Sanctuary - 12. Chapter 12 - Hel

The boy who Hel Thorn had once been had been lucky for a foster kid. He’d been placed in his first semi-permanent foster home at the age of two, so he hadn’t remembered anything except growing up there. He’d had to move when he was seven, but other than that, Hel had always been in the same place. He’d never experienced the general excited terror of being the new kid at school. He’d gone with Aki, and watched his new guardian lie seamlessly to his new headmaster, pass over important looking documents with his name on, and had his hand shaken by a human who had smiled and used his new name as though it belonged to him. Standing in the school’s main reception, as Aki paid a lot of money for his school uniform, Hel looked at the boys and girls passing through in their crisp white shirts and clean-cut navy blue jackets, and wondered if by the following day, he would feel like one of them.

“You all set there, bud?”

Hel was snapped from his train of thought by Ishca’s voice, and glanced past himself in the mirror at the smiling empath all in black. He sighed and tried to straighten his tie once more.

“Here, let me.” Ishca turned him around, undid the knot at his throat, folded his shirt collar properly and flicked the material over to form a much neater triangle at Hel’s top button. “You excited?”

“Can’t you tell?”

Ishca smiled in a knowing manner Hel had learnt to like, and the boy felt his heartbeat settle down for a moment. He was excited by the idea of going back to school, but it didn’t stop him being scared too. The last time he’d been at school, he’d tried to hit some kid who didn’t deserve it, and ended up with his life in ruins.

“Whatever happens, it won’t be nearly as bad as last time,” Ishca whispered, smoothing his blazer across his shoulders. “Just breathe, and remember what James told you, OK?”

Hel closed his eyes. It hadn’t been quite a week since James had wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pressed his face close to Hel’s hair, the werewolf smelling like musk and nature – familiar but strange, and deeply intoxicating – and whispered to Hel to ‘be a good dog’. Hel wondered if coming from anyone else, he would have taken the statement badly, but he knew what James had meant. Ishca might’ve been the one to tell him a spirit animal was who he was, not some punishment he’d been given for being mean, but James had made him believe it.

“I made you lunch, both of you,” Ishca glanced over his shoulder just before Aki appeared in the doorway, looking like he’d been up all night. “I’m going to go have a shower.”

Ishca touched Hel’s shoulder briefly, and then turned to Aki. Hel looked away quickly as the two of them kissed, and blushed to his feet. Something in his chest felt tight and hot, and not altogether comfortable seeing Aki and Ishca together. Either the two of them had gotten quieter, or they’d stopped having sex, or Hel had just become better at blocking them out, but Hel hadn’t missed the quiet intimacy, or how close they stood to each other and touched when Aki didn’t think Hel was looking. Every time, Hel couldn’t help but think of James and his easy smile, and it made him feel weird in a way he didn’t understand.

“Bye babe, thanks.” Hel looked up in time to watch Ishca smile and vanish upstairs, Aki gazing longingly after him. “So, ready for school?”

“Uh-huh.” Aki was holding his keys. “It’s OK, I can walk.”

“On your first day?” Aki handed him a brown bag which to Hel’s nose already smelt like lunch. “I’ll drive you. Jeez…” The man stared into his own lunch bag. “Ishca either loves to make lunches, or he thinks we’ll starve to death before dinner. All set?”

Hel lifted his new school bag, and felt a familiar feeling settle over his shoulders. School was where Hel had spent most of his life, and even though this was a different place, it was still a school like any other, with teachers and pupils, a locker he’d put his stuff in, and maybe some friends to be made along the way.

*

“Was that your Dad who dropped you off this morning?” Hel’s student guide asked him as they walked from their third lesson towards the cafeteria. Hel’s new timetable wasn’t quite ready, so he was following David around on his timetable, and getting to know the layout of the school. David was friendly and smiled a lot, but since he had been generally dismissive of the sports department as they passed on Hel’s whirlwind tour, the young spirit animal couldn’t see them becoming firm friends.

“That was Aki; he’s my guardian,” Hel rolled his eyes at David’s confused expression, “I’m a foster kid.”

