The following day, Mikey walked downstairs to smell the blueberry pancakes. "That smells great!

  Is he finally breaking out that syrup from Smith's maple farm?

  Arthur had taken Mikey for a tour last summer. It was so delicious that Arthur bought a bottle. He joked the syrup should only be used on special occasions, like some high-brand scotch from the 1900s.

  "I think you are in definite need of cheering up, so I broke out the syrup," Arthur grinned.

  The pancakes had been a great start to the day and a good distraction until Mikey started his five-minute walk to the bus stop.

  "Come on, Mikey, let's not poison anyone today," he chanted. The ritual knot of anxiety in his throat was growing by the minute. Mikey realized early on that being first in line for the bus was better. It gave a higher chance of getting an open seat towards the front. Also, the loud and obnoxious students always seemed to sit in the back.

  Mikey usually put his backpack next to him to ward away anyone who wanted to sit beside him. It was a subtle enough message, and most people obliged.

  He looked up from his thoughts and noticed quite a few more kids at the stop today than before. Mikey guessed their parents had wanted them to stay home during the blizzard.

  Lucky.

  His bus came into view down the street, and everyone lined up.

  "Oh my gosh! Get in, get in! You must be freezing—it's fifteen degrees outside." Mikey heard as soon as the bus driver opened the door. He realized, looking around, that all the other kids were bundled up like they were climbing Mount Everest. All he had was a hoodie from his favorite anime and some jeans. His long, thick brown hair was up in a messy bun. The thought of putting on gloves or a beanie hadn't even come to mind.

  Why don't I feel that cold? What a lame power.

  "Oh yeah, I'm a little cold but not too bad," Mikey replied, trying not to draw attention. He hurried on and found an open seat closer to the front.

  Score.

  Mikey placed his backpack in its proper place of warding and let out a sigh of relief. But as the extra number of people got on the bus, a worrying thought occurred to him. This was one of the first stops, and the bus was already a quarter full. If it continued at this rate, he might have to share his seat out of necessity.

  Mikey tried not to focus on the inevitable as the bus rolled on.

  After a few stops, Mikey realized he was staring at his drawing of a Night Prowler, pencil tapping on the corner of the sketch pad. So far, he'd gotten through with the seat to himself, but Mikey's heart sank as they pulled up to the next stop. There were a lot of students waiting. The math didn't add up; he'd have to give up the spot.

  At least the bus ride is only fifteen more minutes.

  That shouldn't be enough time for anything to happen. Mikey mentally counted those walking on and the number of seats left when his attention was drawn to the girl walking toward him.

  Mikey hadn't seen her the last few bus rides, and she wasn't dressed like a cold-weather explorer either. Her pink, ugly Christmas sweater was the first thing he noticed.

  That sweater does not bring the word ugly to mind.

  Her outfit was coupled with matching pink gloves and maroon-dyed hair in a neat ponytail. She had on black leggings and pink, furry boots.

  Mikey tried not to stare. Her emerald-green eyes were scanning for a place to sit, and it suddenly dawned on him she would need to sit next to him.

  Oh no. She's looking over here…oh no. Don't do it!

  Mikey panicked and hoped his face was hiding the terror. Too soon, she was standing next to his seat.

  "Uh…can I sit here? You're the only spot left this far back, and there's a line behind me." She gestured to his backpack.

  "Oh, sorry. Yeah—here," Mikey fumbled to make space.

  Mikey's most uncomfortable bus ride ever was made even worse by the fact that every time his eyes glanced over, she was staring at him. Then he'd have to push the anxious knot that formed back down his throat and pretend to focus on his drawing.

  "Oh, a perfect picture of a Wendigo. Are you new to the Sect?" the girl said.

  It took him a moment to realize she was the one who had spoken.

  "Huh?" Was all Mikey's genius brain could think to say.

  "The Wendigo," she tapped on his sketchbook. "Also, your Source feels…different. Almost like a constant weak attack? It's really weird."

  Wendigo? Is that what they were?

  Mikey was fascinated by lore about monsters, creatures, and different cultures. He wanted to draw them for a living. But she mentioned them like they were real. Like he wasn't crazy. He'd also never heard of 'Source.'

  It must be some new slang.

  Mikey realized he was sitting silently and should probably respond.

  "Um, it could be a Wendigo. It fits the general lore description for sure. And I'm sorry, what do you mean by Source? And—I'm not attacking you…I don't think."

  She stared at him for a second before shaking her head like he was the one speaking gibberish. "Wait, you don't know about Os, do you? So, you're a Sap—but then how did you see a Wendigo? And even though it's not right, you are definitely using Source or something like it." She looked even more confused than Mikey.

  Oz? Like 'Wizard of Oz?'

  Before he could gather his thoughts together to respond, the bus stopped in front of their school.

  "Um…Just forget everything I said, okay?" the girl jumped up quickly and was off the bus before it was their turn.

