Devil Child.

It was funny how two simple words could strike through a heart and infuse it with poison. Twyla still remembered the exact moment when she had first heard the nickname the town had given her. She was ten, at the time, lounging on her bed in the attic. The attic looked much different from the time mommy first brought her up there. Back then, the attic was completely bare, the wooden support beams were visible, the floor planks were uneven and creaky and large, intricate cobwebs stretched across the length of the room. She had been scared when mommy first said that it would be her new room but as the cobwebs were cleaned and the furniture from her old room moved up there she began to think that it would be cool. The attic was actually a lot bigger than her old room and mommy had promised to buy as many toys as her little heart desired. By the time mommy told her room was ready she was excited. She practically ran up the stairs, clutching her bear, Mr. Cuddles, close to her chest.

The attic had gone through a complete makeover, the beams were covered by silk multicolored sheets and wooden floor planks were covered by a comfortable shaggy rug. Her twin sized bed was pressed against the large bay window and beside the bed laid a mountain of toys. Her eyes began to well up with tears as she shuffled into the room, her jaw dropped in awe. It was all so beautiful then she heard the noise of a locking door behind her- and suddenly, it wasn't. The beautiful room turned into a prison. For five years she was looked in the attic, isolated completely from the outside world. Her mother came to visit her regularly. After Luna went to school she would come up to the attic, give Twyla her food and homeschool her. Twyla still learned all the fundamentals of math and reading like her twin but her mother also reserved an hour for what she called: Meditation practice.

For an hour they would sit cross legged, with scented candles scattered about, as Twyla's mother tried to teach different techniques to keep her calm. At first Twyla thought meditation was a normal class for all kids, just like science or history. But as she got older it was apparent in the way her mother acted towards that she was everything but normal. It was evident in the way her mother avoided eye contact when she asked about leaving the room or refused to let her see her sister or dad.

"We're not doing this to hurt you, sweetie," her mother cooed, while rubbing Twyla's back as she sobbed. Her toys shook violently on the floor as her emotions got the best of her. "We just want to help you, we love you."

It appeared that way to Twyla though. She just wanted to say her daddy's smiling face again and run around the backyard with Luna once more. But she was confound to the attic, left with dimming memories of happiness. When she turned ten, Twyla was sure her mother would let her out of the room, even for a minute, just to see what her sister's party looked like but the door stayed locked. Fisting her tiny hands, she held back her tears and tried to go to her happy place like mother had taught her to do. Her happy place had always been sitting in her father's lap, in his study. She spent most of her time nuzzling her head into his neck and taking a peek at the long list of numbers on his scattered papers. The office always had the same smell, the sweet fragrance from his freshly laundered suit and the spicy scent from the mints he placed in a glass container on top of his desk- it smelled like happiness. Twyla missed her daddy so much. In that moment, all she wanted to do was see him in the office. Her mind was preoccupied by the distant memories she didn't notice her surroundings fade and morph into a new place.

"Twyla..." a man said. His voice was, deep, and raspy and very familiar.

Opening her eyes, Twyla blinked rapidly in shock as she stared into her daddy's chocolate brown eyes. He had changed since she had seen him last. His suit was bit tighter around the belly, wrinkles lined his forehead and the frayed ends of his sideburns were turning white. The study, however, looked just like it did the last time she was there. The back wall was covered in book shelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling, a fine layer of dust coated more than half of the books- daddy had once explained to her that they were actually just there for decoration. It seemed a little silly to her, why have a book that can't be read? Overlapped rugs with strange tribal patterns were scattered across the floor. The only source of light came from the floor length lamps that were shoved in the corners of the room. Daddy's desk was the focal point of the room, there wasn't a piece of the desktop that could be seen due to the overwhelming amounts of paperwork he had. And behind all of the paperwork, Daddy sat in his overstuffed, leather chair.

"Daddy!" Twyla exclaimed.

She ran over to the side of his desk and opened her arms, waiting for Daddy to pick her up like all the times before. But, he didn't. He just stared at her, with his eyes wide open and his jaw ajar. The blood had drained from his face, his breath had stilled. And then, just as Twyla opened her mouth to speak again he knocked his chair back and jumped up. Raising a quivering palm, Twyla's daddy gripped his chest.

"N-no," he whispered and then shouted, "No! H-how did you get out? No!"

"D-daddy?" Twyla asked, taking a step back.

His body began to convulse, as he dropped to the ground. Twyla shrieked and ran to his side. Her daddy continued to stare at her with those wide, haunted eyes. He looked shockingly similar to the painting 'The Scream'.

