Jax's Guide to Dating on the Dark Side

Chapter 1

     The First Time I saw her, a heavy, gray fog clung to the cornfields, tails of mist slithering between the dying stalks. It was a dreary early morning right after Labor Day, and I was waiting for the school bus, just minding my own business, standing at the end of the dirt lane that connected my family's farmhouse to the main road into town. I was thinking about how many times I'd probably waiting for that bus over the course of a dozen years, killing time like any athlete would, by doing calculations in my head, when I noticed her. And suddenly that familiar stretch of blacktop seemed awfully desolate. She was standing under a massive beech tree across the road from me, her arms crossed over her chest and one of her feet rested on the bark of the tree. The tree's low, gnarled branches twisted down around her, nearly concealing her in limbs and leaves and shadows. But it was obvious that she was about my height and wearing a long, dark almost black coat, almost like a cloak. My chest clenched, and I swallowed hard. 

Who stands under a tree at the crack of dawn, in the middle of nowhere, wearing an almost black cloak? 

    She must have realized I'd spotted her because she shifted a little and her foot dropped down next to her other, like she was deciding whether to leave. Or maybe cross the road. It had never struck me how vulnerable I'd been all those mornings I'd waited out here alone, but the realization hit me hard then. I glanced down the road, heart thudding. 

Where is the stupid bus? And why did my dad have to be so big on mass transit, anyhow? Why couldn't I own a car, like practically every other senior? But no, I had to "share the ride" to save the environment. When I'm abducted by the menacing girl under the tree, Dad will probably insist my face only appears on recycled milk cartons...

In the precious split second I wasted being angry at my father, the stranger really did move in my direction, stepping out from under the tree, and I could have sworn-- just as the bus, thank god, crested the rise about fifty yards down the road-- I could have sworn I heard her say, "Jacob"

My old name.. The name I'd been given at birth, in Eastern Europe, before I'd been adopted and brought to America rechristened Jax Wolfheart...

Or maybe I was hearing things, because the word was drowned out by the sound of tires hissing on wet pavement, grinding gears, and the whoosh of the doors as the driver, old Mr. Willy, swung them open for me. 

Wonderful, Wonderful bus number 15

I'd never been so happy to climb on board. With his usual grunt "Morning, Jax," Mr. Willy put the bus in gear, and I stumbled down the aisle, searching for an empty seat or a friendly face among the half-groggy riders. It sucked sometimes, living in rural Pennsylvania. The town kids were probably still sleeping, safe and sound in their beds. Locating a spot at the back of the bus, I plopped down with a rush of relief. Maybe I'd overreacted. Maybe my imagination had run wild, or too many episodes of America's most wanted had messed with my head. Or maybe the stranger really had meant harm... Twisting around, I peered out the rear window, and my heart sank. She was still there, but on the road now, booted feet planted on either side of the double yellow line, arms still crossed, watching the bus drive away. Watching me. "Jacob..." Had I really heard her call me by that long-forgotten name? And If she knew that obscure fact, what else did the dark stranger, receding in the mist, know about my past? More to the point, what did she want with me in the present?