Slowly, spots dancing before his eyes, Lester stripped off his costume. He was careful not to touch the still hot rocks as he let the coveralls fall to the ground. Free from its weight, his body began to cool. His legs wobbled, but he managed not to fall over. He’d nearly lost consciousness.

The fire had gone out as quickly as if someone had thrown a switch, and the roar of its wind had been replaced by a chorus of peeping frogs from the nearby pond. Listening, Lester blinked into the darkness, sweeping a hand in front of him as he took tentative steps, waiting for his vision to return.

Bit by bit, the shapes grew more distinct, once again revealing his father, Bernard, and Mr. Poole. They stood among the gravestones, under the full moon’s silver light shining through the dry autumn air, still arrayed in a triangle. On the ground between them was a small pile of ash.

“NO!” Lester shouted.

At the sound of his son’s voice, Mr. North swung around. “Lester? Is that you?”

“What have you done?” Lester asked, his body beginning to shake.

“Son,” Mr. North said. He took a step forward but stopped when Lester matched it with a step back. “Let me explain. This is not what it seems.”

“Well, that’s good,” said Lester, looking at the ash. “Because it seems like you just murdered a defenseless young man.”

“That’s why I need you to calm down and listen to me,” said Mr. North.

“Why?” asked Lester. So you can tell me how you’ve been chasing this poor guy around for days on some sick errand for The Council? How you caused the riot at The Pumpkin Festival trying to catch him?”

A look of surprise crossed Mr. North’s face. “Have you been following me?”

“Following you? I don’t need to follow you,” Lester said, his voice growing louder. “We know all about who and what you are.”

“Wait,” interjected Amanda’s father. “Who’s we?”

Lester ignored him and continued. “We know about The Dark and The Light and your stupid war. I won’t let you turn Giles Hollow into a battleground like they did in Salem.”

“Mathis,” Mr. North hissed through clenched teeth.

“That’s right,” said Lester. “He told me everything.”

“Your brother doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” said Mr. North. “He might think he has all the facts, but he doesn’t.”

His father’s denials would have been more convincing had he been better able to hide the irritation in his voice. The fact that his cool exterior had slipped, even for a moment, told Lester he was on the right track.

“Mathis knew enough to get away from you!” Lester shouted, letting all the confusion, fear, and anger he’d been bottling up explode out of him. “He knew that The Council — the precious family business — was all a lie! Mathis refused to be a part of your little cult and got out before you could force him into your twisted ritual.”

At this, Bernard stepped forward and stood by his father’s side. “Dad’s right,” he said, glowering at Lester. “You’re just a kid. You don’t know.”

“And you do? I saw your Drawing-In, Bernard,” Lester said, relishing the look of shock on his brother’s face. “That’s right. I saw you tremble as you walked up to Noxumbra. You looked terrified, like a lamb being led to slaughter. A little lost lamb among wolves. Too dumb to know any better.”

As the words left Lester’s mouth, he knew he should take them back, but he was angry. His father was a liar, and if Bernard couldn’t see that, then maybe he was just as bad.

“I’ll show you who’s afraid!” Bernard roared and lunged forward.

As his brother’s meaty fist hurtled towards his face, Lester threw up his hands. He knew it was a feeble gesture and flinched as he braced himself for the blow, but it never came. Opening his eyes, Lester saw that his father had caught Bernard just in time and, with a strong arm around his waist, was dragging him backward.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Let me go!” his brother screamed, swinging wildly, his face twisted with rage. “It’s not fair! Let me go!”

But Mr. North wasn’t listening. He was too busy staring in alarm at the watermelon-sized ball of water spinning rapidly between his youngest son’s outstretched hands.

Lester hadn’t meant to do it. He wasn’t even aware he could. It had been a reflex. And now, watching the liquid swirl and undulate as it sent ripples up his arms, he had no idea what to do next.

“Son,” Mr. North said slowly. “Look at me.” His tone was calm and measured but failed to mask the growing panic beneath the words completely. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Actually,” Lester said, his teeth chattering from the vibrations, “I don’t think it is.”

