Sweet Romance14 min read
The Black Bracelet and the Boy Who Came When I Rang
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I gasped when I saw the black gift box on my coffee table.
"Who left this here?" I whispered to the empty room.
The city was asleep outside. I had just crawled in after another twelve-hour shift. I should have been too tired to notice anything. Instead, my eyes fixed on the box like a magnet.
I picked it up. It was cold and heavy. A red silk ribbon tied a bow on top.
"Open it," I told myself. "Just open it and go to bed."
The lid barely creaked before a white light shot out and hit me in the face.
"Ugh!"
I blinked and the light went away. I did not wake in my couch. I was not in my small apartment. I was standing in a teacher's office, holding a stack of math quizzes.
"Kiara, can you help take these to class?" a soft voice asked.
I swung around, clutching the quizzes like a shield. A young teacher in a sweater held the door. A name tag above him read "Rohan Garza, Homeroom."
"Uh—sure," I muttered, more to myself than to him.
I did not feel like myself. My body was shorter, my hair had a different curl. When a boy with a high ponytail bowed and said, "Class monitor! You're back!" I stared. A little tag shimmered above his head: "Jude Butler, Math Rep."
"Where am I?" I asked the air.
"You're back in class," Jude grinned. "Nice to have you, Monitor."
Monitor? Back in class? I took a breath that tasted like chalk and confusion.
I tried to run scenarios in my head. Sleepwalking? A late-night hallucination? Then I saw my hands: they were younger, callused in different places, smaller. Then I remembered the box.
"Did the box send me here?" I said out loud.
"You okay?" asked a soft voice at my shoulder. Kayleigh Rivera, bright and quick, leaned in close. A tag above her read "Kayleigh Rivera, Best Friend." She smelled like citrus gum and school notebooks.
"Who's Kayleigh?" I wanted to ask the universe. Instead I took the safer route: I smiled.
"Let's go, Monitor," Kayleigh tugged, too cheerful for midnight.
Later, always later, I would learn that this Kiara Rice had lived a life I didn't. She had family—an older brother who drove a shiny car, an uncle who lived in a villa, a cousin who treated rooms like favors. Right now I had one pressing problem.
"There's an outsider at the gate," Kayleigh whispered when we reached the school exit. "Fernanda Adkins came looking for you."
"Why would she—?" My head spun. I had never been in a school fight before. Not once. But the moment a girl from another school calls, schoolyard rules switched to survival mode.
We went to the abandoned rooftop like someone in a drama script. Three girls waited. Fernanda stepped forward, hair curled, chest lifted like a flag.
"Kiara Rice," she said. "You owe me."
I blinked. "I don't owe anyone anything."
"You think you can slap me in public and walk away?" she hissed.
"Someone slapped you?" Kayleigh asked with narrowed eyes.
"She did," a girl added, "in front of everyone."
In the space between heartbeats, I saw Kayleigh's palm. A scrap of yellow paper slid from her pocket and she stuffed it into my hand.
"This will keep you safe," Kayleigh said, grinning. "It's from my grandma."
"You—your grandma is a witch?" I asked, because of course she was.
"My grandma is a white sorceress," Kayleigh corrected. "Don't call her witch."
A fight started. I threw the first punch. I do not know why. Maybe it was the wrong anger, maybe the old instinct of anyone trying to bully someone smaller than them. The punch landed on Fernanda's cheek and she stumbled.
"Hey!" Fernanda lunged and grabbed me. Hair pulled, clothing snagged, a bad tangle of limbs and curses. Then Kayleigh moved like a person possessed. Her hands twisted, voice low, not her voice at all.
"Die. All of you, die!" she said.
My stomach dropped. She wasn't Kayleigh.
A white mist rolled in from the stairs. It wrapped around Fernanda and her two friends. They went limp and collapsed, unconscious.
A man walked through the mist like he owned the air. He was tall with hair like dark silk. His eyes were oddly shaped, petal-like.
"Who are you?" I asked without thinking.
He smiled faintly. "Gabriel Phillips. I am a cultivator."
