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School was over. The sun was setting, casting long, golden shadows across the pavement. The air smelled of exhaust fumes and freedom.
For the first time in history, Elian wasn't hugging the brick walls to stay invisible. He was walking right down the middle of the sidewalk, flanked by actual human beings.
On his left was Sam, who was passionately explaining why the school cafeteria was a front for a money-laundering scheme. On his right was Maya, who was calculating the nutritional value of the mystery meat to prove Sam wrong.
And floating above them, drifting like a bored balloon, was Lyra.
"Think about it," Sam insisted, waving his hands. "They serve 'Pizza Boats' on Tuesday. But on Wednesday, it's 'Italian Casserole.' It's the same ingredients, Maya! They're recycling the assets to hide the budget cuts!"
"It's called leftovers, Sam," Maya sighed, adjusting her glasses. "It's not a conspiracy. It's just bad culinary management. Also, Elian, tell him that 'Meatloaf Surprise' isn't code for alien alloy."
Elian smiled. He shifted his backpack strap, feeling a strange warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the sun. "I don't know," Elian said, playing along. "I saw the lunch lady whispering to the janitor. Suspicious."
"Ha!" Sam pointed a finger at Maya. "The Witness has spoken! Vindication!"
"You're both enabling each other," Maya rolled her eyes, but she was smiling too.
It was nice. It was messy and noisy and normal. "I like them," Lyra commented from above, doing a lazy backstroke in the air. "The conspiracy kid has good energy. Very chaotic. The girl is smart. We should keep them."
"Heads up," Lyra added casually, her tone shifting. "We have an NPC encounter ahead. And he looks grumpy."
Elian looked up. They were nearing the bike racks at the edge of the school grounds. Blocking the path, leaning against the chain-link fence, was Jason. He had his usual backup dancers, Mike and Trent. But Jason didn't look like the king of the school today. He was wearing a beanie pulled low, but Elian could clearly see a nasty, red burn mark right in the centre of his forehead, the mark of Lyra's "flick."
Elian stopped walking. Sam and Maya stopped too, sensing the vibe shift.
"Well," Jason pushed off the fence. He didn't smirk. He glared. "Look at this. The Three Stooges."
"Leave it alone, Jason," Maya said instantly, stepping forward. She shifted her heavy tote bag like a shield. "Don't you have a mirror to go stare at?"
"Shut up, Maya," Jason snapped. He pointed a finger at Elian. "I'm here for him. The Magician."
"Magician?" Sam snorted. "Dude, Elian can't even open his locker combination half the time."
"He did something," Jason hissed, stepping closer. He touched the red welt on his forehead, wincing. "In the cafeteria. You flicked me, didn't you? Some kind of... invisible rubber band. Or a pellet gun."
"You were three feet away from me," Elian said calmly. "And I was holding a sandwich."
"I know what I felt!" Jason shouted. He looked paranoid, his eyes darting around Elian. "My head snapped back. I saw stars. You did something freakish."
"Jason, you tripped," Maya said, using her 'I'm talking to a toddler' voice. "We all saw it. You got mad, you tripped, and you hit your head on the table. It's embarrassing, but it's physics."
"It wasn't physics!" Jason roared. "It was him!"
He lunged forward. Sam immediately stepped in front of Elian. He was shorter than Jason, and definitely scrawnier, but he put his hands up. "Back off, man," Sam said, his voice shaking but firm. "You touch him, and... and I'll tweet about it. I have three hundred followers. I'll cancel you."
"Move, pipsqueak," Jason raised a fist.
"I'm filming this," Maya warned, pulling out her phone. "Assaulting a minor? That's a felony, Jason. Say hi to juvie."
Elian stared at them. Sam was terrified. Maya was bluffing. But they were forming a human wall between him and the fist. For eighteen years, Elian had thought he was the extra in everyone else's movie. But extras don't get bodyguards.
He felt a hand on his shoulder, a cold, phantom touch. "They're good friends," Lyra whispered in his ear. "Don't let them get punched."