"Help please!" Twyla screamed, hot tears trickled down the sides of her face.

"D-devil child," Daddy groaned. His body twitched one more time before he became completely motionless.

Flinching away from her father, Twyla stared at his unmoving body as his words echoed in her head. Devil Child, Devil Child. She was no longer baby girl or princess to him, she was a Devil Child. Twyla's chubby child hands grabbed her own chest, as her heart began to break. A fresh waves of tears fell from her eyes as she looked at the man who once told her that she had his unconditional love. Apparently unconditionally love worked like free items in America, there was always a catch.

The door to the study flew upon. Blinking through her tears, Twyla saw her mom and her sister standing in the doorway. Their expressions of horror matched each other's.

"What did you do!" Her mother yelled.

Twyla awoke, lying in a pool of her own sweat, her chest was heaving. Mr. Cuddles was clutched tightly in her fists as her breathing calmed. Squeezing her eyes shut, flashes of the distant memory played in her head. The memory of that haunting night had been playing on loop, inside her mind, for the past eight years of her life. And though it happened so long ago, she remembered every detail as if it had happened yesterday. Twyla reopened her eyes, the image of her father's cold, dead eyes were replaced by the smoldering stare of Ian Somerhalder. Now that was a much prettier sight to see. Despite the fact the Vampire Diaries was filled to the brim with fake supernatural stereotypes, Twyla found it hard to resist the beauty of Damon Salvatore. The show was her guilty pleasure and also one of her biggest secrets. If anyone, even Laurel, learned that she liked that show it would completely damage her street cred.

Ignoring her aching muscles, Twyla sat up and rubbed the grime out of her eyes. She gave the rising sun a scathing glare as it peeked through her window. Damn the sun! It was nothing but a big gassy orb. Nana always said Twyla was a vampire born in a witch's body. Though many people didn't like to go out in the sun, Twyla's aversion towards the sun was personal.

She stood up, despite her body's protest and looked at her room. Dirty clothes were scattered everywhere, they practically covered her entire floor. Her wardrobe was covered in different charms and incense, the draws were pulled wide open, leaving her lingerie exposed. Band posters covered her black painted walls. Most of the bands were purely supernatural, like the Gregorian Rants, a band of British vampires who were forever stuck as angsty teens. Twyla loved their music, especially their hit song Dead Dead Dead. It was a conceptual piece of art that always made her feel so... dead.

Grabbing the cleanest smelling shirt and jeans, Twyla pulled them on and fled the dark travesty that was her bedroom. Her Nana's Victorian styled home was much smaller than she was used to but the narrow halls and oddly placed stain glass windows gew on her. As did the antique slip covered furniture and creepy spiritual ornaments that were scattered across the house. Instead of taking the stairs, Twyla closed her eyes and imagined the kitchen. She crossed her fingers behind her back and bit her lip as an unsuspected wind cocooned her body. For a fraction of a second, her feet left the ground as she traveled to a place in between time and space. As her feet hit the ground again, Twyla gingerly peeked out of one eye.

"Yes!" She exclaimed, pumping her fist into the air.

She was indeed standing in her Nana's cramped, ornate kitchen. Nana had a very strange style, she was always changing the colors of the walls but refused to change any of her furniture. Most of the furniture fit the classic Victorian vibe but the colors of the walls most certainly did not match. The kitchen, for instance, had a beautiful wooden table and chairs with engraved details but the walls were painted a light yellow color and the cabinets were painted robins egg blue. Nana claimed it brought the room to 'life'. And though Twyla knew it brought something to the room, she wasn't sure it was life.

"Now, just what do you think you're doing," A familiar, brittled voice asked behind her. Nana was standing behind Twyla, with her hand on her hip. Her hunched figure was standing over a brewing cauldron, on top of the the oven.

"Nana!" Twyla jumped, "I didn't see you there."

"Clearly," Nana grunted, "Or else you wouldn't have been doing that, I guarantee."

Biting her tongue, Twyla forced herself to stay quiet.

"Teleportation, is the devil's work. People wouldn't understand if they saw you doin that, they'd assume. You know what happens when people assume."

No, Twyla didn't actually know what happened when people assumed but arguing with Nana would only make the lecture longer. Instead of teleporting far, far away. Twyla forced herself to stay and bear Nana's spiel.

"They'd think you're one of them cult kids, mucking around with black magic."