"Are you a cult—?" My voice broke. Gabriel's eyes found me and something in his face changed like a key turning.
"You," he said softly. "Do you have the black bracelet?"
I reached automatically for my wrist. It was empty.
"You were supposed to be wearing it," Gabriel said. "You're not..."
He put his hand to his chest. "It's okay. Stay close."
He handed the fallen girls to the teachers who arrived minutes later. No one had names for the white mist. They only had a boy who had walked through fog and found us.
"Where did you come from?" Kayleigh asked when the white fog faded.
"My master told me to look for the wearer of a black bracelet," Gabriel said. "I think I have found her."
Gabriel walked away like he had somewhere else to be. I watched his back until the fog swallowed him.
After the rooftop, school felt thinner. The days were lighter and heavier at once. I watched a tag above a teacher's head, matching names, and learned who people were. I learned that Kiara had a brother who drove a nice car, Cillian Hicks, and an uncle, Frederick Bowman, and an aunt, Lea Pedersen, and a cousin, Danielle Sokolov.
At home, the villa smelled of lemon soap and beef stock. A plump housekeeper, Norma Dietrich, welcomed me with a smile. A stout man named Cameron Thomsen backed the car out. A tall one called Leonardo Diaz dusted the railing. I learned new names fast, like someone reading a script.
"You're back early," Cillian said as he crossed his arms and looked at me. He looked like he had been part of the furniture since I arrived.
"I'm fine," I said. "I have homework."
"Your homework is not the issue," Cillian said. "Who is that boy?"
"Who?" I asked.
"That boy who saved you at the rooftop."
"Gabriel."
He blinked. "Hmm."
The next night I found the black box on the desk in my room—the same box that had started this whole mess. I had not felt its pull until now. It trembled, buzzing like a living thing.
I opened it slowly. Inside lay a bracelet, dark as old rain, black and smooth. I could feel the metal like a heartbeat. My fingers shook.
"Put it on," a voice behind me said.
I turned. Gabriel stood in my doorway.
"How did you get in?" I snapped. I stuffed the bracelet into my palm.
Gabriel's eyes softened. "You must wear it. It's tied to you now."
"It wasn't mine before," I said. "I just opened a box at home and then—"
"That box is the anchor," Gabriel said quietly. "It brings the wearer here. It draws spirits. My master told me to find the wearer."
He stepped closer. The bell he had given me—no, the small silver bell he had placed in my palm a few days earlier—sat warm in my hand. He had said only he could hear it.
"Why can I hear nothing?" I asked.
"It rings only for me," Gabriel said, and then he did something small and shockingly brave. He took my hand and squeezed.
"I will protect you," he said.
I had lived alone for years. No one had squeezed my hand like that in a long time. My chest loosened a little.
That night I dreamt of a woman with no face. She reached for me, slow, deliberate. I woke choking, air stolen from my lungs.
I did not sleep again that night. Not really.
In the morning I found a white robe in my doorway. Forest Farmer—Gabriel's master—sat like a grandfather in a papered room, watching me over a cup of tea.
"Sit," he said. He had a voice like time. "Look at the bracelet."
I handed him the black circle. He turned it as if it were a small globe.
"It was white once," he said. "Now it is black because of a stain. The bracelet is a vessel. It absorbs spirit energy. When it absorbs enough, it will turn back to white. Then you will learn who you are."
"Who I am?" I echoed.
"You are bound to it," Forest Farmer said. "That is why you came. For now you must let it collect spirits."
"Collect spirits?" My stomach dropped. "You mean ghosts? Demons?"
"Spirits," Forest Farmer said. "They come in many forms. Some will hurt you. Some might help. Gabriel will protect you. Gabriel will gather spirits and bring them here to purify the bracelet."
He smiled at Gabriel. "We will not hurt you, Kiara Rice."
"Is Kiara Rice the original owner?" I asked.
"She is who you have become," Forest Farmer said. "The rest will come later."
I could not sleep for three nights after that. Shadows moved differently now. Once, when I was in the bath, a black fog wrapped around my throat and pressed my chest tight.