Elian took a breath. He reached out and gently pulled Sam back. "It's okay," Elian said.
"Elian, no," Sam hissed. "He's been working out. He has veins on his veins."
"I got this," Elian said.
He stepped past his friends. He stood toe-to-toe with Jason. "You want to hit me?" Elian asked.
"I want to fix your face," Jason snarled.
"Okay," Elian nodded. He didn't raise his hands. He didn't flinch. "Go ahead."
Jason blinked. He hesitated. "What?"
"If you think I used magic," Elian said, lowering his voice so only Jason could hear, "then you probably shouldn't hit me. Because if I did do that from three feet away... imagine what I can do from right here."
Jason's eyes widened. He looked at Elian's calm face. He looked at the red welt on his own forehead. The doubt crept in.
"You're bluffing," Jason whispered.
"Try me," Elian said. He looked up, just slightly, to the space behind Jason's left shoulder. "Lyra," he murmured. "Make it cold."
Jason frowned. "Who are you talking to-"
He stopped. Lyra didn't use wind. She didn't throw him. She simply floated down and stood directly behind Jason. Close. Uncomfortably close. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, not touching him, but hovering inches away. She turned into a human air conditioner.
The temperature around Jason plummeted. His breath suddenly fogged in the air. A visible puff of white vapour. Jason shivered. A violent, full-body shudder. The hair on his arms stood up.
"Why is it cold?" Jason stammered, looking around. "Is anyone else cold?"
"It's forty degrees, Jason," Elian said, staring him dead in the eye. "You look pale."
"I..." Jason rubbed his arms. "I'm freezing."
Lyra leaned forward. She put her lips right next to Jason's ear. She didn't scream. She didn't blow. She just whispered, in a voice that sounded like dry leaves skittering on pavement: "Run."
Jason jumped. He slapped his ear. "WHO SAID THAT?!" he screamed, spinning around. There was no one there. Just the empty bike rack.
"Said what?" Elian asked innocently.
"Someone whispered!" Jason backed away, his eyes wild. "Someone said 'Run'!"
"Nobody said anything, dude," Mike said, looking at Jason like he was losing his mind. "You okay?"
"I heard it!" Jason yelled. He looked back at Elian. Elian was just standing there, unmoving, watching him. And suddenly, Jason realized something. Every time he messed with this kid, the world broke. He tripped. He got flicked by ghosts. The temperature dropped. Voices appeared in his head.
"You're cursed," Jason whispered, stumbling back. "You're a freak."
"Maybe," Elian shrugged. "Or maybe you should just leave us alone."
Jason looked at the fog of his own breath. He looked at Elian's dead-calm eyes. "Let's go," Jason muttered to his friends. "This is stupid. He's not worth it."
He turned and walked away. Fast. He kept rubbing his ear and checking over his shoulder, as if expecting the cold to chase him.
Elian let out a long breath. His knees felt a little watery.
"Whoa," Sam exhaled. "Did you see that? He looked like he saw a ghost."
"He just freaked himself out," Maya said, putting her phone away, though she looked at Elian curiously. "Gaslighting 101. Nice work, Elian."
Elian looked up. Lyra was floating cross-legged above the bike rack, looking smug. "I didn't even have to break his kneecaps," she said. "I just gave him a little ASMR. Psychological warfare is fun."
"You okay?" Sam asked, poking Elian's arm.
"Yeah," Elian smiled. "I'm okay."
"Ice cream?" Maya suggested. "I feel like we earned ice cream."
"Definitely," Sam agreed. "But not from the truck on 5th street. That guy is definitely a CIA operative."
They started walking again. Sam put an arm around Elian's shoulder. Maya walked close on the other side. They were a unit.
Elian looked at the empty street where Jason had run away. He realized he hadn't used "Ghost Magic" to win. He had used fear, confusion, and a very cold friend. It wasn't a superpower. It was a bluff. And it worked.
"Thanks," Elian whispered to the air.
"Don't mention it," Lyra whispered back, drifting along the wind. "But you owe me a bite of your cold dessert."