“Oh… sorry.”

“Don’t worry, it’s cool.”

“We have PE next. Do you have your new kit with you?”

“I didn’t bring it,” Hel growled unhappily. “Do you think coach will have any spares?”

“Eat, then we’ll go see Mr Westlake and find out.”

Hel took his brown bag lunch from among his growing collection of school workbooks, and began to unpack the contents whilst David went to get a hot dinner. By the time Hel had his entire lunch spread out in front of him, they had been joined by a collection of David’s friends, half of whom were other student representatives as highlighted by their little enamel badges, and a few of whom were prefects from the next year up.

“You’re not seriously going to eat all of that?”

Aki hadn’t been joking about the size or complexity of the lunch Ishca had packed them, and Hel had four sandwiches each containing different selections of deli-meats, sauces and salad-veggies, a small pot of something which smelt like hummus and a baggy of carrot sticks, a packet of crisps, three small chocolate bars and two high-fibre cereal bars, orange juice, a soda, two small apples and a pot of mixed nuts, dried fruit and chocolate buttons. Hel grinned.

“How the heck are you so skinny?”

Hel decided it was best not to mention the three months he’d spent on the homeless-starvation and soup-kitchen diet, and tucked into his lunch with speed and enthusiasm. Until he’d smelt the cafeteria, he hadn’t realised how hungry he’d been, but if he’d been at home he would have already eaten at least a second breakfast and two snacks. As he inhaled a chocolate bar, the boy realised he’d thought of Aki’s house as home for the first time, and smiled secretly to himself.

“So where was your last school?”

“South,” Hel tried to be as non-specific as possible, “I moved foster homes, so…” No one tried to question him on this little-known topic, and there was some general nodding. “So how do things work around here?”

“Well that sort of depends on what you’re like,” one of David’s older friend’s explained. “The nice bright kids,” most of the group nodded, “get to become prefects and get in all the school’s newspaper articles. The arts guys enjoy relative freedom; it is a performing arts school after all, and generally a lot of praise. Ms Woods, the Deputy Head, is really harsh on lateness, non-attendance, and people who swear in school.”

“Sounds strict,” Hel commented.

“Unless you’re a jock,” David replied with a sigh, “in which case you can get away with murder.”

“You’re not one of these sports-centric types, are you?” Several of David’s friends sighed unhappily. “It would be so nice to have someone normal around here.”

Hel didn’t say anything, just smiled ruefully, and ate the rest of his lunch.

Mr Westlake turned out to be fairly young for a teacher and Hel reckoned he was about Aki’s age; stockily built with short spiky red hair, profuse freckles, and like all PE teachers, an abiding love of shorts and rugby shirts in the school colours.

“You’re new then?” Mr Westlake scanned his class list. “I don’t suppose you brought your kit?”

“I didn’t know if I’d need it,” Hel replied uncomfortably. “I have trainers in my bag though.”

“Well, that’s something. Paul!” Mr Westlake’s shout stilled a tall, handsome brown haired boy on his route towards the changing room door. “Show Mr…Thorn?” he looked to Hel for confirmation, “where we keep the spare kit. And ask Nathan to grab the quick-cricket sets from storage.”

“Yes sir!” Paul grinned happily. Unlike David, he was obviously well known and liked in the PE department. “Come with me.”

Hel gave David a backwards glance, and the other boy rolled his eyes and sighed: he obviously thought Hel was being led away into boredom, but Hel had felt excitement flash through every nerve he possessed at the mention of his favourite sport. He followed Paul through the main changing rooms, past the entrance to the showers, and into a funny little annexe which attached them to the gym.

“Here we go… hmmmm, you look about a medium – you’re a bit skinny, but you’re too tall for a small. Here,” Paul handed him a polo shirt, then a PE department sweatshirt. “These should fit you. Damn, no sweats…”

“Oh…”

“You can borrow my spares,” Paul offered with a shrug. “That is… if you actually play hard?”

