The Death Curse

Chapter 17: Emrys Fahy

I loved the view from the hills. In fact, it was probably the only thing I loved about Black Rock, Washington. From up here, even the tallest tree in town looked minuscule. The buildings were just specks of silver and black mixed among the green. And the people who lived in the tiny town weren't even visible at this distance. It was like they didn't exist at all.

I smiled at the thought. It would be nice to not have to see any of those people again.

Well, besides Dom.

Dom was pretty annoying but he was always kind to me and he said we were friends. I didn't have any other friends and I knew that it was better to have an annoying one like Dom than to have none at all. Plus he was eight, a whole year older than me. And everyone knows it's cool to have older friends.

And he wasn't afraid of me just because I was the son of Galvin Fahy.

"Emrys."

I turned at the sound of my name.

My father stared at me expectantly, disappointment already setting into his stony features before we even began. But if my last several lessons were any indication, he was right to assume that I would fail again. Still, I hated to see that expression on his face.

People said I looked like him. Probably because my eyes were the same shade of sapphire. At least my mother called them sapphire. She was jealous because her eyes were brown.

Apart from my eyes, I didn't see any other similarities between us. My hair was dark, like my mother's, while his hair was such a light brown it was almost blond. His face was made of cliffs and hard lines while mine was round and soft, but maybe it would change when I grew up. I hoped it wouldn't become as sharp. I didn't want a face that cut people down like his.

"Emrys," he repeated. "Its time."

Since doing anything else would anger him, I approached the small cage placed a few feet he had placed on the ground between us. The small white mouse inside scurried to the other side of the cage, furthest from me as if he knew what was going to happen. That is if I could finally manage to do it.

I slipped my right thumb into my mouth, sliding it against my upper canine. The sharp edge easily sliced into the skin and I could taste blood on my tongue. I was pretty used to the metallic tang.

My mother had shaved down my tooth and applied the small razor edge to it several months ago, just after my seventh birthday. It took me weeks to stop accidentally cutting my tongue on it.

I removed my thumb from my mouth and enclosed it in my fist, adding pressure to lessen the pain.

"Don't squeeze it too hard," My father cautioned. "You need the blood to flow."

I loosened my grip, letting blood drip from my closed hand onto the grass, my thumb throbbing painfully.

"You know what to do next. Focus on the target," he coached. "Picture it in your head and make it real."

I narrowed my field of vision to the small rodent. In my mind, I imagined a line of red blossoming along its back. I pushed the image in the direction of the mouse but his fur stayed pure white.

"Focus," my father repeated when nothing happened.

I didn't want to disappoint him. Not again.

Thinking more blood would help, I ran my tongue against the edge of my tooth. As blood filled my mouth, I recreated the image in my head and shoved it with extra force at the mouse.

Nothing happened.

I did it again. And again. I kept reimagining the wound on the creature's back, getting more and more enraged each time it didn't appear.