Black Magic: The Third Wings and Fangs Installment

Chapter 1: Adoption

“What the hell did you breed together to make this thing?” I breathed, looking at the elegant dog before me. The dog in question looked essentially like a golden retriever, but it had silky black fur and bright, intelligent green eyes. He blinked at me, unanswering.

“Nuthin special, dearie. Just two goldies. Must’a been a mutation,” The breeder, just a standard farmer, drawled. This man’s speech annoyed me. The way he said mutation sounded like “Moo-tay-shawn.” Actually, everyone in this stupid town sounded like this. After my parents just randomly decided to move us out of the perfectly good city of New York, we somehow ended up in a desert town in Texas. Not even popular Texan places, like Dallas or Austin, but a small, literally off the map town of Cal Springs. Surprise, there are no springs. That’s just the name. There are two sorts of people in this place, and they are both completely stereotypical. There are the washed out, country guys like this farmer, and the extremely rich families who have hair that looks like they are balancing watermelons on their heads. My parents strive to be the watermelon-haired people. They seem to think that moving far away from my friends, city life, and fun to a town rich with strangers, tumbleweeds, and boring, can all be made up for with the simple purchase of a dog. They’re wrong, but no amount of my speech will make them change their mind. Not that they ever listen to my speech anyways. Or even my comments.

“Juliana Garcilio! Language, please!” My mother frowned at me. I rolled my eyes. ‘Juliana Garcilio’ is my full name, but my friends call me Cil. Or at least my New York friends do. I haven’t made any here, nor do I want to.

“How much do you want for him?” My dad asked the farmer, fingering his wallet.

“Not much. Mayhaps a sheep,” The farmer replied.

“In cash,” My dad clarified, one step away from rolling his eyes like I did.

“Oh, er, that’d be about a hundid dallas,” The farmer clarified. Dad pulled a Ben Franklin out of his wallet, slapping it into the farmer’s hand. Mom pulled a red leash and matching collar out of her purse, handing it to me. I fastened the collar around the dog’s neck, attaching the leash to that. Well, it looked like I was getting a dog, like it or not.

“Does he have a name?” I asked the farmer.

“Aw, nawt yet. We decided to leave that to the buyah. Ya know, make ‘im more personal that way,” The farmer said. He continued rambling on about naming the dog, and how special it was to pick the right name, long after I stopped listening.

“How about we call him Muffin?” My mom suggested. I shot her a death glare.

“If we name this dog Muffin, I promise you that I will never look at it,” I replied. She huffed indignantly. The dog looked at her glaringly as well. I had to admit, I had never seen this much expression from an animal before.

“What do you suggest then, Juls?” Dad asked me.

“Cil, not Juls, and…” I thought for a moment. “I think he should be called Zeus.” The dog looked up at me, blinking in what almost seemed like a grateful way.

“Uh, I guess,” My mom approved the name. Thank god we hadn’t ended up with a dog named muffin or cupcake or some other cutesy name. I don’t think I would be able to stand it if he ended up like that.

“Alright then, that’s settled. Let’s head on home then,” Dad said briskly. We all walked out to the car, which was really a brand new truck, so that we could “fit in” according to my parents. What they didn’t realize is that the new, shiney, super fancy truck stuck out more than if we had stuck with our old S.U.V. Most people around here had old, beat up trucks that played country music through the shattered windows so you could hear the music over the cough of the engine. Our new, shiny car with classical music playing so softly it couldn’t be heard over the soft purr of the engine didn’t exactly fit in, but my parents did what they wanted. We drove down the winding gravel roads, Zeus sitting next to me and panting gently in the dry heat. He looked at me curiously a few times, as if taking me in. I knew there was a lot to take in, just in this car alone. My mother’s fluffy blonde hair pressed against the headrest of her seat, hot pink top and white pants standing out against the black leather. My father’s hair (also blond) slicked back, his bright green eyes reflected in the rearview mirror. And then there was me. Dyed black hair tied back in a ponytail, random red streaks flying through it. My mother hadn’t wanted it that way, but I had hand dyed it when I was home alone, and guess what? The dye I used is permanent, and my mother can’t take the sight of roots poking through a different color at the top of my head, so it’s stayed that way ever since. My eyes are a plain blue, almost gray in some lighting. Pale skin, thin lips painted with black lipstick. A tight shortsleeve shirt, spiderweb gloves that stretched to my elbows. Short black skirt, ripped tights that transitioned into heavy combat boots. Yes, I was the black sheep of the family, in more ways than one. Soon enough, we pulled into the driveway of the new house. It’s pretty big, bigger than our already large apartment in New York. That’s probably the only good part of this place, I get a bigger room, more privacy, and a better sound system for my music. But I wouldn’t let my parents know that I enjoyed an aspect of this place. That would excite them too much. Instead, I simply grabbed Zeus by the leash and led him through the double doors into our house. I quickly showed Zeus around the house by taking his leash and walking around the whole house. I spoke little, (well, what are you supposed to say to a dog?) just telling Zeus what room it was and stuff. Then, I took him off his leash, and walked into my room. Zeus followed me, sitting outside my door after I had shut it. He made some piteous whining noises. I huffed, opened the door. I then flopped down on my bed, bored and not quite knowing what to do. I couldn’t call my friends, I was in the wrong time zone for them, they would be eating dinner right now. There was nothing I especially felt like doing. I pulled out my phone, turned on some music, keeping my volume low so that my parents didn’t come in and yell at me for it. I hummed along tunelessly to the screaming of the singers. But I soon turned it off because, like most things since I had moved, the singing reminded me of the people I had left behind. My friends Kai, Lola, Mia, and I were going to start a rock band before I had to leave. Kai would have been the singer, Lola the guitarist, Mia the base guitarist and backup vocals, and I would have been the drummer. We even had a name picked out and everything, the Burning Constellations. I wondered if they had picked out a new drummer, if they had already replaced me and were sitting around a dinner table, ready to record their first cover after they finished their meal. I sighed, absently stroking Zeus’s head as I listened to the sounds of my parents in the levels of the house below me. My father’s loud ringtone went off. I could hear snatches of his conversation, something about an “opportunity that couldn’t be missed” and a  “three week stay.” I braced myself, ready for the words that were sure to come next, as they always came when you’re parents are in the business of politics. My father came into the doorway.