Hel felt a very familiar grin spread across his features. He had never been shy; especially not when it came to things he was actually good at.

“I’m not one of those guys who stand on the side lines. Just gimmie the ball and you’ll see.”

“Big talk for a new guy.” There was no heat or viciousness in Paul’s words. “Well then, let’s see how much talent they can fit inside a skinny frame like yours.” He held out his hand, “Paul Thompson; year ten cricket and soccer captain.”

“Hel Thorn; it’s nice to meet you.”

As he pulled the borrowed polo shirt over his head, Hel almost forgot where he was. All changing rooms smelt the same, a combination of sweat, soap, deodorant and bleach. It was almost a shock to open his eyes and find only one familiar face in his immediate vision. He pulled his shirt down quickly, all too aware of his skinny torso, and the malnourished shape of muscles which had once been round and smooth. For much of the time since his fourteenth birthday, Hel had spent his time working on the beginnings of a six-pack, and he desperately hoped that PE, decent food, and maybe a gym membership wheedled from Aki would put him back on course soon enough. He fell into step alongside Paul and his friend Nathan carrying the two bags of plastic quick cricket sets, and busied himself helping to set up in what seemed the most natural manner ever. When Nathan tossed him the ball, Hel caught it one-handed almost without looking, and earned himself a whistle of appreciation from Paul.

“Sod it; I’ll have him on my team.”

There was nothing Hel loved so much as cricket, apart from running. Vision of James in his fur snapped across his vision as they jogged around the track to warm up. Hel’s muscles might have still been weak, but he could feel them working smoothly under his skin, using the movements repeated from memory, and it seemed being as strong as he once had been was not an unattainable dream. At the end of the run, Paul stopped and stretched with his arms above his head, his shirt riding up to show a flash of lightly muscled abdomen. Hel gulped, because suddenly his head was full of James, standing naked in the copse of trees, his adult body perfectly delineated and full of enticing curves of muscle Hel couldn’t even name. The boy felt himself blush, and was relieved when Mr Westlake began to organise them into teams to bat, bowl, and field.

At his old school, every time Hel had been out on the pitch, he had felt the weight of expectation on his shoulders: he was a rising star, the golden boy, and it was strangely nice to realise the coach wasn’t paying him any attention as he stepped up to the wicket, bat in hand. it hand been a long time since Hel had played in anything but regulation gear, and he missed the familiar texture of his woollen cricket whites, the pads he wore for batting, and the weight of the willow cricket bat in his hand. The ball which flew towards him was yellow plastic, not hard red stitched leather, but that didn’t bother Hel. Mr Westlake wasn’t paying him any attention, and suddenly Hel felt his mind snap into distinctive clarity.

Make them look!

One step, a twist of the elbow, and Hel sent the plastic ball across the grass, well out of the reach of the nearest fielder. With a shout, he ran to the other wicket, passing Paul halfway along the line, and turned to nip back again. By the time the bowler was back in possession, they’d racked up six runs.

“Awww, Sir!” Nathan groaned, but there was an appreciative tone to his words, “Benny’s never gonna be able to bowl him out!”

“That was some shot,” Paul grinned at him, “no way you got that lucky.”

“Under sixteen’s county champion,” Hel’s chest swelled with pride as he spoke. He grinned at Benny, holding the ball like it might bite him. “You wanna give me that?”

Batting was good, but bowling took a precision and level of skill Hel adored. Added was the fact that each bowl could be aimed towards the weaknesses of the man standing in front of the wicket, and Hel took up position with a sense of control he hadn’t realised had been missing from his life. He grinned.

“C’mon Hel!”

“Let it rip, bud!”

“Bring it!”

Hel felt his tail twitch, even though he was fully awake inside his human skin, took a step back and dropped his arm to his side. He knew how to do this, he could see the wicket, and he hadn’t been the best fast-bowler in the national under-fourteen’s competition for nothing. Hel checked over his shoulder, and where Paul stood, only for a moment, he saw James’s ready smile.

‘Be a good dog.’

Hel nodded, and the cricket ball went zipping through the air.