New Orleans was the second largest supernatural city to in America, only second to Salem. The mortals wouldn't have noticed if Twyla suddenly appeared out of nowhere, they were always too preoccupied by their phones but the supernatural would. Teleportation was one of the few magical gifts that normal witches couldn't perform. That magic was unnatural, devil's work as Nana liked to call it. Only the Dark Witch could use Black Magic and Twyla definitely wasn't the Dark Witch.

"Especially since the Dark Witch just found her heir- they would definitely think you're one of them crazies."

Twyla tried to tune out the rest Nana's rant. She really didn't want to hear another history lesson on the supernatural royalty. She already knew all the facts. There were six leaders in the Council, they were all witches- even though the Council's law presided over all supernatural races. Most species were cool with the witches being in charge because they were obviously more powerful. Apparently, one of the council members had the power to completely wipe out the world if he felt like it. It was hard to fight someone who could literally end all of life on earth so most races allowed their rule. There were vampire gangs that tried to stir up trouble at times, they thought since they were older they were inevitably wiser but their powers didn't come close to the Council.

"What's going on here," a man stumbled down the stairs.

Nana broke off mid-sentence. The man rubbed his beard and glanced around the kitchen. His eyes enlarged as they landed on Nana's steaming cauldron.

"And what is that?" He asked.

"Soup," Twyla lied smoothly.

He took a step forward, his nose wrinkled in disgust as he got a whiff of whatever was really brewing in Nana's pot. "It doesn't smell like soup. It smells like cat pee and blood."

When he wasn't looking Nana and Twyla shared a weary glance. "Can I ask what you're doing in my house," Nana asked. She went back to stirring her toxic concoction.

His face flushed as he stumbled over his words, "Uh, well you see..."

"What are you still here for," Aunt Nyx appeared in the doorway. It was clear she had just woken up. She was still in a tank top and lacy boyshorts, her multicolored hair was tied back with a black bandana.

There were too many people in Nana's small kitchen for Twyla's liking. She grabbed her leather jacket off of the coat rack and pulled on her combat boots. Aunt Nyx was yelling at the idiot who couldn't understand the basics of a one night stand. He was practically begging for a date but Aunt Nyx was never one to get attached to people. She preferred her men to be like breathing, easily taken advantage of and easily forgotten. Twyla had reached the point where it was no longer strange for her to see a random guy in his boxers leaving the house at an ungodly hour, it was just annoying.

"I'll show him out," Twyla grabbed the man by his elbow. He tried to protest but Aunt Nyx's murderous glare shut him up.

"Remember not to TP," Nana shouted as they walked out the door.

"TP?" Mr. One Night Stand asked, "You're one of them hooligans who keeps teepeeing the properties 'round here?"

Rolling her eyes, Twyla released her grip on the man's arm. His blue, Ford pickup was waiting in the driveway, right next to Twyla's baby. She had begged for months, hoping that she would get a Harley-Davidson Low Rider for her sixteenth birthday. Her birthday came and went and she didn't get the bike but after threatening Nana that she would just teleport everywhere, the keys suddenly materialized her in palm. Nana still didn't want her to have the bike, she called it a death trap, but it was better than teleportation. The bike was also more beautiful than teleportation, with its sleek lines and leather accents. Jumping onto to her bike, Twyla revved the engine and shot Mr. One Night Stand a wicked smile.

"I'm a hooligan alright," she said, "But, I dabble in theft not vandalism." She waved his wallet in her right hand before slipping it into her pocket and pulling out of the drive way. Mr. One Night Stand tried to run after her but in seconds he was miles behind.

"Where were you?" Laurel demanded as she slammed her locker door. She held a mountain of textbooks and notebooks in her hands. Her fingers trembled as she tried to hold onto everything.

Twyla shrugged her shoulders and fell into step with her best friend. Like always, she didn't have any pencils or notebooks on her. She only showed up to school because it was the law. Not only mortal law but supernatural as well. The Council had decided centuries ago that the best way to keep peace among the species was to educate the people. Twyla didn't really believe that, the Pythagorean theorem wasn't going to spread world peace- but the Council members did make a killing after opening Nox Haven Academy. The Academy was the first establishment that brought the big four races together. The big four of course being; witches, werewolves, fairies and vampires. They were the most abundant and powerful supernatural species in the world, others existed but they were less frequently found. A decent chunk of each race's population had gone to Nox Haven Academy when it first opened but as the decades passed it slowly became a school for the elite. And that was why Twyla went to mortal school. Though she hated hiding her powers, she hated prestigious snobs even more.