"Gabriel!" I shook the bell with every shred of breath I had left. I had made the promise to myself that I would not faint again, but I did not know what else to do.
A white fog burst into the bathroom and Gabriel stood there like a statue. He pushed the fog aside with a blade of light and then pressed his palms on my throat.
"Hold still," he said. "I will pull it out."
I watched him close his eyes as if he were pulling a sliver out of flesh. He moved his hands and the pressure left me. He breathed slow, a steadying calm.
"You're safe," he said, close enough that I could feel his breath. His face had two small lines at the edges of his eyes when he smiled. "I cleaned the miasma. It will sting tonight but then leave."
"Why me?" I asked.
"Because you wear the bracelet," he said. "Because you belong to this world now."
We learned the hard way that the bracelet is a magnet. A faceless female spirit wanted it, or me, or both. She had been fed and hidden in a neighbor's large house. Her keeper was a man with kind eyes and a cough—Edgar Ortega. He smiled too much and kept many secrets.
"Edgar Ortega," Gabriel said one afternoon as he peered over the gate of that manor. "He should have died years ago. He has been trading with spirits."
"Trading?" My voice felt thin.
"People like him make deals," Gabriel said. "They keep spirits in exchange for favors. Sometimes spirits will repay by protecting the homeowner. Sometimes the balance shifts."
We watched the house from the lane. Gabriel's master, Forest Farmer, had a plan. He would patch us with a scent—special powder that clung to spirits. We sprayed it like perfume in my room and waited.
"Don't sleep," Gabriel said, watching me tuck the small sprayer into the nightstand. "If she comes, ring the bell. I will come."
I tried to keep my eyes open until morning and failed around midnight. I always failed at midnight.
I dreamed of the faceless woman again. This time she begged, not just threatened.
"Please help me," she said without lips.
"Why should I?" I whispered, before a hand closed my mouth. The dream shifted. Her voice turned into a scream: "I want you dead!"
I woke up to Gabriel in my doorway, blade drawn.
"She couldn't take the powder," Gabriel said. "But she came. She left traces. My master tracked them."
We followed the scent to Edgar Ortega's house. The front gate opened. Edgar stood smiling, a cup of tea warming his hands. Behind him the faceless spirit wandered like a houseghost, humming.
"Good afternoon," Edgar said. "What a surprise."
"Why do you keep her?" Gabriel asked.
Edgar blinked as if remembering me. "Because she keeps things in balance," he said. "Because I once saved her. Because she is company."
"She strangles girls in the night," I said, getting angrier by the word.
Edgar's smile didn't change. "People say many things."
"That's not an answer," Gabriel said.
We told Edgar about the bracelet, about how it drew spirits and how one had attacked me. He looked at the bracelet like it was an antique and then his face changed.
"All right," he said. "You can look around. But I will call the police if you break anything."
He left a window open for us. We saw her in the hallway—a pale woman in white, a blank mask where her face should be. She bent to a jar and then turned as if feeling our eyes.
"Stay back!" I shouted.
She moved like a whisper. Gabriel stepped forward. "Who are you?" he demanded.
She pointed at me.
"She is mine," she said, with a mouth not moving.
"She is not yours to take," Gabriel said. "Forest Farmer, now!"
My head turned and White Farmer walked in, robes sweeping like fog. He laid a circle of light around the spirit. She flickered and shrieked like wind through pipes.
"Edgar," Forest Farmer said softly, as if speaking to an old patient, "why did you keep her?"
Edgar's hands shook. "I thought she wanted to stay. I thought I could help."
Forest Farmer's eyes were sad. "You fed a wolf with your hand and expect it to be grateful. You taught it it could live among men."
"I didn't—" Edgar started.
Gabriel stepped forward. "She tried to kill my ward in her sleep. You should have let her go."
Edgar sank to his knees. "Please," he said. "I am old. She is all I had. I am sorry."
Forest Farmer warned him. "You will free her. Or we will."
Edgar cried like a child. The faceless spirit pressed at his shoulder and for a moment there was something like sorrow in her posture. She lifted her hands and touched Edgar's face. The mask trembled.
