by Lenore Wolfe
SEVEN
MORGAN
The next morning, Morgan and Alex finally made it out of bed when their stomachs drove them to it. They got up and make some eggs and toast. Slicing tomatoes and getting the food ready, anticipating a delicious breakfast. They moved around each other, smiling when one accidently touched the other.
Morgan stepped carefully around Alex, careful not to bump him. Smiling and lowering her gaze to hide what she knew they held beneath her lashes, whenever she caught his eye.
In the broad light of day, she fought not to flush. A bit shy, now, after what they’d shared between them yesterday, so soon after coming back into each other’s lives. She’d moved around him, again, to get to the plates, when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” Alex volunteered.
Morgan nodded and finished arranging the tomato slices on the plate, then set the plate on the tiny, paint-chipped table that sat in front of the large, kitchen window, overlooking the vacant garden outside. She picked up an old napkin holder and turned toward the sink, intending to wash it, when Alex stepped back into the kitchen.
Morgan glanced up, dropping the container. Her sister stood, staring at her as if she’d seen a ghost.
Claire came forward, stopping right in front of her, Claire’s eyes full of tears. “They told me it was true,” she said, choking back a sob. “But I’ve been so afraid to believe….”
Other people had stepped into the room by then, but Morgan only had eyes for her sister. Claire reached up and touched Morgan’s dark curls, and the two of them flew into a hug. They stood like that, tears slipping down their cheeks, causing the people around them to tear up too.
They stayed that way, crying for some time before she had the wherewithal to glance around the room at the others. Seeing Sophia, fresh tears slipped down her face, as Sophia joined in the hugs. Soon, the twins came forward as well, hugging her and telling her they couldn’t be happier that she was okay—and that she was finally home.
The room had taken on a surreal tint to it, as they parted, her sister and her, arms still around each other. Morgan fixed her attention on Alex when he picked up the napkin holder, and it dawned on her that he was the one stable thing, for her, in the room. He sat it down on the table, and somehow, she knew he waited for her. Right then, she realized how much she loved him. That she’d always loved him—even when she couldn’t remember. She’d missed him—without knowing who she missed.
After several moments, Alex went to rescue a box of tissues from the bathroom, from some of the bathroom supplies they’d picked up at the store earlier, holding it out to them. The sisters broke apart, laughing as the each took a couple of tissues from the box, wiping at their tears and blowing their noses.
She couldn’t have been more unprepared to have her sister standing before her. She knew her because she remembered now more than ever, but with no opportunity to process any of it. For her, the memories were new and raw, as if the things she remembered happened recently, happened only yesterday.
Maybe that was why she’d walked straight into her sister’s arms the way she had, breaking down and bawling.
To her relief, the twins volunteered to fix several more eggs and slice up some more tomatoes for the rest of them, bringing some normalcy to the room. Soon, things settled into a calming rhythm that somehow felt familiar.
Not long after things began to settle down, Tara pulled up in a green Volkswagen beetle, and a whole new round of laughter and tears began. The twins came out, taking turns hugging Tara, now, before heading back to the kitchen to make her a plate too.
After a few minutes, they came out to where the stood on the front wrap-around porch, filling a large, round, table with platters and coffee, and laughter and chatter filled the air, as they caught each other up on what they’d all been doing since they’d separated these past few years.
Morgan gazed around the table at her friends—her family. This was her family. She remembered that now. It felt like only yesterday. She remembered a lot of things, lately. Jake had broken his leg on the tree swing in the back. Claire and Tara were practicing resisting spells. Yeah, she remembered that too. Into everything, Jack had fallen in a hole on the back five acres, and they couldn’t find him for several hours. And even back then—Alex had been protective as ever. She’d missed them. She’d missed her family, her friends, without knowing who she missed.
She glanced up to find Claire watching her.
“Are you okay?” Claire asked.
Morgan beamed. “Better than I’ve been in a long, long time.”
Claire smiled back at her. “We need to talk about where you’ve been….”
Morgan nodded. “We will—later tonight—okay? But today—let’s just have some fun.”
Claire agreed as they got up, each helping to grab some of the plates, heading toward the kitchen. The four women washed and dried the dishes and set the kitchen right before taking a tour of the old gray, stone manor, to examine how much damage had been done by neglect—and what they’d need to do to put it back in order. Out in the living room, they found the guys discussing the materials they’d need to get started fixing the house for them.
“You know,” Morgan looked around at them, “this place is huge. We could live here—all of us—with room to spare. What do you all think?”
Claire started then grinned, glancing up toward the bedrooms on the second floor. “That’s a perfect idea.” She eyed the pictures hanging on the stairway wall. “Wow!” She walked to where several mole pictures sat displayed and picked one up, staring at it. She set it down, gazing around the room again. “I cannot believe what has happened to this place. I had no clue.”
Morgan gawked at her in surprise. “You haven’t been here? Gram’s Living Will stated you own half of all of this too.”
Claire shook her head. “No. Our aunt went looking for you, and I went with her. We searched everywhere, hoping to find a clue—any clue. I did come back here, several times, in fact, to be with Grams, those first few years. Then, as she grew older, she went to stay with Aunt Jacelyn, and I visited her there.”
“Wh-at?” Morgan couldn’t believe this. “Did you ever settle down? How did you go to school while you tried to find me?”
Claire shrugged. “We did—eventually. The first three years, we would stop for the school year, but that was it. Then, we were off to the next place, looking for anything that gave us a chance of finding you. Later, we would take a few days—or weeks—to go follow up on a lead.”
