The Power of Witches
Shay Bencosme
Copyright © 2020 Shay Bencosme
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: Kenzie Galbraith
Printed in the United States of America
dedicated to my husband
for keeping me motivated throughout this whole process
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
Acknowledgement
About The Author
CHAPTER 1
The Gardenside County Home for Troubled Youth was located roughly twelve miles from the rest of Seamont, South Carolina, past all the tourist trap plantations and located smack dab in the middle of its piece of history. My social worker Clara spent the thirty-six-minute ride from the office telling me all about the history of Gardenside, and how being in a county-run home is really not all that bad.
"And the 'troubled youth' thing..." Clara went on. "Coming here doesn't mean you're troubled."
"It just means no one else wanted me," I interjected, not even looking away from the passenger window, watching the blooming Spanish moss trees zoom past as we got deeper and deeper out of civilization.
But I knew what my foster record said. I'd stolen a copy from Clara a few weeks ago, right before my last foster family, the Lindsays, kicked me to the curb. Their baby hated me. He couldn't even be left alone with me, always screaming and crying. The family couldn't take it, and neither could I. The final straw was when the kid just wouldn't be quiet, and the baby swing he'd been sitting in just started rocking back and forth. So violently, in fact, that when the mother came into the room, and the rocking stopped—the baby was flung almost halfway across the room. I didn't touch the swing. Didn't touch the baby. But somehow the incident had been my fault.
"Oh, Noa... you know that's not true. You're one of my good kids," Clara continued to drone on. "You remember Isaiah? He lit one of his foster siblings on fire the other day, Noa. He'll end up in Gardenside eventually, too. Or juvie."
Clara was forty-something years old. Hearing the word juvie come out of her mouth was her attempt at being "hip" with the kids. I didn't answer her.
Finally, Clara turned off the main road and onto a dirt one, and soon we stopped at a large iron gate. The only opening to land that was sectioned off by an ancient-looking iron fence, complete with vines and moss hanging off the metal. Great, I thought. Less of a home. More of a prison.
There was a callbox at the side of the gate that Clara had to get out of the car for. She talked animatedly into the anonymous speaker as if they could somehow see her flailing arms. By the time Clara returned to the car, the gate was opening and I was driven down the rest of the dirt path until we came to what was considered civilization out here.
According to Clara's history lesson, Gardenside used to be a plantation. During the Civil War, it was used as barracks for the Confederate army. The original hous was knocked down a couple decades after, then rebuilt during World War I as a place for single mothers. Now, troubled youth.
The largest building on the plantation was the main house; it was like the perfect Southern home. White boarded walls with blue shingles on the roof, a large porch. There were three stories with lots of windows with matching blue shutters. It was honestly breathtaking. I couldn't wait to get my camera unpacked.
Clara pulled up to the front entrance and put the car in park. She looked over at me with a large toothy grin. "You ready girlie?"
Ready for you to leave.
We stepped out of the car together, with me going immediately to grab my large suitcase and school backpack. When you moved so often, you got used to traveling light. Clara held the door open as I struggled to get my suitcase up the three steps of the porch, the wheels catching on each stair and forcing me to turn back and un-catch them. Finally, we were inside.
"Miss Noa Rembrandt!" was the first thing I heard. I became so startled I didn't even have time to look around. I was greeted by a plump lady with short black curls. Probably a few inches shorter than my already short frame, but—and I always made efforts to notice little details like these—a really warm smile. The woman engulfed me into a hug, her curls tickling my chin. I awkwardly returned the hug, counting down the seconds until it was over.
"Noa, meet Mrs. Elsa Montgomery. The house mother here."
I was finally released by Elsa, who squeezed my hand tightly just before she did. "Welcome to Gardenside, Noa."
Clara didn't waste any time saying her goodbyes before rushing out of the home with a "call me if you need me!" When we were alone, I braced myself for Elsa's entire demeanor to change. That was usually how it worked. Be nice as hell in front of the social workers. Beat the kids later.
The change didn't happen. When I turned to look back at Elsa, it was still there—the warm smile she first noticed about her. "Are you ready to look around?"
"Yes."
The building was decent inside. A lot of love went into this place, where government money wasn't. It was bright and cheery inside, with a lot of plants. The room where I had met Elsa was a small and simple foyer, but Elsa then led me into a living room, with couches and chairs and a large TV where three young kids paid no mind to the newest family member, fighting over the remote. To the right, I could see a moderate-sized laundry room with three washers and two dryers. Ahead of us was a hallway, and this is where Elsa lead me next.
"Down this hall is the staircase to most of the bedrooms, and over here is the kitchen. It's fairly small but enough to feed all the rascals here." Sure enough, there was a full kitchen with enough tables and chairs to feed thirty people. "You have to be fifteen to use the kitchen on your own, and of course you're old enough, but if you see any kiddos trying to light up the stove, please stop them."