"Very well," Edgar said. "I will release her."
It was not that simple. Forest Farmer uncorked a small jar and blew white dust like stardust. The spirit wailed and wrapped its arms around itself. The dust crawled into its skin and made it pause. It turned to me, then at Edgar, then at Gabriel.
"Leave," Forest Farmer said again.
The faceless thing dissolved like smoke and ran out into the night. Edgar collapsed.
The neighbors came out. Lights turned on in the manor. The small crowd saw Edgar kneeling, sobbing, surrounded by men with solemn faces. Someone called the police. Someone else took out her phone to film.
"You kept a dangerous creature," one neighbor said. "You put girls at risk. You must answer."
There was a spectacle: people pointing, murmurs, police knocking on the gate. Edgar's face went pale in a way that was not ashamed but raw. He had been a quiet keeper; now the truth was out. The crowd wanted to know how.
"We had no choice," Edgar said. He tried to form an apology. "We thought it would help us. I thought I was helping."
"Helping who?" someone asked.
The man who filmed it asked the hardest question: "Did you sell protection?"
Edgar's shoulders crumpled. He confessed. He had made deals with spirits to keep them in return for small charms, a trade that had kept his home. When one spirit refused to leave, he lied and lied until the night I nearly died.
People reacted in layers: shock, anger, fear, relief. Those who had seen odd things in the house remembered his cough and that paper on his desk. The police had paperwork ready because Edgar's neighbor had been suspicious for weeks. It was messy and public. Edgar was taken away in cuffs, hands shaking.
"Edgar," I said later, when Gabriel and I stood on the curb and the sirens had hushed, "why would someone want to keep a spirit like that?"
"Loneliness," Gabriel said. "Fear. Stories end poorly when people bargain with loneliness."
I thought of the bracelet in my pocket. "So what happens now?"
Gabriel held my hand. He smelled like rain and lemon. "Now the bracelet can start to feed on the spirits that come willingly. It will lighten. It will heal."
Days passed. Spirits drifted near me like moths. Some were small and shy. Some howled and tried to hold onto me.
Whenever danger came, I rang the bell. Gabriel arrived. Sometimes he arrived with a sword. Sometimes with a joke and a bowl of soup. Once he arrived with a small smile and a wink that made my ears heat.
"You're ridiculous," I told him once. I had just come back from a field where a minor spirit had attempted to sing me into a coma.
"I am effective," he said. "Ridiculousness is part of my charm."
People in school started to whisper. The rumor mill labeled him my guardian, my friend, my boyfriend. I pretended not to care, but I did. Each time I saw his profile in the hallway I felt a little bright streak run through my day.
One afternoon, when the bracelet hummed faintly, I found that the dark surface had a hairline crack. The black seemed to thin.
"It is changing," Forest Farmer said. He sat across the table from me with tea. "It may take many spirits to turn it white. Or it might take one pivotal spirit."
"Which one?" I asked.
He looked at the bracelet in my hand and then at me. "You will know."
On a rainy evening months later, the bracelet flashed like a star. I was walking home from school under an umbrella with Gabriel at my elbow when a cold wind blew my hair across my face.
"Ring it," Gabriel said. "Now."
I shook the bell with quiet fingers. Something moved in the sky like a ribbon. A figure dropped from the clouds—a ghost we had not timed. Its laugh was like glass.
Gabriel stepped forward. He did not draw his sword this time. He knelt and placed both palms on the bracelet at the same time I did. The bracelet shuddered.
"Now," Forest Farmer's voice said from behind us, though he was miles away.
The ground hummed. A white light poured from the bracelet like milk. It strained and then burst, a clear, bright pulse that spilled over the street and into the open mouth of the spirit. The ghost's face—if it had once been a face—softened and a wet sound came from the air, like a sob.
"Turn," Gabriel whispered.
The black metal purified. It peeled off like a shadow and left behind a white circle, warm and smooth. For a breath, everything was blindingly simple: the bracelet was white, the street smelled like rain, and the ghost faded with a smile that might have been gratitude.
