Teenage Bones

Clean Truth

"I'm sorry." I sounded like a mouse.

"It's okay." He runs a hand over his stubble and places his hands behind him on the table to support himself when he leaned back. "We got to do something about this."

I shook my head, "no we don't." He stands up to show claw marks in the sofa cushions I had somehow missed, ten scratches like my fingers embedded themselves. My back hits the doorframe behind me and my hands fly to my mouth. Mr. Clarke didn't even seem fazed by it. The plates were somehow were all over the place.

Mr. Clarke cleaned up the plates while I was quiet on the sofa that wasn't clawed with a new bag of faetus pumping into my veins and a book in my lap. It was a book of spells, a simple spell was one of truth-telling. It required tarot cards, black and white candles, mugwort smudge sticks, Blue Sapphire wand, two Blue Sapphire stones, black sand and paper with darkest secrets.

"Mr Clarke?" I dragged his name out and he answers me with a hum. "Can I do a spell?"

"Anything done in your room is your own business." He says while scrubbing a frying pan.

"It takes two people," I say.

"What's the spell?" he asks.

"It's a bonding ritual," I lie, "we sort of already live together- it's the easiest one in here."

He tuts. "Move the furniture and we'll do it there. But wait for your faetus treatment to finish first." I nodded and read the arrangement of equipment. Once the bag was empty, I slip out the needle and leave the bag, tube, and needle on the kitchen counter for Mr. Clarke to clean up, which he makes a disapproving grumble at. Standing with my back against my door frame, I face the two sofas and coffee table and push my hands out, and then push my shoulders forward as shivers ripple up my back. When my eyes open, I see the sofa furthest from me crashed into the table and pushed the other sofa against the door to Clarke's room which left about a two by two-meter space. I then rummaged through a new set of filing cabinets for black sand and run back to mark out the largest circle that I could possibly manage before placing the wide- corked bottle back. I then take out tarot cards, black and white candles, mugwort smudge sticks, a Blue Sapphire wand, two Blue Sapphire stones, matches and paper with two pencils. In the center of the circle, I place the wand and on either side, I put the blue sapphire stones. By the right stone, I place the Magician tarot card face up and on the other side I placed the ace of cups face down before placing the deck back into the colorful box. On my side, I place the white candle and on Mr. Clarke's soon-to-be-side I place the black. By my candle, I place the smudge stick, a bowl and lastly the paper and pencils by the wand.

"Are you done?" I ask Mr. Clarke and he nods from the sink. "Good. Get the lights and come and join me."

We left the last light on over the coffee table until I light the candles and Mr. Clarke switches them off. We both sit cross-legged opposite each other.

"Right, write your deepest darkest secret." I hand him a pencil and a sheet of paper. He looked a bit jarred but began to scribble and for a moment I feel a pang of guilt. I pick up the paper and pretend to write something before folding it neatly and placing it in the bowl. He scrunches his up and puts it in the bowl, I get a match and wave it over the black candle until it was lit and simply dropped it into the bowl. It went up in flames and in silence we watched it.

I smeared some ash on my thumb and rubbed it back and forth. Raising an arm, I drew a circle on his forehead and covered my hands in the ashes, up to the forearm. Placing both hands on his shoulders, I looked into his eyes.

"Patentibus." his eyes began to droop but in a couple of seconds, they are misted over by white fog.

"To eliminate your clever lies," I turned over the Magician tarot card so it was hidden. "For the truth." I turned over the ace of cups. I blew out the black candles and lit the Mugwort before smudging him. I put a stone in each of his hands. Dipping the wand in the ashes, I draw a dot in the middle of the circle on his forehead.

"Will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes." His voice sounded like a drone.

"Why are they turning me into a witch?"

"To use you as a weapon against the royal family."

I'm taken aback at such an honest answer and it stung that I have to go to lengths to find out- I thought we were just beginning to get to know each other. I was dearly wrong.

"If you had the choice to get me out, would you?"

"Yes," he says. His eyes are still cloudy and another stab of guilt places itself in my chest.

"What's their endgame?"

"They will threaten the world," he slurred, "until they have it all."

"Is there another experiment?"

"Yes."

I tut at him. "Well, what is it?"

"They will ask you to kill me."

I stop breathing. Of all the things I thought he'd say, that wasn't one of them. Mr. Clarke never seemed suicidal so the fact he has stayed so calm is a miracle. If I knew someone was going to hire a witch to kill me, I would have many questions.

"Do you have a plan to stop it?"

"No. I have an idea but I won't know for sure until tomorrow."

"What's the idea?"

"Four years ago, a twelve-year-old level ten experiment escaped the lab, she hasn't been back and all of our spies have been murdered."

"What's a level ten experiment?" I ask.

"They are the most dangerous experiments, under maximum security and out of control."

"What are you going to do with her? Even if you are able to contact her, she might not be able to help anyway."

"She can help. Her treatment here was worse than yours, she will help. I know it." he sounded more awake than his zombie-like body did. His cloudy eyes held no recognition that he was awake but his voice was full of hope and desperation- which I'd never heard from him before. Knowing he was desperate somehow made it feel so much worse.

"Do you think I could kill you?" I whisper.

"With the right motivation, anyone will kill."

He isn't wrong. If my baby brother Jace and my dad was being waved in front of me with guns to their head, I would kill the world. Mr. Clarke included.

"Do you know what has happened to my family?"

"No." He's so useful.

"Is there anything I should know?" He shakes his head. I relight the candles and smear the circles on his forehead and he collapses backward against the sofa, all the candles go out. I rise, switch on the lights and run over to Mr. Clarke to shake his shoulders. He groans but his eyes don't open, and that's good enough for me so I lean back as the relief rolls over me in large waves. I stretch out my arms and as I feel all the knots of stress begin to come loose, the taps turn on full in the kitchen and start their journey filling up the sink.