The Younglings: Shadows & Magic Read online

  Copyright © Helena M Craggs 2021

  All rights reserved

  The right of Helena M Craggs to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events in this publication, other than those in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used in a fictitious manner.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission, requests contact the author.

  Cover design by Emily’s World of Design

  Interior formatting by Platform House

  Table of Contents

  ‘Two Wolves’ Legend

  Quinn

  Disclosure

  The Demon

  Eve

  The News

  The Nephilim

  A Dilemma

  Eloise

  Millie’s House

  The Keepers

  Millie

  Leo

  A Major Complication

  The Fernsby Family

  The Wedding and Mr Montague

  Greenville School

  Miss Vulpes

  Harry

  Kitsune

  Saving Leo

  The Witches

  Edward Atua

  Horses and Hellhounds

  The Day from Hell

  The Collector

  Black Witch

  Crazy Witch

  Miguel

  Eve

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Barbara, my sister, my friend

  I love you every day

  and still

  I miss you every day

  ‘Two Wolves’ is a Cherokee Indian legend and

  illustrates the most important battle of our lives

  the one between our good and bad thoughts:

  An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life.

  ‘A fight is going on inside me,’ he said to the boy.

  ‘It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves.

  One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed,

  arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies,

  false pride, superiority, and ego.’

  He continued, ‘The other is good—he is joy, peace, love,

  hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy,

  generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. The same fight is

  going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.’

  The grandson thought about it for a moment and then

  asked his grandfather, ‘Which wolf will win?’

  The old Cherokee simply replied, ‘The one you feed.’

  Quinn

  Inside each of us,

  there is the seed of both good and evil.

  It’s a constant struggle as to which one will win.

  And one cannot exist without the other.

  Eric Burdon

  Unrequited love is a bitch. Especially when you’re half-demon and the object of your desire is half-angel. Love is a complicated pain in the butt. Her name is Eve—the half-angel—and she’s … you know, divine in every sense. She’s also my best friend and, given her heritage, she’s cool about my demon within.

  Mortals rarely consider the fact that supernaturals like me are real. I was one such human, up until my sixteenth birthday. But they do exist in the mortal realm—believe me. Humanity is unaware of what lurks in the shadows—a good job, to be honest. We can’t escape the shadows, though, for they are the yin to the light’s yang.

  My circle of friends know about my demon side too, and they stand by me. But most of them aren’t exactly mortal either, which helps. We haven’t always been friends. It’s only over the last year that we’ve come together, but I honestly don’t know where I’d be without them all. They have become like my family.

  It took a while for me to accept who I was. But, eventually, I became pretty okay with the whole situation. I had a few complications here and there. I won’t lie—the demon temper is not my best side … it’s probably best never to get me angry.

  I always knew I was different; I just didn’t realise exactly how different I was. On the outside, I’m an attractive, normal sixteen-year-old guy. On the inside, however, I’m a total super-freak. On the plus side, though, being half-demon comes with some pretty awesome, devilish powers. Got to look at the positives.

  I like to think of myself as a multifaceted half-demon: badass but sensitive, ferocious but caring, angry but gentle … and often confused.

  Yep, I’m the secret, mighty half-demon, who’ll take on any adversary. Admitting to being in love, however … a total snowflake.

  The name’s Carter. Quinn Carter.

  I found out about my demonic blood when I met my estranged dad, and it didn’t go too well. He was pretty to the point with his words: ‘You’re not entirely human, Quinn.’

  Understandably, his words hit me like a juggernaut going at seventy.

  It sounds really cool—you know, having super demonic powers. Well, let me tell you, sometimes yeah, it’s fabulous fun. Until you get roped into fighting evil supernaturals, you have to understand, at that point, fun is not the word I’d use. But they say you should embrace your weirdness … I had no choice, so I embraced away.

  Luckily, my friends—a team of supernaturals—had my back. Turns out we were all destined to be Keepers—protectors of innocents in the mortal world, alongside worrying about Shakespeare and calculus tests. Believe me, weird was to become a way of life for us all.

  So, let me first explain about the series of insane events, and how fate threw me together with my amazing supernatural friends. I think we need to start with Eve.

  It feels like I’ve known Eve forever. We met at primary school when we were little kids; she was in my class. We weren’t friends or anything. To be honest, she always seemed a bit strange. But then I was always a bit odd too, so it must have been a match made in heaven—no pun intended.

  I didn’t realise I was half-demon—not then. The powers that came with my demonic DNA developed over several years. The first ability to develop was night vision. Strange, huh? The next was reading auras, the spiritual energy fields around people. Auras convey the feelings or emotions someone gives off in a range of colours … and Eve’s was different from anybody else’s. Her aura fractured: one half dazzled white, flashed with blues; the other half was made up of greens and blues. Reading auras comes in handy sometimes. I learned to avoid people with dark auras—these always equated to the mean, devious and none too friendly.