The crowd on the wet sidewalk watched. Neighbors stepped out, watching the two of us kneel in the drizzle, hand in hand.
"She's the one," someone said.
"She's the demonbane," another whispered.
Gabriel wiped my hair from my forehead.
"You did it," he said.
"No," I answered quickly. "You did it. You were here." Then I laughed in a short, stunned burst. "We did it."
He smiled like the moon. "Yes. We did it."
Days later, life felt cleaner. The bracelet was white and heavy with nothing but warmth. Forest Farmer came to visit and nodded at me as if I'd passed a test.
"Your name is no longer only a name," he said. "You are tied to a line of guardians. When the bracelet turned white, a door opened."
"What door?" I asked, because suddenly there were more questions than answers and I had a newfound taste for them.
Forest Farmer folded his hands. "The door to learning. You will train. You will keep the balance. You will choose if you stay."
I looked at Gabriel. He was thinner because of sleepless nights, kinder because of time with me. "Do you—"
He took my hand. "I will be at your side."
It was not a grand speech. It was a small vow between two people standing on a balcony while rain ran down the glass behind them. His thumb brushed the white bracelet and I felt that same steady, impossible calm again.
"I will teach you to fight," he said. "And also to laugh."
"And cook?" I asked, because I had long loved the comfort of food.
"And cook," he agreed with a smile that made my heart skip.
We trained together, we argued about proper tea steeping, we held each other after nightmares. At school I kept my role as class monitor and student council vice-president. I learned to be gentle and decisive. I learned to ask for help.
Months blurred into a soft story where the major beats were: a faceless spirit freed and gone; Edgar Ortega taken into custody and forced to answer for his bargains; my black bracelet turning white; my name shifting from a label to a duty.
One Saturday, under a white sky, Gabriel and I walked into the school courtyard. Students moved around us, but the world narrowed to his hand in mine. He stopped.
"Kiara," he said, voice small but sure. "I have waited a very long time."
I swallowed. "How long?"
"A long time," he smiled. "But the important thing is now."
"Now?" I echoed.
He knelt where we stood—public, sudden, ridiculous and real. Students gasped. Someone cheered. Gabriel reached into his pocket and took out a small box. He opened it. Inside sat a simple white ring.
"Will you stay with me, not because a bracelet says so, but because you want to?" he asked.
The courtyard hung on a breath, like the moment before a bell chimes.
"Yes," I said, for the first time choosing my life on purpose. "Yes."
He stood, and the crowd cheered. Kayleigh jumped up and down. Bruno Flores, who had been quiet and official, offered a stiff clap. Cillian looked proud and a little too obvious. My aunt and uncle had been invited and watched with tears. The moment belonged to us, messy and bright.
After the applause faded, when the chatter returned to ordinary things, Gabriel and I walked home. He tightened his fingers around mine.
"Do you regret it?" he asked, voice softer now.
I thought about the black box and the bright light, about late nights with white tea, about the stranger I had been and the woman I had become.
"No," I said. "Not a single second."
That night I opened the black box one last time. Inside it sat nothing but a folded note. I unfolded it. The handwriting was small, familiar. It read: "Keep safe. If you must open, choose carefully."
I smiled. I folded the note back. I put the white bracelet on my wrist and slid the box into the back of my closet. It could stay there, a memory of a life that had been and a threshold that I had crossed.
Outside, somewhere far off, a faint bell rang like an echo. I heard Gabriel in the kitchen making tea. Kayleigh texted a selfie. My phone buzzed with messages.
I felt my hand in Gabriel's again and I felt the bracelet warm and steady. The world was still dangerous in places. There were still spirits to meet, lives to save, mysteries to solve. But I no longer walked alone.
"Come on," Gabriel said as he led me to the table. "Eat before I make you another bowl of my terrible soup."
"You mean your hero soup?" I teased.
He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Hero soup."
I laughed. The sound was small and perfect.
I had been pulled through a black gift box and into another life. I had found a bracelet, a mission, and a boy who came whenever I rang.
And I had chosen to stay.
The End
— Thank you for reading —