"Hi Abel, we're planning a party tonight. You should come," Rebecca said, sliding into the seat across from me with that smug little grin that said she thought the world literally revolved around her invitation.
I forced a smile. "I can't. Mom needs me at the restaurant tonight. Maybe next week."
Translation: No way. Rebecca's parties were infamous — loud music, reckless people, and zero survival instinct. I had better odds surviving a Death Eater attack than her idea of fun.
She pouted, her big brown eyes sparkling with frustration. "You've turned me down three times already. If you say no again, I'll start thinking you don't like me. Next week? You can't say no."
I raised my hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I won't say no next week."
"Good. See you next week!"
"See you next week," I muttered, swinging my backpack over my shoulder.
Halfway out the door, Sean — my friend, chaos incarnate — barreled over, practically bouncing with energy. "Abel! I just saw Rebecca talking to you. What'd she say?"
"She asked me to a party. I said no."
Sean froze. Then his eyes went wide. "Again? Abel… that's three times! My brother, the universe's most confusing romantic enigma. Rebecca is the prettiest girl in our school. If you keep turning her down…"
"Sean, she is hardly in the top five girls of this school. I mean, have you seen Mary Jane, Felicia, or even Gwen in our AP Physics? I just… don't feel that spark with her," I said, shrugging. "It's not about looks. Sometimes you like someone. Sometimes you don't. That's all."
Sean blinked, clearly baffled, like I'd just explained quantum physics. "Okay, but you forgot Liz Allen," he muttered.
I snorted. "To each their own. Anyway, I'm off — I need to go help Mom. By the way, have you seen Peter?"
"Now that you're saying it… wasn't he supposed to be back from the field trip?"
"That's what I was thinking." So it's really today that Peter will get his powers, huh… "Well, I will call Mrs. Parker tonight. See you Monday."
"See you Monday!"
The bike ride to Mom's restaurant is the part of the day where I almost feel like I have my life together. Streets buzzing, car horns honking, smells of fresh bagels and exhaust mixing — the peculiar scent of New York in the afternoon. A chaos that I know and can deal with.
The restaurant was located in a bustling area near Brooklyn, yet it offered a quiet retreat. Its decor was fresh and natural, a style I personally liked very much.
I parked my bike, slung my backpack, and waved at the doorman — our usual polite nod exchange.
Nothing. No blink, no nod, no acknowledgment. He didn't wave back like usual or even acknowledge me.
Weird. Maybe he's in a mood? If I remember correctly, the due date of his wife is not that far away. Maybe he's stressed about the price of diapers.
Before I could step closer, his hand shot up, stopping me. "The restaurant has been booked. No entry allowed."
Something was wrong. Everything about the delivery was wrong. It was flat, empty, it had no soul. My stomach did a weird twist.
I've seen this before — in my previous life. The Imperius Curse, except it was different. The pattern was familiar, same sick feeling that I could sense now through my magic. Someone was controlling him. And if the doorman's under control… Mom is probably in danger.
I didn't rush in. Panic is not the answer — even if this will probably be my first fight in this universe. I wanted to get a wand before I started to play hero, but if my mom is in danger…
I circled the building, found the service entrance — the kind that smells like trash and late-night prep — and tried the door. Locked. Figures.
I held up my hand, searched inside me for the feeling of the energy that runs through every bit of my body, and whispered the words of one of the spells I'd been practicing since I recovered my memories. Wandless magic is very tricky here — I can barely channel a first-year level spell — but I had no choice.
"Alohomora." My magic flowed from my heart to my hand before entering the mechanism of the lock.
Click. The lock opened.
I slipped inside and closed the door quietly behind me. Heat hit my face. Clanging pans. Voices. Steam. A chaos that I knew.
And there she was, Mom, at the center of the storm. Except she moved like a robot, eyes glazed. Her voice was flat when she turned to look at me. "Abel… I cannot talk. Focus on cooking. The master must eat."
The word "master" dropped like a brick.
Yep, she was under too. I didn't have time for hesitation. I had one choice — but it was ugly.
I stepped behind her, found the right pressure point, and pressed. Fast. Firm. She slumped into my arms — unconscious but safe from the compulsion.
My hands shook. She'd wake up soon — furious probably — but not under anyone else's control.
I scanned the kitchen. Staff looked confused, like extras who'd missed their cue. No one else was acting weird… not yet.
Whoever this "master" is, they know how to get inside people's heads. Whoever they are, they picked the wrong target.
I took a breath and melted into the shadows between prep stations. Time to find out who had booked a private show… and why they wanted my mom on stage.