Lester’s whole body was shuddering, and he could feel the spinning water yearning to be released. Crackling blue sparks were snapping at the orb’s center as if it had been filled with an angry purpose. Instinctively, he knew there was no turning it off. It had to go somewhere — and soon.

“Try to breathe,” his father instructed, motioning for Mr. Poole to take Bernard. “Feel the air moving in and out. Focus on it.”

The ball inched forward, and Lester dug his fingertips into its surface, determined to hold on.

“Dad!” Bernard yelled as Amanda’s father dragged him aside. “What’s happening? How can he be doing this?”

“Not now, Bernard,” said Mr. North, careful not to break eye contact with Lester.

“But you said powers took time. That mine would emerge as I got older. That’s why we’re drawn in at thirteen. He’s not even twelve!”

“Bernard!” Mr. North snapped. Then, regaining his composure, he returned his attention to Lester. “Now, do exactly what I tell you,” he said. “Don’t look down. Just concentrate on your breath. That’s good. Slowly fill your lungs.”

Lester tried. He unclenched his jaw and opened his mouth, but his chest felt heavy when he inhaled. It was the same feeling he got after a long swim in the lake. As though the weight of all that water still clung to him.

“I-I c-c-can’t!” he cried.

The undulating ball slid forward again, and Lester’s arms burned. He was struggling to hang on, but it was like trying to grasp a wet fish that had been electrified. Feeling as though his fingernails were being torn out one by one as it went, he howled in pain. It was no use. He had to let go.

“Get down!” Mr. North yelled and flung himself on top of Bernard and Mr. Poole, knocking them both to the ground.

The watery cannonball shot out over them and into the cemetery. With blistering speed, it tore between the rows of old headstones, carving a muddy brown trench in the grass as it went. When it reached the far tree line, there was a bright flash and a loud explosion. After, a shower of blue sparks snapped and hissed like fireworks as they floated down through the night air.

Lester fought the familiar wave of sickness rising through him and blinked drops of sweat from his eyes. Holding up his trembling hands, he expected to see torn or burned skin, but other than the silver ring on his finger, they were the same as always.

The stonewall surrounding the cemetery had not fared quite as well. Piles of shattered rocks littered the ground, around a car-sized hole blown in its side.

“Lester,” choked Mr. North, getting to his feet. “Are you alright?”

Lester raised his head, and the familiar face of his father came into focus. “I’m okay,” he said, as much to himself as in answer to the question.

“Good,” Mr. North said. “Then I think it’s long past time you came with me.”

His father held out his hand, and Lester found himself reaching for it. He was tired — tired of hiding and of being afraid. He wanted things to go back to the way they were, back to his life before he knew anything about demons, powers, and secret wars. He wanted his parents just to be his parents again and to fight about stupid things with his brother.

“You’re almost there, son,” Mr. North said. “Take my hand, and let’s go home.”

Lester took a step toward his father, but as he did, a cloud of dust rose from the ground. Looking down, he saw the pile of ash, all that remained of Truck Boy. Under Lester’s sneaker, a square piece of paper fluttered in the light breeze.

“No,” Lester said, and let his outstretched arm fall back by his side.

His father’s face hardened. “This isn’t a game, Lester. You don’t understand what’s at stake. It’s not safe.”

“Not safe?” asked Lester. “Not safe for who? For the people you hunt — or the ones hunting you?” The sick feeling was gone, and Lester suddenly felt more awake than he had in days.

“You think you can just turn your back on your family?” his father snapped. “Everything your mother and I have done, we have done for you. I’m sure Mathis had a lot to say but did your brother tell you that when they do come, they won’t distinguish between us? Your choices won’t matter to them.”

“That may be true,” said Lester. “But at least they’ll be mine.”

Lester looked at his brother, and for a moment, he thought he might leave with him, but Bernard’s gaze dropped to his feet, and he slowly shook his head.

As Lester walked away, he kept expecting hands to grab him from behind, but none came. Finally, reaching the front of the town hall, he risked a quick look over his shoulder. The cemetery was empty.

Ahead, he could see the lampposts along Main Street and groups of kids hurrying with their candy bags. Free from the weight of his costume, Lester dusted himself off and moved towards the light.