  Mikey's shoe crunched on the dirt path, his mind reeling. He stumbled towards his first class, replaying their conversation over again. The girl obviously knew something he didn't about the Night Prowlers and maybe even Mikey's radioactivity.

  Source, she called it…

  He decided no matter how uncomfortable it would be, when he saw bus girl again, he'd talk to her and figure this all out.

  The first half of Mikey's day passed by uneventfully. Typically, though, he'd be able to focus on his classes. But for some reason, all his teachers seemed to sound like the one from Charlie Brown. The lunchtime bell rang, signaling the end of biology. Mikey followed the crowd toward the cafeteria. After rounding a corner, lost in thought—Mikey suddenly found himself on the ground.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "Argh! Watch where you're going, moron!"

  A tall, tan student stood above him, angrily rubbing his forehead.

  Mikey realized he had been looking down while walking and practically headbutted him.

  "I—I'm sorry. I was looking down and didn't see you around the corner—"

  "Just watch it next time." The guy turned to leave, but his eyes suddenly widened like someone had slapped him. He cornered Mikey against the wall.

  "What the hell are you doing? Are you attacking me with Source?" he growled just loud enough for only Mikey to hear.

  "Source—I don't know what that is… I'm not doing anything." Mikey muttered. He was at a loss, another person talking about Source.

  "That is against our order; you're gonna pay!" He stabbed a finger at Mikey's chest and then stormed away.

  "What in the world is going on today?" Mikey looked up and sighed.

  The rest of the day passed by in a blur. He hoped the 'you'll pay' guy would forget the whole thing in a couple of days.

  Despite the craziness of the day in general, Mikey didn't want it to ruin his last class, and the only one he looked forward to at school—art.

  The best word Mikey would use to describe his art teacher, Mrs. Tursley, was "off." But that's what Mikey liked about her. All artists were a little eccentric.

  "Come, come, my future artists. My young Van Goghs. You Picassos in the making. Have a seat," Mrs. Tursley instructed as he entered the classroom. "Let's get this show on the easel." She let out a hearty laugh at her joke. Every day she made art puns only she found hilarious.

  Like his last few classes with her, Mrs. Tursley looked disheveled. Her long red hair was frizzy, poofed out, and in disarray. There was always at least one paint smudge somewhere on her face, and she wore an apron that Mikey assumed was white at some point. It was covered in so many paint streaks there was no real way to tell. She wore large, round glasses that were always falling off her nose. Mikey guessed she was in her mid-thirties.

  "Good afternoon Mrs. Tursley," Mikey smiled, scanning the room for an empty easel. He froze when his eyes locked onto a particular area of the classroom. Bus girl was chatting with another student he hadn't seen before.

  She was not so subtly going back and forth from Mikey to the other student with her eyes as if to tell him, "That's who I was talking about." When they realized Mikey had seen them, the chatting stopped, and they watched him. Mikey's anxiety began to claw its way out. He smiled meekly at them and quickly found an open easel on the opposite side of the room. It was easier when people were just angry at him. It was much worse when Mikey had no idea what was happening.

  "Alright, class, today we will be drawing an apple," Mrs. Tursley started once everyone was settled. A bright red apple appeared from the front pocket of her apron. A few groans erupted from the class, but she smiled like that was her expected reaction.

  "Now, now," her grin widened, "there is going to be a twist. You must include this apple in your piece. But you can create anything you want using the apple as the focus. With any medium you please. Pencils, paint, pastels, etcetera, etcetera." She held the apple up for emphasis like it was the ambrosia of the gods. "We will be working on this project today and Monday, so keep your time in mind."

  "BEGIN!" She twirled, placing the apple on a stool in the center of the class.

  Mikey had already begun thinking of ideas, ultimately deciding to make a play on Adam and Eve. He imagined a giant green and black serpent encircling the apple with a woman's arm reaching for it. It was challenging to focus on the outline as Mikey continued to feel eyes on him. At every glance, the duo was looking at him with puzzled looks. He wondered if he was the only one who wasn't in on the secret. Despite his nerves, Mikey's resolve to confront bus girl about their earlier conversation grew.

  The bell finally rang while Mikey finished putting his art supplies away.

  He was working up the courage to talk to bus girl when Mrs. Tursley called, "Mr. Black, I'd like to talk to you for a second before you leave. Don't worry. You won't miss the bus."

  A few kids in the class snickered, but Mikey was more upset that he might miss his chance to get answers.

  "Of course." Mikey came to her desk. As the duo walked behind him to exit the class, their eyes were still on him. He heard the subtle rasps of whispers as soon as they walked through the door.

  "So, I'm dying to know what idea you came up with. Fellow artist to fellow artist," Mrs. Tursley beamed. Mikey was relieved that was all it was about and explained his idea quickly. Mrs. Tursley had seen his sketchbook on the first day of class, and they'd talked about his wish to become a cartoonist.