"I woke up late, again," Twyla said.

"You're doing that thing where you make your voice sound all apathetic and you keep shrugging," Laurel noted.

Twyla was about to shrug again but refrained, "What does that mean?"

"It means you're lying but whatever. It's not like I care or anything," Laurel blew a loose curl out of her face.

"Now look who's doing the apathetic voice thing."

"I'm worried, okay? You've been off since Alix left and I just don't want you to do anything stupid."

Sighing, Twyla shoved her hands in her pockets and stared at her boots. She hated lying to Laurel but there was nothing she could do about it. Nana would blow a casket if she even gave Laurel the slightest clue about what was really bothering her. Today was September ninth, five days from her dreaded birthday. Most people loved their birthday but for Twyla it was a time that always reminded her of painful memories. She tried hard to forgot her life before Covington but it was hard. Whether she liked it or not, it was a part of who she was.

"Yeah," Twyla tried to keep her voice from falling flat, "I liked her. She was cool."

"I knew it was gonna be tough for you when she left. You guys had this sort of connection, I didn't understand it. But it was clear you two were a lot alike."

No kidding. Alix and Twyla had both shared with Laurel that they were exiled to Covington but Alix was more forthcoming with details. She had gone to a party, and apparently almost died. Her parents were the Coven Leaders of New York, it was a very prestigious role only handed out to the elite witches. The job of being a Coven Leader closely resembled the job of a Governor, except they focused on more intimate problems- like making sure every witch and warlock was being properly trained. Laurel didn't know that fact, she only knew they were important people who were embarrassed with their daughter's actions so they sent her to live with her uncle for a while.

"It was nice to talk to someone like me," Twyla admitted. Even though it was nice to talk to another family misfit Twyla liked Alix because she was the only other witch in Covington around her age. Sure, there were plenty of supernatural creatures in Louisiana but Covington was one of the few mortal dominated towns.

"Yeah..." Laurel trailed off as they reached the Cafeteria. She nearly collapsed onto the table while putting all of her books down.

The cafeteria was Twyla's absolutely least favorite thing about Covington High and that was saying a lot. The food wasn't half bad, except for the pizza. School pizza always tasted like cardboard for some reason. But there were too many people in one room for Twyla's liking and they all spoke several octaves louder than necessary. Their conversations molded together, creating an obnoxious buzzing sound in the background.

"I feel bad for her in a way," Laurel said, flipping through her trigonometry textbook. "First she gets sent here and then her parents ship her off to some boarding school in Massachusetts. Tough break."

Twyla stretched her legs across the length of the bench seat, keeping an stragglers from sitting beside her. "I'm sure she's fine. The school is supposed to be really prestigious." Twyla knew for a fact that Alix was fine. She had talked to her just last night and the fiery redhead was practically screaming in excitement over her hot roommate.

"What was the name of the school again? New Haven?"

"Nox Haven," Twyla corrected.

"Well I hope everyth-" Laurel's words were cut off as fry bounced of the side of her head.

Sitting at the table right next to theirs, was a group of obnoxious jocks and cheerleaders. They were snickering to themselves while shooting amused looks at Laurel. The head of the table, a bottle blonde, Barbie wannabe was smirking to herself as if she was proud with her work. Twyla scowled, she hated that chick. Nobody stood up to her, not with her rat pack following behind her and when Twyla came to school that didn't change. She didn't get involved with that Marrie chick's schemes unless it affected her personally- like making fun Laurel.

"Twyla don't," Laurel pleaded as Twyla started to stand up.

Her eyes flickered from the pack of howling hyenas to Laurel desperate stare. She huffed and sat back in her chair. Looking over at the Barbie Queen, Twyla's eyes narrowed on the ketchup packet packet in her hand. Red splatters of ketchup exploded from the packet, soiling her new blouse and freckling her freshly painted face. Blondie screamed as if her limb had just been torn off and jumped out of her seat.

"What was that?" Laurel asked, trying to hold back a laugh.

Twyla shrugged, "Karma?"

**Please tell me what you guys thought about the glimpse into Twyla's past. She's definitely a more alternative, rougher and tougher kind of girl but of course there is a good reason for that. Personally, Twyla is my favorite. I'm not even going to lie. Even though I am probably more like Luna in the long run, it's Twyla that I can really connect with on spiritual level. Anyway, I hope you guys liked this chapter. If you did like the chapter then please comment or vote, I love hearing your feedback. Thank for the support and love on all of my books!
XOXO,
Ro.**