On my ratty old desk my cell phone vibrates. Turning my head slightly so I can see it, I watch as the vibration moves it in little paces across the desk. The light from its screen is the only light in the room, its sound adding to the monotonous tick tock of my wall clock.

I’ve been in my room since this morning’s fiasco at school. I don’t know where Dad is. When we came into the house he went his way and I went mine. Neither of us wanted to talk. I think because we know there are no more words. Something’s changed and we both know it. What we plan to do about it is anybody’s guess.

But I’ve been lying here thinking of nothing really and then of everything. Mostly I’m thinking about my mom. She was a Mystyx and I never knew. She could manipulate light, that’s what Pop Pop told me, when Dad wasn’t around of course. That sounds like a good power to me, so how’d I end up a Vortex? I guess that’s where Dad came in, his genes I mean. If Uncle William was a Vortex, then dark was already looming in the blood of the Kramer men. That would be a logical explanation for my mixture of good and evil.

The fact that my growing strength and courage are coming from evil and I’m enjoying it means I’ve made my choice. Yet in my mind I don’t quite know if I’m an evil power. I guess my actions are speaking louder than words lately. Actions that I do not regret in the least bit.

See, this is what makes me think I can be different, that my dark powers can be used for good. I know that might seem like I’m trying to rationalize the choice I’ve made, but I don’t see any reason why anything has to happen in totality.

Outside my window thunder roars so hard the house seems to shake. It sounds as if something ought to have broken in its midst. I jump a little, then settle back down quickly. It’s just a thunderstorm, no big deal. But ten minutes later thunder roars through the sky once more. The windows shake and I almost fall off my bed. As soon as the rumbling is over there’s deafening silence throughout my room. Even the tick tock of my clock has stopped. The electricity must have gone out, since it’s a plug-in clock and we often lose electricity during a storm.

Never since I was a little kid have I been afraid of thunderstorms, but this is different. And I can’t say that I’m really afraid, just sort of anxious and leery of what’s going to happen. Because let’s face it, I live in Lincoln, I’m a Vortex of supernatural powers, I’ve visited the Underworld and know that there’s another realm where magical beings live—so I know that something’s going to happen.

The storm sounds intense, rain batting against the window with fierce attitude. Wind is making some strange noise that’s a cross between a wolf’s baleful howl and an angry demon’s tenuous moan. Why I break it down that way, I don’t really know, but those are the sounds I hear. I should get up, go and check Pop Pop and Dad, make sure there are enough candles and flashlights at the ready. But I don’t move. My mind wants to, but it neglects to send the message to my body. So I’m still as a board on this bed, eyes wide open as if something else is holding the lids wide so I don’t miss anything. But all I see is nothing. I mean, nothing substantial, since it’s dark. Shadowy outlines of the furniture and paraphernalia around my room are visible but nothing else.

Until…

My door creaks open slowly, just like in a horror movie. I can move my head to the side so that I’m watching who or whatever comes in. The shadow is slow-moving, but familiar.

“Pop Pop.” I call his name but he doesn’t answer, just stands in the doorway while the door opens in front of him.

To say it’s eerie is an understatement, because at the exact moment the door opens all the way, tapping the wall behind it, a fierce streak of lightning sparks through the window illuminating Pop Pop’s upright body. And by upright I mean he’s not in his normal crouched-over position that he has when walking or even sitting because of his osteoporosis.

When I sit up, my feet hit the floor at the precise moment another bolt of lightning streaks through the room. I see him clearly then. “Pop Pop, what are you doing up? Is something wrong?”

He kind of cocks his head as he looks at me, as if I should already know the answer to that question. “Things are not what they seem. You should know that and keep it in mind. Your choice will affect them all.”

“How?” I ask, anxious for him to tell me all he knows.

But Pop Pop doesn’t speak. Instead he looks to the window like he’s waiting for someone or something. I look to the window as well, standing up from my bed. Through the storm I see a light, small as a pebble at first but then growing and growing until I’m squinting my eyes to see.

The light shines brightly through my window, casting shadows on the far wall. Shadows that seem to come alive and are moving directly toward Pop Pop.

Before I can scream or react in any way, at my side I hear a sound like a gasp, and the moment I turn to him Pop Pop falls to the floor.

When I think of my life, it makes me angry.

When I think of Krystal possibly still pining away for Franklin, or even using me as a replacement, it pisses me off!