We left the kitchen and proceeded to the staircase. “We cook supper daily, and for the most part the older kids are left to fend for themselves for things like breakfast and lunch on the weekends. You’ll be enrolled in the free lunch program at school.” We began walking up the stairs, passing the second floor without any thought. "You'll be on the third floor, uh..." Elsa looked down at her clipboard. "Lily Caine's roommate."
We stood outside my new room a few minutes later. "This is for you,” Elsa said, holding out her hand to show a single room key. I looked at it in surprise. Privacy? The privilege of a locked door? “Do you need anything else, honey?"
"Uh,” I stuttered, still entranced with the idea of key. I reached out slowly, waiting for Elsa to snatch it away with a cruel laugh. “No thank you, Mrs. Montgomery."
"Please, call me Mama. E
veryone does."
"Thank you." I’m not going to do that.
The knob turned easily. I opened the door and quickly realized my newest roommate wasn't there. Thankfully.
The room wasn't big. It had its own bathroom and two closets. Two beds. Two desks. One of each item was already taken by someone else. The remaining stuff was mine. Nicely folded sheets sat on the empty bed, along with an itchy blanket and flat pillow. I dropped my luggage on the ground and unzipped it, pulling my foster record from its hiding spot within a sweater. I stared at the bold letters with my name, a name given to me by a family who had given me up, and the stories from all the families afterward who had also given me up. With pressure sitting on my chest, I shoved the record underneath my mattress, hiding it from myself and the rest of the world.
I sat on the bed and looked around at my roommate's stuff. Cute polaroids were hung up on the wall of her and her friends. She had comfy looking blankets on the bed and a computer on her desk. This place looked like her home. Maybe it could be my home too.
With only uncertainty looming ahead of me, my stomach began to churn, and I felt as if the walls were closing in on me. I clenched my fists tightly, feeling the slight pain as my rugged nails cut through the skin. I released them.
Then I began to cry. After this, I'd have nowhere to go. If Elsa didn't want me either, where would I go?
I laid on my barren bed, covering my now red face, willing the tears to stop but they wouldn't. Outside, the windows shook with every sob that wracked my body.
CHAPTER 2
I couldn't bring myself to go downstairs and eat, so I stayed put. By the time Lily returned to the room, it was almost eight and I hadn't moved in almost four hours.
"Oh, I didn't know I was getting a roommate."
Lily was pretty. Fair skin, green eyes, wavy blonde hair, although I could tell that it was bleached. I briefly wondered who gave the girl the money to do it, but then figured it wasn't my business anyway.
"You're one of the quiet ones, aren't you?"
In my defense, I didn't intend to be completely off-putting to my new roommate, and possible friend.I was just having a certified Bad Brain Day. It was what a foster mom a few families ago called my depressive moods. The ones that made storms come out of nowhere and windows shatter.
"Okay. Just ignore me, I guess."
Lily turned on her heel and seconds later, I could hear the shower turn on and the bathroom door closed. It was a few minutes before I forced myself to get up, taking the scratchy linen and using it to make my bed. I hoped Elsa would let me get a job. I had one at the last family, but it's not like they cared much about what I did anyway. They were the type to foster for the paycheck, not the good karma.
If I got a job, I could continue to save up to move once I was eighteen. That was my plan, especially now that I was at Gardenside and there was nowhere left for me to go after this. I only needed enough money to move somewhere else, where I wouldn't have to rely on crappy guardians.
When Lily came out of the shower, I was back in bed, covered by an Army blanket over my head. She didn't try to talk to me again, and for that I was glad. Tomorrow I would be friendly, but today was for me.
◆◆◆
The next morning was a Saturday, and I didn't feel any better, but at least it had stopped raining. Lily was apparently wary of any more conversation with her new roommate, and quickly dressed and left for the day. I assumed she had much better things to do than sit at home all day, and any other day I would agree. But social workers and case discussions and new homes always drained a lot out of me, and at least here I wouldn't need to keep up appearances by pretending to enjoy the company of my new siblings or parents.
The only problem I could sense today was the incessant rock music that started at eight in the morning and refused to stop for hours.
By eleven, I couldn't handle it anymore and I jumped out of bed to get dressed. My style of clothing was thrifted, or hand me downs. Families weren't required to purchase new clothes for fosters, as long as they had "acceptable" clothing, and as soon as I had been able to make money for myself, I completely rejected any family's willingness to spend money on me. I shopped mostly at Goodwill or Salvation Army, picking up jeans or t-shirts. I also had a few jackets, but Southern winters were always mild so it never mattered much. I carefully arranged my few clothing items on the shelves in my closet, which was decently sized, but I didn't have nearly enough stuff to fill the emptiness.
