The Changeling's Ghost (Thirteen Gates #1)

The Arrival of a Stranger and Effective End of My Life

    

     I usually try not to grasp at assumptions or worry over small things, but today was a brilliant example of how to accurately overachieve both. It was also really hard to concentrate on homework when all I could imagine is sharing a bedroom with Agent K from Men in Black. Would we have to... talk to each other? I didn't expect to have any shared interests. I mean, it had to be the most awkward arrangement in the history of shared living. Would he be here all the time? Would he want to share tea and biscuits with us and hang out while I did my schooling? The thought of a gruff old American with dark shades and salt-and-pepper hair hanging out with me, a gangly teenager, was amusing to say the least. I knew he would be coming on missions with us, but where was the line drawn? It was a very important line, one that I admittedly cared about far too much, and thus shall continue to worrying about.

     My phone buzzed from its perch atop my wooden side table, scaring me out of my concerned trance. It was just a social media notification, which I angrily cleared away, leaving my lock screen image. I had forgotten what I set it as, and now I was left with a feeling of... guilt. It was a picture of me from a few years ago on my fourteenth birthday, I was standing on a bench to be as tall as the boy next to me. He had darker skin and a large mop of curly red hair, like me, and I had just smashed his face into the birthday cake as Mum snapped this candid photograph. I shut off my phone and scowled.

     "You're not even here, stop making fun of me." I told it sternly.

    Whatever. I didn't care. I didn't care about most things. I was a cold, distant, edgy teenager and I wasn't about to be bothered by someone who wasn't here, or an old agent who probably didn't want to talk to me either. Then I heard the sound of a taxi pull up on the driveway and immediately regretted everything, I'm about to die, I wasn't ready for this. Why had I let myself agree to this. I very much cared; I was very much bothered. How could I possibly get myself out of this one? I was ready to do anything, honestly.

    "Asher, they're here!" I heard my Mum call from across the house. "Come outside."

    Brilliant.

    Parked upon our rundown driveway was a small black car with the familiar little yellow glowing taxi sign on top. Mum and Dad were already walking down to greet them. I sprinted to catch up even though every cell in my body was telling me to just run the other direction. I saw a woman get out of the passenger seat on the left. She fit the description of my expectations perfectly, her blonde hair was pulled up in a tight bun and she was dressed a slick black suit, dark sunglasses, bright red lipstick and a scowl to match. As if mere presences could kill. I'm pretty sure she was a few of my nightmares personified. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she walked up to greet us.

    "Sheryl." She stretched out her hand towards my parents.

    I caught sight of her red nails, sharpened to a point, and was honestly blown away by how coordinated this woman's style was to be absolutely terrifying. Then again, I could just be blowing things massively out of proportion, per usual, but I still think it would be wiser to give Sheryl a wide berth. My parents introduced themselves as Luella and Alastair Northcott, and I thought Sheryl would want to meet me as well, but instead left me thoroughly confused by opting to just... not. Then a second person clicked open the car door on the right side and suddenly I thought I must be hallucinating.

    It was... a young person. Not just any younger person, a young man, maybe close to my age. He had a raunchy t-shirt of the american flag on and semi-nice shorts (which I thought was absolutely ridiculous because it was always eight to eleven degrees Celsius at any given time of the year) and even though his attire induced feelings of nausea, I could tell underneath was a very attractive teenage boy. He was pale, with messy blonde hair that desperately needed a brush through, and two blue eyes that, in that moment, were the first blue sky I had seen all year in this damp and cloudy town. I was effectively taken aback, who was this boy and why was he both a major offense to fashion and absolute eye candy at the same time.