entirely different world.

Still, I'll see my friends for the first time since summer started. That's something. Even if I've been sworn to secrecy by Commander Alan himself.

I wake up the next morning with a weird, humming sense of excitement. The thought of seeing my friends again threatens to bring back a dangerous level of normalcy.

At the start of summer, my parents took me to visit my grandmother before dropping Porter off at college. We spent most of the summer out west. My friends had similar plans, with many leaving Solstice Hills for a chunk of the break.

The idea of seeing them again persists the moment my alarm clock drags me back to reality. My mom's voice follows soon after, loud and persistent. I find the familiarity comforting—if not mildly annoying. I stare at the ceiling for ten full minutes before she calls again, this time threatening to come upstairs if I don't show signs of life.

She's clearly where I get my chaotic gene.

Finally, I roll out of bed and shake off the sleep. I'm halfway down the hallway before I remember Porter isn't in his room anymore. No more competition for the bathroom. It's a strange realization. Porter's annoying and overprotective, but he's also my best friend.

Yeah, we hate each other. But it's a hate rooted in love. And the fact that he takes long showers—something I wish I hadn't noticed. It's none of my business.

After a quick shower, I throw on a pair of dark jeans and a button-up in blue, pink, and white. I grab a towel to wipe as much mud off my new boots as I can. When my mom calls out again, I'm satisfied with the result. It's not perfect, but the mud blends well enough with the amber color of the boots.

After my usual morning routine, I grab my phone and worn messenger bag before heading downstairs. The smell of French toast greets me as I reach the bottom step. My boots squeak slightly on the wood floors as I pass through the hallway, catching glimpses of family photos on the blue walls. Most are pictures of us—some are paintings depicting African culture. I love those pieces.

I step into the kitchen to find my dad sitting at the white island counter, reading the newspaper with a cup of coffee pressed to his lips. He's using the brown World's Best Dad mug Porter and I split our allowance to buy. We ordered it custom from a company in Beijing. It was overpriced, but Porter insisted. Alan loved it, so it was worth it.