When I think of Pace and Mateo and their small-minded jerk attitudes, I want to break something.

I’m used to dealing with anger, it’s been a part of me all my life. I’ve always been angry at something: Mom leaving, Dad working so much, Grandma dying, Pop Pop getting sick, kids at school, adults at school. You name it, I’ve been angry about it. Seems like second nature to me now.

Tonight, however, the anger’s different, the feelings moving through me are foreign. And yet I’m embracing them.

The last hour has been eventful, more eventful than any other time of my life. Pop Pop collapsed, I yelled for Dad and we called for an ambulance. The siren was loud and broke through the noise of the storm as the vehicle raced down our street. All the while Pop Pop remained perfectly still. His eyes had closed and he looked as if he were sleeping while the paramedics worked on him. I think I knew it then.

At the hospital Dad went back into the room with him, only to come back out twenty minutes later with a somber look on his face. I didn’t need him to say the words.

When I was finally allowed in to see him, or the shell that used to be my grandfather, I didn’t know what to say or what to do. I’d never been that close to a dead body before. It didn’t feel as weird as I’d once thought it would, possibly because it was my grandfather. And I didn’t feel as sad as I thought I should, instead I was just pissed off. Because no matter what the doctors said or didn’t do, I know this was no accident.

The truth was in the shadows, the ones that appeared on my bedroom wall just before Pop Pop collapsed. I could be angry with Charon, because somewhere deep inside I know the shadows had done his bidding. Or I could be angry with the world I was living in, the one that demanded our power be kept secret; the one that crapped on people like me and my family all the time; the one that gave kids like Mateo and Pace a free pass to do whatever they wanted.

Good and evil went beyond the gods and demons and the Majestic, they were here, in Lincoln, Connecticut, and throughout the world in so many shapes and forms. Wouldn’t it be nice to have the upper hand, to have the power to do away with one or the other? The power that was right at my fingertips.

Now, standing in the hall at the hospital, so many thoughts and scenarios run through my mind, all of them beginning with the cruelty and unfairness of the world and ending with Pop Pop dying. Dead. Gone. Forever. My fingers clench and my temples throb. I feel nauseous and then I feel empowered, pushed to do something. I can’t believe they couldn’t do anything for him, couldn’t save him. Isn’t that what hospitals and doctors get paid for? The nurse said it was a massive heart attack. They have medication for that, or some such crap. Then why couldn’t they bring him back? I knew the answer but it didn’t stop the pain and fury now occupying every available crevice of my body. Pop Pop can’t be gone. He shouldn’t be gone. Because I still need him.

“Jake.” Dad calls my name and the tone of his voice matches that stupid doctor’s. I don’t want to hear whatever he’s getting ready to say. My head falls back against the wall and I close my eyes. Hopefully this will let him know I don’t want to hear any more.

His hand grips my shoulder. “Let’s go home, son. Nothing more we can do here.”

Nothing more we can do. Nothing we can do. Nothing. Nothing.

The words play over and over in my head like a scratched CD. I want to scream. I want to cry. No, I want to fight.

Against life.

Against death.

Against any and everything that has ever caused me pain. I want to cause them pain right back.

“I’m not going,” I say, pulling away from Dad’s grasp. To say he looks shocked is an understatement. Then he sighs and drags a hand down his face.

“Look, Jake. We can talk about this more at home. I’m tired, it’s raining buckets outside and I just lost my father, dammit!” The last statement comes out like a burst of air. I’ve never heard my father talk that loud or seen him look that serious. But it doesn’t change my stance.

“I can’t go back there,” I say, the words sticking in my chest, lodging right beside the lump of sorrow.

Dad walks toward me, reaches out and hugs me close to him. His embrace is tight and at first I resist. After all, we’re guys, we’re not supposed to cry, and definitely not in public. But I don’t think I can stop the tears from coming. I certainly can’t stop the pain from ripping through my chest. I want him to be alive, to be breathing, to say something. I want my grandfather back.

My arms go around Dad and the sobs come full force. I don’t care who sees or hears me, I don’t care what happens from this moment on. Without Pop Pop none of it matters to me anymore.

Two days later we’re standing in the cemetery, right next to Great-uncle William’s grave. There’s a six-foot hole there, with a coffin held up by what look like bungee cords, waiting to be lowered as soon as the last prayer is muttered.

