Chapter 4

Cinnamon Curl Lambert hated her name. In fact she hated her life. She hated the small town that she was forced to live in. She hated the school and the silly antics of the students, none of them anxious to improve their minds. But mostly, she hated the way every little thing that anyone did brought out the nosiness of the township. Traffic was backed up down her street, something that had never happened before in the year that she’s lived there. Gawkers were out in droves.

Cinnamon tapped her fingers on the steering wheel of her old Plymouth, mentally readjusting her schedule so that she could still achieve her goals for the evening. Upon meeting her, many people assumed that she was a stereotypical blonde. But once she spoke it was obvious that she was a well-educated young lady with a superior brain. Her stubbornness and impatience with people whom she thought were inferior made her a force that few wanted to tangle. Her teachers at the high school basically let her move along her courses at her own speed. Principle Coleman dreaded seeing her tapping on his door, because he had a hard time understanding the root of her complaint of the day.

Her usual ten-minute drive turned into one of thirty minutes, testing the endurance of her patience. When she turned into her driveway, she was surprised to see that the carnival sideshow was at the vacant house across the street. As Principal Coleman would say, that house was quieter than a church mouse. The police lights beckoned her. Proud of her will power, she climbed the steps to her house, thinking how she could master her curiosity better than any of the church mice on the lawn across the street. But a voice called her name than had the power to wipe away the smugness she felt.

“Cinnamon. Come here.” It was Todd Roberts, the star athletic at her high school. She couldn’t understand why he was so attracted to her. They didn’t have much in common except for history, a subject they spent hours discussing when opportunity arose. Naturally, she failed to realize that she possessed a grace and self-assurance that made many male admirers want to inhale.

She placed her backpack full of books on her steps and lightly cantered across the street, her long blonde mane flying behind her. Todd took her arm in his hand, smiling at her. “I see you finally made it home. I was here in ten minutes. Thanks to my scooter.”

“Congratulations. I’m sure you’ll get a metal later for that amazing feat.” She spoke haughtily but her green eyes smiled at him. “What’s the attraction?”

“I don’t know all the details. They found a body under the steps and the remains of some sort of voodoo ritual inside. Lots of blood and guts everywhere.”

“Voodoo ritual? Come on Todd. The closest this town gets to dark magic is trick or treating at Halloween.”

He laughed, but someone in the crowd shouting out cut his reply off short. “Hey it’s that witch’s daughter. Maybe she knows what happened here.” Even though she knew she was wasting her breath and that the learning curve of town’s tolerance was mildly retarded, through clinched teeth Cinnamon said, “For the one-hundredth time, my mother is an astrologer, not a witch.”

(Current WC=2315)