  I realised early on not to talk about my unnatural abilities—I just wanted to be like everybody else. I wasn’t the brightest kid, but I wasn’t stupid—it’s called self-preservation. Anyway, both of these abilities were cool, so I kept them to myself. I just thought I was psychic or something.

  I used to be small for my age, shy, and pretty antisocial. Yep, a perfect victim for the school bully. Noah King was four years older than me and a complete jerk. His favourite form of torture was flushing your head down the toilet, and the feeling of impending death by drowning was pretty horrific. I wasn’t his only victim, but I was one of the easiest. I allowed myself to be bullied because I was scared. But Eve wasn’t—she took shit from nobody, even as a scrawny seven-year-old.

  Eve saved me from Noah one day when he was being especially mean. He had grabbed me by the front of my shirt and lifted me off the floor, with glee in his eyes at the prospect of trying to drown me. But Eve kicked him in the shin, which made him instantly drop me. She’s always been fierce and bold.

  My knightess in shining armour.

  That’s how my mum, Helen Carter, ended up meeting Eve’s dad, Frank Williams—when Eve grassed up Noah for being a bully. Frank’s a statuesque, slim man, with russet, reddish-brown skin, and hands the size of baseball mitts. He’s a successful lawyer, a sharp dresser, and has the best laugh ever. I’d once overheard Mum describing him as eye candy, I tried not to think about that—it was just gross. Anyway, I digress; let’s get back to Eve. Making friends with a girl at that age put me in a bit of a dilemma. Could I be friends with a girl? Would the boys laugh at me? Then I thought about it—no one ever bothered with me, anyway. So Eve and I became best friends. Meanwhile, Mum and Frank became close friends too, then officially started dating when I was about thirteen.

  My mum is the best. And I mean the best. She’s brave, beautiful, and selfless. She’d not had it easy, what with my dad leaving her, and everything. When I was about one, Mum went back to work as a nurse at the local hospital. We live in a big town called Portaville, which is near enough to a few big cities but even nearer to the countryside. It was a pretty cool place to grow up. Mum adored her job, and the extra money meant she could spoil me. Whenever she was at work, our neighbour, Mrs D, looked after me. Apparently, Dad had at least left Mum quite a lot of money when he up and disappeared, which meant Mum could buy our high-end two-bedroom apartment outright. It was a cosy and modern place to live as a kid, plus it had a spectacular rooftop garden.

  Mrs D lived in the
apartment across the hall from us. Her apartment was full of stuff, especially books. She loved reading. Her balcony was packed full of potted plants, which created a riot of colours in summer. Her apartment always smelled of flowers, cooking, and baking. Mrs D became like a grandma to me. She’d never had her own children, so she sort of adopted Mum and me instead. She was a bit odd, but she was also kind and funny. Her hair was always up in a bun, her clothes were always black, and she always wore short, black ankle boots. I sometimes thought she must have something wrong with her feet because she walked really funny, like it was painful or something. But she wasn’t fooling me—I’d seen her run like a gazelle when we were supermarket shopping and her favourite ice creams were on sale.

  When I was really young, Mrs D was the only person I could talk to about my dad. I’d try to talk to Mum about him, but she’d only explain that he went away on business and never came back. What did that mean? Had he died? Had he left us? I stopped asking Mum about him as I got older, because I realised that thinking about him made her sad. I couldn’t remember him—he’d left when I was about six months old. I was happy and secure growing up, always loved by Mum and Mrs D. However, I still got an empty feeling inside when I saw other kids with their dads.

  ‘Do you think Dad loved me? And if he loved Mum and me, why did he leave and never come back?’ I’d ask Mrs D more times than I could remember.

  ‘Life isn’t as simple as you think, young Quinn. Your father worshipped you, but he had to leave. His job was extremely important. Then something must have happened, because he just seemed to disappear from the face of the Earth,’ was her standard answer. ‘You must believe, though, that you were the best thing to happen to him.’

  I’d sigh, knowing it was the best answer I was going to get. I learned to swallow the lump that always formed in my throat when I thought of him, and let it go.

  Mum’s life was better once she met Frank, especially when they started dating. We spent a lot of time with Frank and Eve, going to their house almost every weekend. The house was massive, with a huge garden. I loved our apartment, but it could have fitted into Eve’s house twenty times over.

  When Eve and I started high school, we were still the best of friends. Even though Eve made some new girlfriends, she and I still spent most of our free time together. Eve was pretty popular—she was feisty and snarky, but not in a bitchy way. She was a hit with the boys too. I, on the other hand, was still a loner which suited me fine. Most people annoyed the hell out of me.