Morgan stared at her. Nausea left her sick, appalled. “That’s horrible,” she said. “This whole thing destroyed both out childhoods.” And she couldn’t even remember half of what had happened….
Her sister shrugged. “You would have done the same for me.” She tried for a grin.
Morgan wasn’t fooled.
“And, the best part is that our aunt will be here, maybe even as soon as this weekend,” Claire said.
Morgan sucked in her breath, both excited and afraid.
Later, toward lunch, they made their meal together, and while they ate, they returned to talking about fixing up the house. Later still, they shared memories. After some time, their conversation finally turned toward what Grams had taught Claire.
As before, Morgan grew agitated. But, after a moment, she sensed she felt excitement more than fear—recalling them playing around with magick as children, as memories played through her mind. She’d loved magick, once.
Before long, she realized her reaction might have more to do with what they’d unwittingly done—than with who they were. She belonged—fit in.
She’d finally come home.
Once, when Morgan went to lay down in her room, she even found herself standing in front of the mirror, with her mouth open, remembering the mean kids at school. She shook her head in mute denial and went to find Claire for clarification, finding her in one of the family rooms with Alex and the twins.
Her sister reminded her of so
me kid’s cruel teasing about the rumors of them being witches. They’d called them the Witches of Ravenwood, and crossed the street to avoid them. They’d even called them devil worshipers. At one point, their neighbors even tried to run their grandmother out of town.
Wide-eyed, Morgan shook her head. “That can’t be right. We don’t live in the Sixteen Century,” she said, unable to grasp what her sister just told her. “Nobody does that stuff anymore.”
“That’s true,” Claire said to her. “They shouldn’t. But the notion of someone being a witch still scares people.” She wrinkled her nose, her eyes twinkling merrily. “They still think we ride brooms.”
Alex nodded. “They still watch the sky each Halloween in fact, for the two of you to show up.”
Morgan couldn’t help herself, she giggled at the imagery. “We must have made quite an impression.”
Claire laughed, then sobered. “But that didn’t stop your father from stealing you away,” she said on a quieter note. “In fact, our aunt said that’s why he did it.”
“You said, my father?” Morgan asked. She shook her head, her heart hammering. “I don’t understand.”
Claire winced. “Because I was—ummm.” She hesitated. “I had a—different father.”
Morgan looked at her sister in shock.
“We’re still sisters, Morgi. Nothing will change that.”
Morgan stared at Claire—then Alex.
More junk to process.
Claire came up and put her arm around her. Morgan smiled at her. She’d lived too long without her, not to realize what was important. “I’m just glad to have my sister back,” she told her.
“Me, too,” Claire agreed, laughing, and the sisters hugged.
“So, what do we do?” Morgan asked. “It’s only about ten more days to Halloween.”
Claire shrugged, then an impish grin crossed her face.
“What? What is it?” Morgan giggled, almost afraid to ask, but caught up in the excitement radiating from her sister.
“We could give them the show they’re expecting.”
Alex chuckled. So did the twins.
Morgan stared at her. “Are you crazy?” She stopped. “You’re serious.” She shook her head. “Something tells me that you were the real troublemaker when we were young.”
Laughing, Claire shook her head. “Nope. I had nothing on you.”
Morgan couldn’t imagine such a thing. Had she been that different? Or perhaps being ripped away from her sister—her friends—her grandmother—had done that for her? She wanted to relax. She wanted to enjoy the fun, but she couldn’t help thinking that the moment she let down her guard—the other shoe would drop.
She glanced up to find Claire watching her.
“Whatever happened to your dad?” her sister asked her.
Morgan frowned. “He died last year.” She turned away. “He drank himself to death.” She straightened and looked back at them. “He went out—mumbling about how sorry he was….” Tears sprang to her eyes. “He caused me so much pain—but I loved him….”
Claire came forward and hugged her. “He was your dad, kiddo. Kids love their dads—even when they’re hurting from the pain they caused them.”
Morgan sniffed and gave a small laugh as they walked to check the next room, arm-in-arm.
Later, when they were done writing up the repairs they would need for the house, they spent the rest of the afternoon planning Claire’s notion of a Halloween party. Morgan became more than a little appalled when Claire also put some light magick into the plan. She feared getting the town riled up. Hadn’t they done enough of that—the last time around?
“Okay,” Claire said when they were done, picking up the list. “Do you think you can get your winged walking friend to help us out?” she asked, teasing.
Morgan shook her head. “Oh, no! No, you don’t.” She shook her head, laughing. “Besides—whoever he is, it’s pretty obvious that he’s not here to help.”
Later that night, the group worked to clean up three of the other bedrooms for each of them. Then, they got to talking about the shadow. They all had the willies by the time they were through. So, before they finally settled down for the night, they made some more of the potions they’d made as kids, then retreated to each of their bedrooms, bottles in hand.
Morgan and Alex went to hers. They made love—took a shower and got into bed, cuddling together to ward off the chill in the room as the sun had gone to bed hours earlier, and the fall nights were already getting frosty, in their sleepy mountain town.
They lay there, sharing memories, holding hands. Finally, they fell quiet, each deep in thought. It was Alex who broke the silence. “Morgan?” He turned on his side to gaze at her.
She turned at the hesitation in his voice, knew by the look in his eyes he wanted to say something. She moved to her side to look at him.
“I meant it when I said earlier—I don’t want to live without you again.” His face was so serious she wanted to cry. They’d lost much when her father took her away.
She sucked in her breath, biting on her lower lip. “I hope so,” she said, softly, “because I feel the same way.”
He smiled and leaned forward to kiss her. Hours later, they fell asleep in each other’s arms.
