"Stop it, Craig!" Ambrose yelled. They were on the school soccer field after the last bell rang. There was a small crowd watching as Ambrose defied Craig Bell. This wasn't his first offense. This time, he had dumped mud on her backpack. And Ambrose wasn't about to let him get away with that.
Ambrose stared into his eyes, searching for a weakness like she always did. She saw a sport. High jump. That was his life. All he'd ever done was track and field all his life, and his best sport was pole vault. Visions of practicing and competing with the school's other best player Benedict Ardere filled her mind. The two boys were nearly flying off the ground, laughing together.
Then Ambrose smelled revenge. Revenge for Benedict, the boy she'd beaten up just a week before. He'd been trying to avenge his friend's defeat for an entire week to no avail. Not so strong for a boy so daring, Ambrose chuckled to herself.
To destroy Craig, she put a sliver of doubt in the center of his mind, making him doubt his ability, making him see the aftermath if he failed in the next track meet. If his friend Benedict failed the next track meet. At first, nothing happened. Ambrose was worried this wasn’t his weak spot until a tear rolled precariously down Craig's cheek. Immediately, Ambrose took the moment to punch him in the jaw. Nothing lethal. It was only enough to mark. Unlike usual, Craig didn't fight back. In fact, he started crying.
"Oh, please stop," Craig suddenly sobbed. As soon as he realized he was crying, he tried to stop, which was a hilarious sight. He looked into Ambrose's intense green eyes, her gleaming black hair, and her threatening stare. She held up her fists, ready for another tap.
"Do you want mercy?" Ambrose asked, eyes gleaming.
Craig wiped his face, and a bubble of laughter escaped from the crowd, which had grown quite considerably since the start. He nodded uncertainly. "Yes I do, Miss Hoverdan. I want mercy." His voice quivered.
Ambrose smiled and turned around, making her way through the crowd. The tight circle of teenagers separated. She heard shouts from Craig's numerous friends, calling him a coward and a chicken. A girl had beaten him swiftly and solidly.
"How do you influence people like that?" Jordan asked. "I know I ask this every time, but they just, like, fall to your feet every time."
"I have my secrets," Ambrose replied, sitting down on the bench.
Jordan shuddered. "Just don't do that to me," she said.
"Of course not. I only do that to my enemies," Ambrose assured, laughing.
"I'm glad I'm not your enemy," Jordan smiled.
On the way home, they stopped by the ice cream parlor for a frozen treat and then continued home, enjoying their cones in the early summer breeze.
They said their good byes when they reached the fourth floor of Cornwallis Complex. As soon as Jordan left, Ambrose looked around and made sure nobody else was watching. Stepping into the shadow of the staircase, she felt the cold of the shadow seep into her bones, tugging at her body. She disappeared into the shadow, seeing everything but nothing, hearing everything but nothing. A sense of frightening calm filled Ambrose, but she ignored it. Besides, she was used to it by now.
Ambrose reappeared in the bathroom in one piece, since it turned out to be the darkest place in her apartment. The darkest spot was usually Ambrose's closet, but sometimes she left the light on and then it wouldn't work. She opened the bathroom door and stepped out, only to run into her mother.
"Oh, I didn't hear you coming in through the door," she said. Ambrose's mother didn't know any of her secrets, so she ignored the statement, knowing any answer would sound like an outlandish lie. She checked on her brother's bedroom instead, finding it just as cluttered as the day before.
"The bedroom is not ready for Gabe," Ambrose shouted.
"You darn well know your brother's not going to care," her mother responded, walking into the master bedroom.
"I'll tell him you said that," Ambrose said, sitting down at the kitchen table and making a turkey sandwich. She took the top plate from the cupboard and found a small piece of paper on it. She picked it up, realizing it had words scrawled on it with a very small and neat handwriting. It looked like font, except softer.
Dear Ambrose,685Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgSA4wB4cV2
At nine o'clock tonight, shadow-travel out of your bedroom and into the Lotus Bar. Wear your cloak, and stay inconspicuous.685Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡymS6ZlCNoz
Mysteries of the Night
Ambrose read it, memorized it, and put it in her sandwich, spreading mayo on the thin piece of paper. She had no idea what "Mysteries of the Night" was, and no idea if she should join them at nine or stay at home, but she definitely didn't want her mom to know. She finished the sandwich quickly and got to work.
Homework was a breeze. The answers practically floated off the page. Jordan said her homework didn't do that, but Ambrose didn't see why not. She supposed it was another part of her that was special, like the mind reading and the shadow-traveling. Sometimes the things that made Ambrose different made her feel separate, alone. She was glad Jordan didn't treat her like a freak.
The social side of school did give her problems, though, and she got into fights with people like Craig often. She couldn't understand why those people felt like they owned the world.
Around seven, the door to her apartment opened. Ambrose's dad was home from his month-long business trip. He was an architect who designed high-rises in big cities, like Itex City, Diego, Autumn City, and Napa. His last trip was to Chicago, the capital of the Re-Established America.
"Hello, my little magician," he greeted as Ambrose rushed to give him a big hug. "How was school?" He asked.
"Strange, like always," she admitted. She told him about her encounter with Craig today and about the thing with Benedict from two weeks ago. Ambrose's dad had always known about Ambrose's unique abilities. He was the one who told her to hide them.
"Do you want to show me?" Ambrose's dad asked after she finished telling him the story. She nodded and took her dad's hand, filling his brain with the images, the feelings, the note from earlier, everything.
"You'll see it in your dreams," she promised. "It won't be that bad."
That night, Ambrose sat on her couch watched a documentary with her dad, something they always did when he came home. They watched intently as the cheetah chased its prey. As the cheetah pounced onto the antelope, Ambrose looked down and saw another small scrap of paper with the same intricate handwriting on her lap.
Dear Ambrose,
Because of the unexpected circumstances, plans have changed. Come to the Lotus Bar now. Time is limited, so do not hesitate. Do not bring your parents. Bring your cloak, and don't forget to blend in.
Mysteries of the Night
Ambrose looked back up at the TV. The cheetah had caught its prey and was eating the antelope and tearing it apart, the way Ambrose had seen a neighborhood cat eat a sparrow. The cheetah looked lean and mean, glancing up every so often to check for competitors or scavengers. Ambrose decided she could leave, just this one time.
"Dad, I'm going out to check on something," Ambrose said.
"Something's wrong?" He asked. "I know when someone's in trouble, they're in trouble, but couldn't you wait? I just got back."
"Not really," she replied. "Someone needs me. Really badly."
He seemed to consider it for a second. "Go ahead," he sighed. "But be safe."
Ambrose nodded and got up, hearing the narrator of the documentary talk about cheetah metabolism. She picked up her keys on the counter and grabbed swung on her camouflage cloak. "See you," she said and walked out.
This "Mysteries of the Night" person better be good, she thought. What in the world could be so important, anyway?
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