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Zane Warren has had many of those so-called 'worst days' in his life. The first one was the day he was born into this world where his heritage had been shrouded in mystery. The second one was when he’d realized he was nothing but an adopted child, and his whole life had been a big, fat lie. The third one took place a couple of weeks ago, when he became a witch. A male witch. Yep, that’s right. The ‘W’ word. Great, the little voice in his head taunted, so now you're a parentless male witch. Go you. "Oh shut up," Zane growled as he fumbled with his keys at the front door of the sorority dorm he shared with his long-lost kin, Zack and Marie. "I’m going home." Zane gritted his teeth as he adjusted the weight of his haversack hanging haphazardly on his shoulder, and shoved the silver key into the keyhole. "I’m going home and I’m going to scream." And that was exactly what he did, once he dumped his bag by the kitchen counter, walked down the main hall, opened his bedroom door and saw Marie naked on his bed on top of a young-looking man with curly blondish hair. The lad screamed, too. And so did his cousin Marie. So that makes it the third worst day in your life. The fourth, the little voice reminded, but who’s counting? "Bobby Drake!" Zane exploded, his eyes blazing. "What the hell do you think you’re doing on top of my bed!?"
Zane allowed his body to relax as he began to place some incense representing air, soil for earth, a candle for fire, and a small chalice of water at various points around his purified circle. He could feel the energy build around him as he sat down inside his circle and began to breathe rhythmically. He remembered the way it used to press in on him and the edge of fear it had held when he’d just came into his powers, and silently hoped that casting this spell would not be a mistake. Zane turned to face the cream-colored pillar candle. I need a lighter, he decided and looked around for one. A Harley Davidson lighter sat on a dresser a few metres away, its silver shell glittering from the dim ceiling light that shone on it. Zane let out the breath he had been holding and allowed himself to relax further. He then focused his gray-blue eyes on the dresser – the one the lighter was resting on. Nothing happened. Zane’s mouth twisted downward in irritation and he concentrated even harder. Slowly, the lighter levitated, quivered in the air for a moment. Then, it flew from the dresser to his hands. It worked, he thought with an inscrutable thrill of excitement. My power worked. He held up the lighter and stared at his blurred reflection in the stainless steel surface. With a practiced flip, Zane ignited a flame, and lighted up the candlewick. With a hiss, it sputtered and burst into flame. The candle was lit. As the soft glow of the candle basked his handsome face in a golden light, Zane quieted his mind. He then closed his eyes, and his breathing slowed and deepened. Okay, he thought. Here we go. Let’s hope the spell works. He turned to the book, and began to read it aloud. "‘Outside of time, outside of gain. Knows only sorrow, knows only pain.’" A bolt of lightning shot through the sky, followed by the rumble of thunder. Zane jolted upright. He steadied his trembling hands. This is the Book of Shadows. It couldn’t possibly contain or summon anything bad, he tried to convince himself. Breathing deeply, he began chanting again: "Outside
of time, outside of gain. Zane felt a tendril of icy air creep down his back. He shivered as another blast of air whipped through the room. Is the spell doing this, he thought, or is the thermostat going bonkers? Grumpily, he got up… and froze in place. In the center of the attic, a charred figure, burnt beyond recognition, floated above the floor.
