Bloodroot

By Angela Sullivan

Callie McCree was a normal teenager. If normal meant that she left no footprints, no sound, and she could fall into a river without so much as a bruise. Then yes, she was perfectly and mundanely normal.

Follow Callie through a journey of magic, friendship, love, and self-discovery.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angela Sullivan
• Release date: Sep 21, 2009

Angela Sullivan

Angela Sullivan was writing the moment she was able to hold a pen and has grown to deeply love Young Adult Fantasy.A born and raised Kentuckian, and continues to reside there with her three furry four-legged daughters.

Book preview

Bloodroot

Angela Sullivan

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011 Angela Sullivan

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Chapter One

Run Away

On the orange speckled counter was a flimsy tray of food. It was a ready-made heart attack with its five fried drumsticks; a volcanic explosion of gravy on a mountain of potatoes, and a large plastic cup filled to the brim with caffeine. It could have almost produce a heart attack by sight alone.

Callie McCree tied the laces of her bright pink skates hurriedly. She had been late for work. Again. She stood steadying herself and adjusted her knee-length pink poodle skirt. She still couldn't believe she actually bought it for the lame waitress job. She hated the 50's theme.

The horribly named 'Food Shack' was decked in it. Neon clocks hung on the spotted walls while whiny male singers pierced her ears from the jukebox in the corner. Maybe they were females - she couldn't tell. One day she may have to gauge her eyes out to rid herself of the image.

Callie balanced the tray on one hand and skated out into the cool air, the gentle wind brushing against her cheek. At least it was a nice day, and that lifted her spirits a little.

However, because of the tray she couldn't see her feet. That was what caused her to roll over a sizable rock and what else could she have done but try to save herself?

Remarkably she rolled into the window that she was supposed to be delivering the food to, and she fell with the tray tightly in her grasp, but the food was on the window. The potatoes and gravy clung to it and the greasy chicken laid by her skates.

Through the sharp pains in her tail bone and the mess on the window she was able to see the customers livid faces, a little girl with ponytails in the back seat giggling and pointing.

Mommy! Mommy, did you see that! Her muffled voice could reach her through the rolled-up window.

She knew it before it happened. She was fired, but not before a good long lecture from her middle-aged boss with red sauce on his checkered tie. She had stared fixedly at that stain all the while he yelled. If someone asked her what he said, she couldn't have told them. She had no idea herself, all she knew was that she was fired. Again.

As she changed into her normal modern clothing (ripped jeans and a thin shirt) she found she was grateful for that rock. Despite the forming blue bruise on her back it was worth it. She never had to go back to the Food Shack. She knew her aunt would be mad, more furious than than her boss and the customers she threw the food at. That was the reason she didn't call her.

A block away from the poodle skirts and ponytails she dialed Mark Leven's number on her cell phone. She stood in front of a popular music store, the hardcore sounds blasting outside every time someone opened the door. She covered one ear pressing the phone against her other. There were seven rings and when she thought it would go to voice-mail he answered.

Hello, he said his voice deep and raspy.

Hey, it's me. Can you pick me up by Listeners Choice?

You got fired again, didn't you? The humor in his tone stung, but only a little.

Are you going to pick me up, or not?

Sure, he said, a girl giggling in the distance.

Callie bit her tongue. If she asked who the girl was he would lie, like every other time, and then accuse her of being distrustful. She was emotionally tired of the circular fight. It was never ending.

I'll be there in ten minutes. She heard the dial tone.

She shoved the cell phone in her jacket pocket and sat on the bench advertising a nearby tattoo parlor. She was determined not to think about the mystery girl, but ten minutes was a long time to do nothing and all she could do was imagine what she looked like. By the shortest giggle Callie drew an unrealistically beautiful girl in her mind with long blond hair and gorgeous fair skin. She would walk with grace and talk with refined finesse. She would be perfect and outshine her in every way.

Just as she was diverting herself from her overactive imagination a butterfly with deep purple wings and silvery tips landed on her knee. She smiled down at the lovely creature, feeling a kinship and comfort in not being alone.

Mark's car pulled up. Without exiting he rolled down the window yelling at her. It caused the butterfly to flutter off, flying towards the sun. So much for a peaceful moment in her day...

Hey, Cal, come on, hurry up, I've got things to do.

Callie pushed herself off the bench muttering for him to stop calling her that horrid nickname. It sounded like a name given to a cow. An old, fat cow, and she was neither.

When she slammed the door Mark fussed, be careful. The car was his baby, the most important thing in his world. She rolled her eyes but coughed out the horrible scent that engulfed her as soon as the door was closed. It smelled like the interior was drenched in cheap floral perfume. It gave her a headache, and a new picture was drawn of the girl he was with. Instead of being beautiful beyond comparison, she was young, eager, and querulous.