  My early teens were hellish as—I now realise—the demon hidden inside me fought to be released. At that time, I still had no idea about my supernatural DNA or the fact my demonic side was fighting for control. While I’d always struggled to keep my anger buried, the older I got, the more difficult it became. Fights became a regular occurrence for me once I realised that a good choke hold or a sucker punch to the gut was quite an effective deterrent for bullies. So—normally, at least—I’d be fighting to protect people from bullies like Noah King. Not that that was an excuse, of course.

  Whenever I got into a rage, Eve was the only person who could really calm me down. Half the time, I don’t know what came over me, I was seized by impulses over which I had no control. Subsequently, I was almost excluded from school for fighting. Miss Strickland was the school deputy head, and the authoritarian. She had an amazing ability to evoke terror wherever she went, merely by narrowing her eyes at you. A rare talent, to be fair—well, unless you were on the receiving end of the look. But I was on my final warning from her, so things were getting desperate.

  Mum was becoming stressed out with me getting in trouble at school. As hard as I tried, once I blew, control was a struggle. People didn’t understand; they thought I had serious anger issues. I was sent to see a therapist, but that sadly didn’t really help. Looking back, though, I realise the poor therapist was no match for my demon within. One thing that did help was playing football. The intense daily training expended a lot of pent-up energy, and I made some good friends.

  In my early teens I grew quickly, to well over six feet tall. I was strong and quick, and the lads who’d once shunned me for being a loner became friendly and accepting. I was also a hit with the girls. Once I hit sixteen, though, my temper wasn’t the only thing I was struggling with—things got seriously strange.

  New powers started developing, and I could suddenly jump fifty feet into the air, seriously! What was wrong with me? Then there was running at superspeed. I’d accidentally discovered how insanely fast I could run, thankfully when I was alone. I’d started jogging the trail through the woods near our apartment. One minute I was jogging along, gradually increasing my pace to build stamina; the next, I was running supernaturally fast. I mean, running like a phantom wind wasn’t natural, was it? I didn’t realise how handy and liberating running like that would be—not then. I still had lots to learn about the supernatural world at that point.

  My temper had also become fast and furious—I was losing it more often than ever. My anger seemed to have escalated and my temper exploded in times of stress, and yeah, this was a particularly stressful time. And my strength? During an argument at school, I’d picked a six-foot-tall guy up as if he weighed ten pounds. I dropped him in shock, and he legged it. Thank God there wasn’t anyone else around to see that either.

  I hadn’t been bitten by a radioactive spider, or exposed to gamma rays, so what was I becoming? I was turning into some sort of freak of nature, and it was seriously weirding me out. I’d kept my new abilities secret for months, and I felt detached from the ‘normal’ world. I had no one to talk to about what was happening; who would believe me anyway? I’d probably be whisked away by the secret service or something, and I wasn’t sure I was James Bond material. Plus, even though I could have proven my abilities, I felt like an aberration. I didn’t want any of my family or friends seeing me for the weirdo I really was.

  I was surrounded by people most of the time but felt utterly alone. The only calming constant in my life was Eve. One touch, one word or even one look from her could quell the rage in me.

  Mrs D was still a huge part of my life and insisted I went around for dinner with her at least twice a week. I wasn’t complaining because she was an awesome cook. After yet another scrap on the way home from school, I decided to come clean with her. I needed help; otherwise, I was about to be expelled. I still had some control over my temper at that point, but I was losing it more often, and God knew what I was capable of. I couldn’t worry Mum; she was already despairing of me. I needed to talk, though … otherwise, I was headed for a meltdown.

  As I came home from school, walking up the stairs to our apartment, I could smell Mrs D’s baking—freshly baked apple pie. The scent of the cinnamon, apple and pastry tickled my nose and made my mouth water. Seconds before I knocked on her door, she answered it with a plate of deliciousness. Mrs D truly was an enigma—I also felt pretty sure she was psychic.

  ‘I need to tell you something, Mrs D. You’ll probably think I’m batshit crazy. But if I don’t talk to somebody, I think I’m going to have a breakdown,’ I blurted at her with a mouthful of pie.

  Mrs D, calm as always, made me a cup of tea and sat down with me. Then I hit her with a verbal barrage. It poured out of my mouth like a raging torrent of words that couldn’t be stopped. I explained about my new abilities and how freaked out I was. Mrs D just listened, a small smile on her lips.

  ‘I don’t know what’s going on. I’m, like, ridiculously strong too. I’m not normal, Mrs D. There’s something wrong with me, honestly. And my temper’s getting worse … aw, man … it’s almost like I’m possessed. I try so hard, but once I lose it, I can’t seem to control myself. I feel like I’m going insane.’

  Just talking about my weirdness was like a champagne cork popping. The rush of relief from uncovering the buried secrets I’d been clinging to was strangely cathartic.

  Mrs D’s reaction totally shocked me. She wasn’t fazed in the slightest and stayed completely calm. She just pursed her lips and said, ‘Don’t worry, dear, I’ll help you sort things out.’ She gave me a reassuring hug and ushered me out of the door.