The Hooded Girl

IV

As The Hooded Girl neared the boulevard, her mind began to sputter, telling her, demanding her to stop. She may have slowed, hesitated even, but she fought it fiercely. She peered at the bland street before her, the dull houses, the filthy brick, barren trees, dying grass – yet it was all an illusion. She'd always known magic existed, but to see it create something so real, she could scarcely --

"Are you... okay?" 

She whipped around, only to see a guy, maybe in his mid-twenties. He was decked out like a biker, leather jacket, studs, dark jeans and all. The only thing that spoiled the aesthetic was the backpack. He was the only thing standing between her and Yonge Street.

She screwed up her face into what she thought was a threatening scowl. "Yes. Yes, as a matter of fact, I'm very okay. Are you okay?"

When the guy laughed – not a chuckle, but an actual, hearty laugh – her scowl vanished. She buried her deflation behind a glare.

He said, ghost of a smile, "No, actually. I'm not Okay. I'm Dexter," and he forced the cheesiest smile ever, reaching a hand to her.

She stood, arms crossed tightly, looking like she'd just tasted something sour.

His hand fell limp. She tried to avoid looking at him, but it was hard. He was handsome, almost unnaturally so. With sun-baked skin, black hair, teasing, purple eyes... purple eyes? Like the guy she'd followed here? She looked closer at him. Yes, his eyes were purple; even in the dark, she saw them. And his heart beat unnaturally. That series of three thumps in his chest, separating him from humans. 

"So," he said casually, hands in his pockets. He was looking away onto Yonge. Cabs and cars were zooming about the streets. Pedestrians roamed the night. "I've never seen you before."

"No. You haven't."

"Yeah," he clicked his tongue, shrugging. "Sooo... what are you doin' here?"

She caught his eyes, and almost immediately, felt compelled to answer him. It felt as if her lips had been greased, words threatening to spill, but she managed to purse them. He noticed, and she saw his eyes light up with silent humour again.

"That's none of your business."

"It kinda is. Just a smidge. Cause, uh... I know you're like me, just as I'm sure you know I'm like you... if you're picking up what I'm putting down... given your heartbeat and all that..."  

She rolled her eyes, but felt her unease grow. She side-stepped onto the grass.

He grew serious, and although the genial spark never left his eye, his tone lost its joking quality. "What's your clan?"

"None of your business."

"Judging from your accent, you're not from across the pond. But that's the weird part. There are no other families like us in Canada. None. You know that?"

"What? I – Why are you... interrogating me?"

He put his hands up. "You don't need to be scared of me. I'm not going hurt you," he said, not unkindly. She kept her eyes on him. She never blinked.

"Who are you?"

He began to step along with her, slowly, matching her pace. He kept to the sidewalk, blocking her from leaving the grass.

"You can trust me. I know, I know that's kinda creepy to hear from a stranger," he admitted, throwing his forearms up in surrender, "but believe me when I say I'm not going to hurt you. That's not my prerogative," he said, closing his last word with a breathy laugh. He was nervous too. If his heartbeat didn't spell that out, that little laugh did. She knew at that point that he intended to, if she made a run for it, pursue. And he would have no problem catching her.

"Then let me leave," she hissed.

He hesitated. He opened his mouth to say something, before a voice rang from the main sidewalk of Yonge. It was a woman. Human as they came.

"Excuse me, are you okay?" she called. The two turned. The woman, young, stood watching the two of them. She held her phone at the ready.

The guy named Dexter cursed. "No. No problem," he smiled. He gave the Hooded Girl one last look; confusion, curiosity, and also, a bit of genuine worry filled his eyes. He stepped aside. He wouldn't dare risk an incident with a human.

As the Hooded Girl passed him, he whispered, "92 Riethoorn Way. If you ever decide to come back."

She gave him one last sideways glance, unsure. And then she put him behind her.

The woman on the sidewalk met her. "Are you okay? Do you want me to call the police?"

Her eyes flitted off to the side. "No, no. But... thank you."

The woman didn't say anything at first, almost like she expected the Hooded Girl to say something more. Then: "Are you sure?"

"Positive."

"Alright. Well, if I were you, I'd stay away from that street."

"Why's that?... Aside from what just happened, I mean." The Hooded Girl didn't really care, nor was she really listening. She just wanted to leave.

"Just bad vibes. Not a good neighbourhood. Get the chills just standing here, looking at it," she shivered.

The Hooded Girl turned to give the guy one last look. He was gone. Just as gone as the guy she had followed. It seemed the woman hadn't noticed

"Yeah. I'll keep that in mind. Just... thank you. Thank you," she exhaled. And she was grateful. But nothing, nothing in the word, could surpass her desire to just get far away. So she went on, walking down Yonge, leaving the woman in the dust. The woman was lost, even a bit worried by the look in the girl's eyes. But not worried enough that she would remember the Hooded Girl.