He pulled out into the street. How did you get fired this time?

I threw food at a customers window. She thought it was a lamer excuse than the last one. At her former job she was being harassed by a young nagging mother and as Callie went to put her groceries in the plastic bags she put the eggs at the bottom beneath a jug of milk and a two pound book. That wasn't an accident but falling because of a rock under her skates was. It wasn't fair.

You're just lazy, Callie.

She didn't respond. He always said that. He was always putting her down and she chose to ignore it. After all, Mark could be nice when he tried, and he did help her like he was then. If he didn't get rid of his girlfriend to drive her home she would be walking, and it was a very long ways away.

They spent a few minutes in silence until he was pulling into the driveway of a two-story white brick house with roses growing in beds around it. It was nice looking enough but Callie found it stifling. Her aunt was so... Nasty. Instead of seeing an expensive house with loads of luxuries she saw a prison.

There's something I've been wanting to tell you, Mark began. I - I think we should see other people.

Callie shrugged expectantly. Why? You already are.

He didn't deny it which was as good as a confession. It's for the best. You're a nice girl and all, but-

I don’t give in. She unbuckled her seat belt and threw her body weight against the door and when she got out she slammed it closed as hard as she could. She hoped that she would leave a dint of some kind. A memory for him from her. With love from, Callie.

Without looking back to see his horrified expression she stormed to her front door. Unfortunately her impeccable hearing was able to catch every single curse word of his. She slammed the door to the house too.

The living room held a plump green sofa, a mounted flat screen television, and cherry hardwood floors. The most essential thing that should have been there wasn't: Pictures of her family - or pictures of anyone for that matter. Her aunt claimed to never have any, but Callie knew that was a lie. Her aunt just hated memories of her brother and the parents that favored him. All Callie had known were terrible stories about them, but she didn't believe one.

Without her aunt knowing she snuck up to the forbidden attic one night when she was eight. There was a box of old musty pictures, one in particular being of her mom. They had the same round silver eyes, full lips, and like her, her ears came to a point. The man that stood beside her had to be her father. They both had long legs and curly hair the shade of caramel. Her mom and dad looked so happy, their arms wrapped around each other. Callie took the picture and hid it between the pages of her favorite book. Her aunt never knew it was missing.

From the hallway by the staircase emerged her Aunt Maggie looking too thin as always, her eyebrows thick and her chin protruding. Callie secretly thought she had to be adopted, and thought her grandparents were saints for adopting such a horrid creature that not only was rotten on the inside, but was ugly on the out.

What are you doing home so early, Aunt Maggie demanded. You got fired again?!

Callie once more didn't answer, there was no point, she didn't have to. Her aunt charged at her, her face leering into hers. Blinking was a sign of weakness and of backing down. She refused to.

You are worthless, her aunt spat. Completely and utterly worthless. You're good-for-nothing and you'll amount to just that: Nothing! She continued these slew of insults gradually becoming louder. She yelled at her all the way up the stairs.

Callie stomped her feet hard trying to drown out her aunt, but unfortunately nothing could drown her out and especially her footsteps that were always insubstantial. Like her hearing it was another one of her odd abilities.

She turned into the first door to her right throwing it in Aunt Maggie's face. It took five minutes for it to become effective, but it always worked, the yelling breaking to an end. A sign that she finally left.

Callie's bedroom was painted a dark red - not by her choice. It reminded her of blood in a horror movie, the scene of a hideous crime that would cover nation-wide papers. She attempted to hide it with her drawings, almost every inch of sketches of the sunset out of her window, the night sky, rolling hills, and places she longed to visit, like the beach and pond.

The pond was the most drawn. It was perfectly round, sparkling, and more beautiful than anything she had seen. She didn't know why it frequented her dreams so often but it was the most peaceful place she knew of, and it didn't even exist.

They were talently drawn, the lines smooth. She made a pencil do wonders that no one ever understood. She had discovered her artistic talent in seventh grade. Her old friend Julie Neil was a wanna-be-model and was constantly asking Callie to draw her. She imagined Julie covering the walls of her own bedroom with either those pictures or mirrors. It was a waste of good narcissism because Julie had a long horse-like face, straight dark brown hair, and a body resembling a stick. She wasn't at all pretty. Worst of all she thought she could be a part-time country singer, her voice as bad as nails down a chalkboard. Callie was glad she decided to ditch her when she entered high school.

She was now in her Junior year and was absolutely hating it. Everyone had their own stereotypical ways and Callie didn't fit in anywhere. Not with the Jocks, Preps, Geeks, or Goths. It wasn't that she minded, but she wouldn't have cared to have someone to sit with during lunch, even if they didn’t say a word to her.

Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been like if her parents survived. Maybe she would be going out with friends instead of lying on her bed asking herself such questions. She longed for a different life. She ached for it.

Callie only knew the false personalities that Aunt Maggie gave her parents. She didn't know anything real, but she knew deep down that they wouldn't have wanted the life she was enduring for her. If that were so why hadn't she done anything about it? Fear. Now, she was tired.

That thought was what prompted her to pack her beige book bag. She stuffed clothes and other assorted necessities in it, along with the little bit of money she had been saving. It was only two hundred dollars, but it would do. She went to snap it closed when at last moment she reached into the drawer of her nightstand for her favorite book with the picture of her parents inserted between its pages, and her notebook filled with her drawings.

She had thought of leaving so many times before, but always lost her nerve. If she were brought back by police Aunt Maggie would make sure she wouldn't see the light of day again, but Callie didn't care. She had one more year to go until she was out of her custody. If she was caught she could survive a year without daylight: the punishment Aunt Maggie would give.

With her backpack over her shoulder she cracked her door open peeping her head through. She easily heard the faint sounds of a television down the hall in her aunt's room.

Good, she thought and slipped out of her room not giving it a last glance. She crept downstairs carefully and gracefully skipping a step that creaked with the slightest touch, even hers. Through the living room, out the door, she didn't take a relaxing breath until she was at the edge of her block.

She looked up to the violet and gold streaked navy sky. Dusk was coming quick. At least she could walk under the light of day for another hour.

She didn't know where she was going. She had no plan and for the briefest moment she considered turning back. At least there she would have food to eat and a place to sleep, but even those thoughts didn't stop her. They didn't slow her down. She would find a way, even if it meant curling up in an abandoned church, and stealing leftover food off of customers plates.

Night had fallen over her well before she started crossing the Secor bridge, the lights from the beams shined down on her like a spotlight. Every time a car sped passed she would shut her eyes against even brighter lights, but she kept walking until her legs felt like they would collapse beneath her.

She stopped for the first time since she left her room. Callie plopped herself down at the edge. Her legs ached with use. The bridge was an hour from her home by car. She couldn't believe that she had come that far. Wasn't it five miles that a person could walk at a time? Something like that.

Callie stood and bent over the bridge railing to the murky river water below. It was disgusting how polluted their water was, but for some uncanny reason she couldn't look away. It captivated her, the way the water churned over rocks. As she watched it seem to deepen, darkening in its color. The tone had a music all of its own, a steady and long beat against her eardrums. That couldn't be possible, a river couldn't deepen that way, it couldn't have a tone, and yet she was seeing it and hearing it with her own eyes and ears.

There was a white glint. It only lasted a millisecond, but she knew she saw it. There was something down there. A coin, she thought logically, but it was only logic and some other part of her was telling her different.

Miss, don't do it!

Callie looked over to see a young man jump out of his expensive black car that was driven hastily to the edge, the front wheel on the curb. Leaving the door opened he strolled slowly over, his hands held up as though not to scare off a frightened animal. She realized then what it must look like, a girl leaning halfway over a bridge. She almost laughed. He thought she was committing suicide.

It's not worth it, he called.

She wanted to answer to tell him that it wasn't what it looked like, but she was drawn back to the river. There was that glint again, brighter than before. There was something there and before she realized what she was doing she had a leg over the railing.

NO!

Through glazed eyes she stared at the frantic man. He broke into a run. His steps were drowned out by the oblivious traffic.

She was smiling and lifted her other leg to stand on the other side her hands gripping the slick railing keeping her from falling. It was cold, freezing in her grasp. She could only imagine what the water would feel like. That logical side of her was saying that she would go into shock before she would find the purpose in jumping in the first place.

The stranger was near his arms stretched in front of him. He almost grabbed a hold of the sleeve of her shirt when she let go.

There was a pull on her stomach like someone would feel if they missed a step on the stairs, or in fact jumped off a bridge as she was doing. Some part of her registered that she was indeed committing suicide. Another part, her gut told her she wasn't, that it somehow was familiar, even though she had never done it before. Her gut had never wrong before.

She heard the anguished screams of the man above her past the pushing wind roaring in her ears. He was drowned out when she was caught by the river, and she held her breath, closed her eyes, and felt redeemed.

Blackness wrapped itself over her; inside of her. If she was dying then it wasn't so bad. It was rather peaceful...

Chapter Two

A Strange Place

It was cold. Callie was sure she must have been dead but how would she know? She never died before, and if she had wouldn't she recall that in her new death? It was all nonsense, the hazy ramblings of someone waking from the depths of their unconsciousness.

She focused on moving