Rev. Lawrence, from Krystal’s church, is standing at the top side of the casket on this green felt material that I don’t know if is meant to just look like grass or to help cover the still-damp ground. There are a couple rows of chairs behind me, but I don’t feel like sitting. Neither does Dad. So we’re both standing near the casket. It’s the color of cement with a slight gloss to it. I have no idea why I’m noticing something as trivial as the color of my grandfather’s casket. Especially when I’m feeling like my entire world has come to an end.

I know that sounds drastic. And yes, my dad, who has always been there for me and who has promised to stand by me no matter what, is right beside me. He’s living and breathing and doing what he does best. Still, I feel so lost, so alone in this world now.

I am here, Jake. Always.

The voice comforts me. It probably shouldn’t but it does.

The sky’s still a dusty gray, has been for the last four days now. Some people from Dad’s job showed up, and some older people who knew Pop Pop when he was of sound mind. I saw Sasha, Lindsey and Krystal at the church, but I haven’t spoken to any of them since I heard them talking about me that day after school. They’ve been calling me, but my cell phone is still on the desk in my room. Right where it was the night Pop Pop came in and collapsed.

I don’t have anything to say to them. They’re all against me for whatever reason. I did talk to Twan briefly as I was leaving the church, but he and his aunt just wanted to offer their condolences. Other than that my mouth has remained shut. Just like the rest of me.

I feel tingling in my biceps but I’m ignoring it. I don’t want the power right now. This is Pop Pop’s last day here on this Earth, at least for his body. I don’t want it marred by thoughts of anything else.

The reverend is finished talking and people are walking away. Dad drops a hand on my shoulder. “You coming?”

I shake my head, unable to move and refusing to take my eyes off the casket.

“I’ll wait in the car. Take your time,” he says. I nod and wait for him to walk away.

Only when I think I’m alone do I take a deep breath and move a step closer to the casket.

“I just want you to know that I listened to everything you said, Pop Pop. I heard every word.” Tears sting my eyes, but I try with all my might to hold them back.

“I’m not Great-uncle William. I will be better. I promise.”

And just as I speak those words I move to touch the casket one last time. Its surface is piping hot, singeing my fingers. I pull my hand back, cursing as the sky crackles with lightning. The wind picks up and I turn around.

The rest of the townspeople walking to their cars probably think we’re about to get another thunderstorm. But I know better.

To my right about five tombstones over I see Krystal, Lindsey and Sasha standing, watching me. To my left I hear the flap of wings and know exactly what’s coming.

“Run!” I try to warn them, but they don’t move, just keep watching me.

As a swarm of ravens descends from the gray sky, I turn to face them. Holding my arms open wide I stop them where they are. “Get back!” I yell.

They stand still with their wings flapping, staring intently.

Then I hear something, like a ripping sound, then a crash. As I look behind me my eyeballs almost fall out of their sockets. The ground is breaking open, old caskets surging upward, opening to allow zombie-like corpses to roam free.

A putrid stench floats on the wind as a low howling begins to sound. I look back and the ravens have broken their stance. As the zombies approach me from one end, the ravens fall to the ground, rising again as the black silhouettes I’d seen before. I’m in the middle of a battle. Dead versus deader.

I look around frantically for some sort of weapon and instead see Krystal, head bowed, lips moving like she’s chanting something. Sasha, who was once standing next to Krystal, is now right in front of me.

“You have to choose sides, Jake. It’s us or them,” she says.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” I yell at her because the howling is so loud I don’t think if she was standing right next to me she could hear me.

“Fatima says—”

This time when I open my mouth there’s a roar that shakes the ground we’re standing on. I feel it then, the darkness. It’s inside me now, from the tips of my toes to the pricks of hair at the base of my neck. I’m full of darkness and rage, and Sasha’s in my way of total dominance.

“Don’t say her name! Don’t say anything to me!”

“Jake, he’s using you. He’ll kill you once he gets your power.”

“No!”

“Yes, Jake,” another female voice says, and I look over to see Fatima wearing all white, her red hair flying in rivulets behind her. “If he gets the Vortex the light will be swallowed and devoured. He will have all power, the world as you know it will be forever dark.”

“Just like an eclipse,” I say. “Styx creates the eclipse. She is the darkness and I am from her.”

“Styx controls the eclipse, she gave you your power to help you fight when the time came. Charon will take all that you have. He will kill you like he did your great-uncle and your mother. And your grandfather.”