  He felt terrible because he'd generally love having this conversation, but bus girl could have answers. Also, the longer he was around Mrs. Tursley, the worse she would feel, and Mikey didn't want to jeopardize the one class he enjoyed the first week.

  After a few minutes, Mikey looked at the clock on the wall, and Mrs. Tursley got the hint.

  "Oop, I'm sorry. Your idea sounds great; I can't wait to see the finished piece. Go, go catch your bus and have a good weekend."

  "Thanks. You too."

  The art building was at the opposite end of the school across the track field. It was covered in snow, forcing the students to walk through the woods bordering the area with less accumulation. He hurried across, hoping the bus wouldn't leave without him.

  Mikey detected a familiar sensation he couldn't quite place when he was almost through the woods. He turned towards it, only to hear a cracking sound before his body was hurled into a tree.

  "That was too far, Thomas; you could've killed him," a voice shouted.

  Mikey couldn't breathe. Panic filled him when the air wouldn't come.

  Breathe!

  Finally, with an audible gasp, sweet air rushed to his lungs. Mikey looked up to see the angry guy he accidentally headbutted at lunch a few feet away. Behind him was bus girl and friend.

  "Stay out of this, Sabrina. He used his Source on me first," Thomas spat. "Our rules say I was free to defend myself from an unprovoked attack."

  "He doesn't know he's doing it. Or about OS. Let's talk to Elder Cassandra about it first before this gets out of hand."

  "Yeah, Tom, I was in art class with him. He didn't seem to have a clue what he was doing," the other student chimed in.

  "I don't buy it, Marcus. I've never felt this before. It's not right. He's not normal."

  Thomas came up to Mikey just as he was trying to stand. He sensed that same pressure as before, and then an invisible force knocked him back down.

  He didn't even touch me. Wha—what is happening?

  Mikey was scared for the first time since his parents' murder.

  Then Thomas was on top of him.

  "Tell me who you are and what kind of freak Source you are using," Thomas demanded, sending another wave of energy at him.

  His body pressed into the ground like an imaginary boulder was laid on Mikey. He wasn't sure whether it was the day's craziness or that he had just experienced the most physical pain of his life—but Mikey had finally had enough. Something inside of him reached out for the energy pressing him down.

  And there were no words. Every cell in Mikey's body grew alive as the energy coursed through him.

  This is heaven…

  Life and strength filled him as the pain disappeared.

  "Stop it," Thomas yelled, throwing another wave of energy.

  This time, it did nothing. Mikey just wanted more. The pressure holding him down stopped as Thomas began punching him instead. Mikey saw panic in his eyes as each strike grew weaker. The blows stopped as Thomas tried to escape before collapsing to his knees a few steps away.

  Mikey's vision blurred from the incredible sensation. He thought for a brief moment that there was yelling in the distance. It didn't matter, though. The energy was all there was.

  Yessssss, more! A voice whispered.

  His eyes shot open to a voice screaming. It took Mikey a second to realize it was his own. Cold, his brain told him. Cold so profound it was as if his veins were injected with liquid nitrogen. The pain was unbearable; just as fast as it had come, it was gone.

  "Mikey, are you okay? Mikey." A familiar voice brought him back to reality.

  As his vision cleared, Mikey could make out Arthur kneeling next to him, a worried look on his face. Mikey remembered where he was. He turned his head. The students were on the ground, struggling to get up. They stared at him, their faces a mask of terror.

  "Arthur? What happened?" Mikey tried to shake his head clear.

  "Oh, thank goodness," Arthur wheezed. He was hunched over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He turned to the students as Marcus helped the other two stand, seemingly not as affected.

  "Leave. Go back to Haven and tell no one of this." Arthur commanded.

  Thomas looked like he was about to speak, but Sabrina and Marcus grabbed him and hurried off. Mikey was at a loss for words; the whole scene replayed in his mind.

  "Let's go back to the car." Arthur helped Mikey up as soon as he caught his breath.

  "Arthur… I—"

  "Sorry, bud, just give me a minute. Are you all right, though?"

  "Yeah, I think."

  "Good, let's head to the truck."

  Mikey stayed quiet as they both sat in Arthur's post truck.

  "Dammit. I'm such an idiot," Arthur slammed his fist on the dashboard, breaking the silence. "I should have just home-schooled you like you wanted. Thank goodness I decided to pick you up from school today. You could have killed them!" Arthur shook his head. "I just wanted you to have some semblance of a normal life. It's what your mother wanted."

  "You knew my mom?" Mikey practically gasped. How could Arthur have known about her and not told him?

  "I guess the cat is out of the bag," he sighed. "Yeah, I knew Angela quite well. I was one of her instructors in the Source."

  "Bu—"

  Arthur raised a hand.

  "Just hold your questions until we're home. There is so much to tell you, and I have to figure out how to go about it. And I know those acolytes will spill the beans to Cassandra when they get to the Sect."

  Mikey had never had a more challenging time staying quiet in his life.