3: isn't kidnapping illegal?

There have certainly been times in my life where I've been completely lost, unable to fathom what the hell to do. A lot of times, actually. But there has never been a time in life where I have felt that way so profoundly, not until today. Not until now.

I look at this witch and she looks back at me and we're both just kneeling there, staring at each other. Then, exasperated, I yank her wand free of my stomach and both of us kind of scream because it's not the most pleasant experience. I shove it back in her lap, bloody and all. "You stab me," I say, "and now you're asking me to help you?"

"Except I'm not asking. It's what I saw, in my vision. The prophecy—"

"Say that word again. I dare you. I freaking dare you."

"I am a witch!" she snaps, and she has to yell now, because the police are here and their sirens are wailing and yipping like a pack of excited dogs. "My specialty happens to be prophecy. Sorry if that bothers you. And I mean, you are half demon, aren't you?"

"Well, I mean, yes—"

"Then that's all there is to it!"

She's really starting to get on my nerves. Not a lot of things get on my nerves; I've been told I'm a pretty chill guy. But when vampires attack your favorite coffee shop and a witch stabs you and then claims you're the one she's been looking for because of some dumb prophecy, it's kind of impossible not to get a little ticked off. Like, damn. I just wanted a cup of tea.

A car door shuts somewhere outside. I look up, and there's a steady flow of policemen, all speaking into walkie talkies and strutting up to the door. Cursing under my breath, I grab the witch's hand. She looks up at me, stunned, but I shush her. "Unless you want to sleep in a jail cell tonight, I suggest we move."

"But we didn't do anything wrong!"

"We blew up half a coffee shop! Well, really, you blew it up, but—"

"You told me to!"

"Just move already!" I snap, and pull her up and out the gigantic hole we busted in the wall. I don't stop dragging her until the sirens are a faint song in the distance and I can't smell the smoke anymore. We're somewhere behind a small shopping center by then, and I collapse against the brick, trying to catch my breath. The day was supposed to be calm. I'd planned for it be calm. This is not calm.

"Okay," I say once I've steeled myself, "you're telling me that, one, you don't know what the hell those vampires were doing, and two, you saw me in one of your prophecies?"

"Yes," answers the witch, standing beside me, her back against the wall. She runs a hand through her hair, flakes of ash caught in the rosy strands and smeared across her face. I watch as the wand in her hand shortens and changes shape, morphing into a pencil which she easily slips into her pocket. "I've been getting the same message for days. I'm supposed to run into you—the demon's son—and you're supposed to help me."

"Help you what? Do you realize how vague that is?"

"I am trying my best here," she replies, throwing up her arms. With a sigh, she slides down to the ground, pulling her legs to her chest. "Look, this isn't going to make it any less vague, but something's wrong with the city. I don't know what. I can't know what. I just—you know what I know. I've told you all of it."

"Well, I mean, sure. Besides your name and why the hell you stabbed me and why I can't just go home now."

The witch makes this face like I've suggested something blasphemous, yet the expression clears. The warm umber of her skin turns more red, and she ducks her head a little as she says, "Midge. That's my name."

"Well, okay, Midge. I think I'm going to go home now. Thanks for a truly eccentric afternoon, but I have business to attend to." This is pretty much a lie. I don't technically have anything to do, but I have plenty of things I'd rather do than hang around in alleyway with a pink-haired witch.

I start to get to my feet, but then Midge yelps, "No! You can't!"

I whirl on her with a snarl. "I can't?"

"Look, I'm sorry about all this. I really am. But you can't leave. Not yet."

I'm about to just sprint off anyway, but then she grabs my arm. I'm trying to shake her off when I hear her mutter something, and then I curse, because I know the girl's done some sort of spell and now I am screwed. And I'm pretty much right, because seconds later the world's spinning and my stomach starts flipping over itself, and then everything just kind of explodes into darkness for a moment.

When it all comes back, I'm standing smack dab in the middle of someone's living room, Midge still holding on to me with her eyes squeezed shut.

My head is spinning. I'm not at home, and that's the part that sucks the most. I'm standing on top of an oriental rug, surrounded by one ancient leather couch and a million bookshelves filled with just about everything from ground black pepper to other, weirder stuff like something labeled "burdock root." The whole place smells like a strange flower child version of Bath & Body Works.

"Oh thank God," says Midge then, stepping back to take a look at me, as if making sure I'm really there. "You're here in one piece."

"Hold up—you teleported me without knowing for sure it wouldn't kill me?"

"The spell is very inconsistent," Midge explains, "but it was an emergency."

"Oh, give me a break!"

Upon the beaten-down couch is a woman probably in her late thirties or so, clothed in a colorful robe that drapes across the floors. She has a pair of glasses on that turn her eyes the size of snow globes, and she's paging through some super old leather-bound book.

The thing is, I realize it even before Midge speaks. The two of them have the same curious, onyx-colored eyes and slightly crooked nose, and they both seem to hum with an energy that never goes to rest.

"Mom," Midge says. "I found him."

The lady doesn't look up from her book. "Found who, now?"

Midge takes in a long breath. "That crazy prophecy I've been getting for the past couple days? I told you about it, right?"

A page turns. "The one on the bathroom stall, right?"

I roll my eyes. I've seen enough by now to know that it's useless to ask about these things.

Midge seems to be gaging my reaction, and I can tell she's pleased when I don't say anything. She goes on, "Well, I found him. The demon's son."

Now Midge's mom looks up. She doesn't look at her daughter, though. Her eyes zip right to me, and I shift my weight uncomfortably from foot to foot, trying to act like it doesn't feel like she's staring right into the depths of my soul. Then she says, very slowly, "Margaret, you brought demon spawn into my house?"

I say automatically, "I'm not going to steal your soul. Promise."

Midge nods in agreement. "He promised."

Her mother shakes her head, getting to her feet. I couldn't really tell when she was sitting, but she's a pretty tall woman, which just makes her all the more intimidating. "What's your name, boy?"

"Grey," I answer.

"Grey?" Midge's mother repeats, incredulous. I mean, hell, I'm confused too. It's my birth mom's favorite color and I think that's the only reason I'm named it. "Is that short for something?"

"No, ma'am—"

"Don't call me ma'am."

"Yes ma'—I mean, okay. But no. It's just Grey."

"Alright, Grey," Midge's mom continues, setting her book down and placing her hands on her hips instead. "I'm assuming you know just how dangerous you are, don't you? You know why I'm concerned about you spending time around my daughter."

"Well, first of all, I'm not nearly as dangerous as everyone thinks I am. I think it's the teeth. But anyway, I didn't really ask to come here. Your daughter sorta-kinda kidnapped me."

Midge stomps on my toe; I have no idea why. She can't deny it or anything. We randomly appeared in her living room. It's not like I can do that of my own will.

Midge's mother regards her with narrow eyes. "Is that true, Midge?"

She lowers her head in shame. "I wanted to show you I'm not crazy. This prophecy...I think it's really true, Mom. Something's wrong with the city and I'm going to figure out what."

"With the help of a demon."

I sputter, "Half-demon."

Midge's mom waves me off. She just gives her daughter this weird look that's caught between admiration and concern and then tells her, "Just be careful, alright? I can't have you getting hurt."

"He promised," Midge reminds her. "He promised not to steal my soul."

"To be fair," I cut in, glancing between the two of them and praying for this to be over soon, "I haven't agreed to this."

"Oh honey," replies Midge's mother with a wide grin that gives me chills, "you don't have to."