"Oh my god," Zane sputtered, cradling the cell phone close to his face. "I think I know who caused all those murders. It’s not the warlocks. It’s that Mandy Claude from my English class. And I think she’s got my powers. I don’t know how, but she has them." Zane could practically see Zack reeling with disbelief on the other end. "All right, don’t panic. Where are you?" "Panic?" He made a face and struck an indignant pose. "I’m not panicking. Does it sound like I’m panicking?" Scott’s voice came over. "Zane, stop it." He sounded serious. "Where are you?" "Fine," Zane rolled his eyes. "I’m back at the apartment." He then frowned and stared at the cell phone. It was starting to crackle heavily with static. And then the phone flew out of his grasp and collided heavily against an adjoining wall, and instantly spilt into pieces. The remnants clattered noisily onto the kitchen floor. What happened? Zane thought, almost jumping out of his skin. It was like as if some invisible hand had just snatched the phone from his hands and hurled it against the wall. Only one answer rang out loud in his head. Mandy… she’s here. And she’s not afraid to use my powers. He hesitated, turning towards the hallway that led into the living room. His adrenaline started to pump, and he was beginning to become a little woozy from all the intense apprehension that hung in the surrounding air, like a thick fog. "Who’s there?" he called as he entered the living room. There was a shuffling sound on the hardwood floor. "Who’s there?" he asked again, feeling so stupid for asking such a rhetorical question. Panic rose in Zane’s throat. He felt the presence even before he saw the long shadow cast on the wooden floor. His breath caught as he turned swiftly and found himself face-to-face with Mandy Claude. The girl’s eerie expressionless face was inches from his own. Her green eyes, once beautiful but now downright creepy, fastened on Zane. Zane whirled around, searching desperately for an escape. He had seen what his power could do, and he’d rather not be on the receiving end of it. Too late. Before he could find an escape route, Zane suddenly found himself being hurled off of his feet. His feet went over his head, and he smashed solidly against the grandfather clock that stood by living room’s archway. Its wooden doorframe splintered and the glass shattered. Its shards rained onto the Oriental rug the majestic clock stood upon, and the pendulum sounded one last time before coming off. Zane’s head came to a firm but soft landing on the rug – thank goodness. Not bothering to shake the glass off of his clothes, he got up and made a beeline for the front door. He hated to admit it, but this was actually the first time he was running away from someone so frightened. Mandy didn’t stop. Her mind closed around Zane’s legs and pulled, bringing him down. "Ow!" Zane hit the floor hard, then twisted frantically, struggling to get away. Then his heels went over his head once more as Mandy, employing what was once his power, telekinetically lifted him high into the air. "Nice view?" Mandy asked him, the first words she had uttered ever since she began her onslaught on him. She was clearly toying with him, holding him high up in the air, watching him dangle helplessly like a mobile above a baby’s crib. Zane was beginning to feel his lunch rising up – or rather, descending – to his throat. Damn, he thought. Shouldn’t have had that third serving of French Fries at lunch. He then let out a scream when Mandy let go. He felt himself plunge downwards. He couldn’t see what was below him, but he had a feeling that Mandy wouldn’t be so kind as to drop him onto a beanbag. Zane came falling down onto the glass coffee table. He winced, waiting for the glass to shatter and pierce through his jacket, his T-shirt, his skin, and then into his flesh. But it didn’t. Zane felt the wind knocked out of him as the table splintered beneath his weight. He looked up horrifically to see a piece of bloodstained glass sticking out of his arm. He quickly shook it off. It could have been worse, he reminded himself. Slowly Zane got onto his feet. It wasn’t like as if he had any other choice. Wearily, he made a dash towards the front door. His hand fumbled for the knob of the door, and his fingers closed around it. He turned and tugged with all his might, but it wouldn’t budge. Mandy had completely held it shut. He was trapped. As soon as he realized that, Zane immediately took off in the other direction – back into the kitchen. Mandy let out a throaty laugh, shaking her head in amusement. "That’s what I liked about you, Zane. You never know when to give up." She focused her eyes on a kitchen cabinet, and its door began to shake visibly and vehemently. With a loud creak, the door came off its hinges and, just as Zane entered the kitchen, struck him hard on the side of his head. Zane froze on the spot, then his body crumpled lifelessly onto the tiled kitchen floor. Mandy strode over towards him. She looked down at his lifeless form in newfound disgust. "I thought you were nice," she spat. "I thought you were great. And we could have been perfect together. But not anymore, traitor." She narrowed her eyes and levitated several pairs of kitchen knives off their hooks, then positioned them a few feet above Zane, who was still lying motionlessly on the ground, unconscious. Mandy was just about to send a blast of energy at the knives, to mentally command them to impale the young man who she had once trusted so completely – when the front door suddenly blew open! In the midst of retaliation, she had completely forgotten to maintain her psychic hold on the door. A red beam of light flashed her way just as someone gasped, "Zack!", quickly followed by a panicked "Whoa!" The knives she had already thrown at Zane froze abruptly in its tracks, hanging only mere inches away from his body. Before she had time to cry out in outrage, the red beam of light struck Mandy on her shoulder, tossing her over the kitchen counter.
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