American Bruja: The Los Angeles Cauldron

Chapter 13. Amber McBride

Saturday, August 6, 2011, 1:00 p.m. Los Angeles

The door from the hallway to the living room opens and Dad enters. His eyes find mine. "There you are. We're moving your things into your new room. Thought you'd want to join us."

He pivots to the hallway. Me and Jonah follow, enter the den, and walk across to another hallway. We pass a little blue room and a decrepit bathroom. At the end of the hall is an open door where the dark haired man Mrs. Lobata called "Max" and the Salvia brothers are hammering my bed frame together.

Seth's mom stands in another doorway leading to the courtyard.

"Amber, look, this is unusual." Mrs. Lobata points to a rectangular cabinet built in a corner of the room. "It's called an armoire."

The armoire towers over my 5 foot 9 frame. Fancy woodworking depicts an oak on either side, framing a polished mirror in the middle.

My attention's drawn to warmth at my side. Turning, I find George.

"Somebody's really into wood." He gestures to the paneling, blinds and all that is brown around the room. "If you were hoping for pink..."

I cut him off. "I hate pink."

Wincing at my bitter tone, I instantly regret my words. You're better off not talking, McBride.

Grinning, George holds up his hands likes he's surrendering.

Dad rubs my shoulders. "What do you think?"

Tightness grips my chest as the finality of the move settles.

I lie. "It's nice."

Looking to Max, I realize we haven't been introduced. Simultaneously, I mentally congratulate myself for remembering how normal people act.

As if he's reading my mind, the Russian inclines his face in my direction. "Maxsim Kisilev. A pleasure to meet you." His voice is deep and accented. "Rizhii eval nikogda ne syshestvoval."

"I'm Amber. What does that mean?"

"It's an old Russian saying. There was never a saint with red hair."

Hearing George's chuckle sends a rush of blood to my face.

From the corner of my eyes, I study Max. Is he someone's relative?

As if he's reading my mind, the big man grins. "I am Jonah's bodyguard."

My eyes flick to Jonah, who's staring at his shoes. "Why does Jonah need a bodyguard?"

Mrs. Lobata chuckles. "Because his dad is Marcus Abernathy."

An image of the muscular action hero appears in my head. His movies involve a lot of bone-breaking and face-smashing.

Jonah grunts. "Whatever."

A short, skinny teenage Latina squeezes past Mrs. Lobata's round frame. Brown eyes meet mine and she smiles. "You must be Amber. I'm Marisol Garcia." Shoulder-length brown hair sways as she gestures to a tall, toned black girl entering the bedroom. "That's Noelle."

Noelle's thick hair is fastened in a long pony tail. Unsmiling, she simply nods.

My stomach lurches. We've only just met and she already hates me.

The Salvias go back to work on my bed frame as Dad and Max hoist my mattress into the bedroom. Mrs. Lobata brushes past me as she exits the room. Marisol, and Noelle exchange a quick glance.

They probably think I'm a weirdo. I shift awkwardly from one foot to the other as I struggle to come up with small talk. I soooo suck at this! The room's steamy with so many people breathing heavily. Sweat drips down my chest to dampen my shirt.