There’s a vibration in my head, like two sides of a war going at it no holds barred. Around me the zombies are attacking the black silhouettes. I guess I’m feeling their battle internally. I hear so many voices, feel so much anguish and so much strength I don’t know what to do.

My head hurts, my skin burns as it feels like I’m literally splitting in two. The rage occupying one heated half of my body and the swirling coolness of the light holding up the other side.

“My uncle was a Vortex,” I hear myself mumbling.

“In Charon’s world there can only be one ruler. He believes it is his destiny to control all the worlds. He was collecting evil souls and demonic powers instead of delivering them to the Underworld as was his job. Styx found out and cursed him. He vowed vengeance in whatever world he could get it. Here is where he’s trying to gain control. You are the only defense on this plane, Styx cannot interfere here.”

I almost sighed but for the chaos going on around me—finally I was getting some answers. But was it too late?

I hear screaming, like something’s tearing the very soul from someone. A glance to my right shows me it’s Lindsey as she falls to the ground holding her forehead and her stomach. The look on her face is one of anguish or uncontrolled pain. Sasha runs to her side just as I tear my gaze away.

“Listen to what I say, Jake. My message comes to you this time from not only Styx but from your mother.”

“Mom?” I can’t help but turn my attention to Fatima at this moment.

“She died so that you could live to choose. Her light could not cover you forever, but she tried. And when Charon came for her she sent you a Guardian to prepare you for this moment.”

“Pop Pop is gone,” I cry falling to my knees. “He’s gone. Forever! And nobody cares!”

Somebody touches my shoulder. I think it’s Fatima because the touch brings a coolness to that side of my body that was burning with heat.

“I care, Jake,” a familiar voice says as another touch goes to my opposite shoulder.

The coolness spreads through my body as I look up to see Krystal. She’s no longer chanting but standing beside me, just like Fatima.

“I care what you choose.”

Lowering my head I feel the rage swirling in the pit of my stomach. It’s too late. What they’re saying is too late. Fatima giving me answers is too late. I want to scream my outrage.

But when I look up again I see her.

“Your friend called. She said you needed me so I came. Again.”

This is a voice I also know. One I’ve missed for the last ten years. As I look into her eyes I feel a clenching in my chest I’ve never felt before.

“Mom.”

“Yes, baby,” she whispers. “You’ve grown to be such a good boy, Jake. Good and strong. Now I need you to be strong enough to make the right choice. To fulfill your destiny.”

Overhead it seems the sky is so angry it’s breaking in two with bolts of lightning. The black silhouettes are everywhere, with even more ravens dropping from the sky. The heat is intense and pulls at me from every angle.

But as I look from my mother, to Krystal, to Fatima, the coolness overwhelms me. My mother’s light coupled with Krystal’s touch and Fatima’s knowledge cocoon me. My legs tremble as I begin to stand. The tingling in my biceps stops, but I feel confident nonetheless.

Looking up toward the raging sky with my eyes wide open I mutter the words that may seal my fate. No matter, it is as my mother and my grandfather said before, it is my destiny.

“I am the light. I am a Mystyx!”

As if I’d pulled an invisible plug, everything stops. The ravens and black silhouettes disappear, zombies creep back into coffins that fall seamlessly into the ground. The sky is quiet, the wind still. When I look to my mother she is a fading sight but she’s smiling and blowing me kisses. Like the six-year-old who boarded the bus as she watched from the curb her last day on Earth, I lift my hand, kissing my fingers then blowing toward her.

The ache in my chest is slightly lifted because I now know why she left me. Not of her choice but because it was time. I thought it wasn’t Pop Pop’s time, but looking over my shoulder I see that his casket too has descended into the ground just like the others in the cemetery. It was his time, as well.

And it was my time, to do what I had to do. To play my part in whatever this battle was. I stand strong and clasp the hand reaching out to mine, knowing that I did good. I did what I was supposed to do.

“Mine,” Krystal says, looking up to me with that gorgeous smile.

Lifting her hand to my lips I kiss her fingers. “Mine.”

“Yours,” Fatima’s voice interrupts just as Sasha and Lindsey come to stand near me and Krystal.

“The battle is yours, young Mystyx. Charon will not rest until he’s either won or lost with finality.”

“Does that mean he’ll be back?” Sasha asks with a frown.

Krystal sighs. “He will be back, and the next time he’s going to pull out all the stops. I’ve seen the battle, but I don’t know how it ends.”

“With pain,” Lindsey says. “With lots and lots of pain.”