Once my things were unpacked, I dressed in a t-shirt and shorts that had used to be pants until I cut them to instead hang in the center of my thighs. I picked up my most prized possession gingerly, a Canon 50D camera. It was the most expensive thing I owned, and I purchased it with my own money a few years ago. One of the things I took and kept with me through all the change, all the families.
When I stepped out of the room, I realized the annoying music came from the room across from mine. I rolled my eyes. Fosters truly never cared about how their actions made anyone feel. A quality I was glad I never inherited in this world.
I ran down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to grab food. There was a large fruit bowl on the island. I went to pick up an apple, but the moment my fingers touched the red skin, I jumped back, sucking through my teeth at the sudden jolt of pain in my fingers. Did I just get shocked by an apple?
I grabbed the fruit again and turned, gasping audibly when I realized that Lily was standing directly behind me. Too close for comfort. I took a step back.
“Hi,” the blonde girl said simply.
“Hey.”
Lily held up a mug. “Tea?”
I nodded slowly, not trying to make any enemies on her first day. “Yeah, sure.”
Lily began opening cupboards, getting the ingredients to make me a cup. I noticed that Lily didn’t use normal teabags, but instead grabbed loose leaves from a container next to the stove. The water had already been boiled and it was a few moments later that I had my own cup of tea in my hands.
“Thank you,” I murmured, sipping the hot liquid and letting it seep down my throat, warming my belly. It helped slightly with my empty stomach, still denying the need for food.
“I’m Lily,” the girl introduced.
I swallowed the liquid I had in my mouth. “Noa.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“Yeah, I think it’s nice.”
“Any particular meaning?” Lily brought her own cup to her lips, and I followed suit.
“No, just my first family thought it was cute, and went with my last name.”
Lily nodded. After a few minutes, I had finished my cup, leaving tea leaves at the bottom. I placed it in the sink. “Um, I’m gonna go hang out outside.”
“Have fun.” Lily had walked over to the sink, looking down at my cup with interest. I noted the weird action but didn’t think too much of it. Instead, I headed outside.
I was excited to get pictures of the building I now resided in. I went outside, the thick humidity putting pressure on my chest almost immediately. I wanted to take a deep breath but couldn’t, instead having to breathe shallowly as the heat burned my cheeks.
I walked a couple hundred feet down the road, turning slightly to check to see if I could get the whole building in the frame. I adjusted my settings on the camera and crouched down to get the perfect angle. With a slight bend of my finger, the shutter closed, reopened, and a photo appeared on the digital screen. I glanced at it, chewing on my lip, then went back in to adjust my settings and try again. It took a few tries to get the light right, but when I did, I whistled.
“No fair!” came a cry from behind me. As I turned, I was pushed off balance and crumbled to the ground, grateful for the camera strap I had around my neck that prevented it from falling to the ground. I looked in the direction of my attacker, but it was just a young child—no, two children—playing a game.
“Harry, look what you did!” The girl cried, pushing Harry down next to me, where he pursed his l
ips together and crossed his arms.
“Not my fault she was in my way,” he grumbled.
I stood up and brushed the dirt from my knees, then I held out a hand for Harry to take, and he accepted my offer. I turned to the voice of the girl.
The two were similar in age and appearance, which led me to believe they were probably related. They both had curly orange hair, big brown eyes, and freckles dotted their pale cheeks. I crouched down to their height. "I'm Noa," I offered.
"I'm Harry," the boy said. "And this is Josie. We're twins!"
"Yeah, and we're seven," Josie added.
"Well, Harry and Josie, twin sevens." I lifted my camera and shook it a little. "Wanna take pictures with me?"
Both kids nodded excitedly. I took the twins' hands and led them to the gardens behind the house. Harry took off running, jumping excitedly. Josie used her free hand to tug on my shirt. "Wanna know a secret?"
"What's your secret?"
"When I have a birthday, I'm gonna be a witch."
"No way. That's so cool.”
"I’m serious! My mama and papa said I get it when I'm eight. Harry, too."
I pressed my lips together as Josie took off to follow her brother. I crouched down to get photos of them playing, but the familiarity of Josie’s story ached to be at the forefront of my mind.
CHAPTER 3
I woke up to a gentle push on my back. I lifted my head and turned, looking up at Lily standing above my bed. Great. I picked up my phone to check the time. Almost eight in the morning. "It's Sunday," I grumbled.
"Yeah, mandatory Sunday breakfast. Mama didn't tell you?"
I groaned and sat up in bed. Lily went to her corner of the room, jumping on her bed and picking up an iPhone and beginning to scroll.
I put on a pair of raggedy sweatpants, slipping my feet into my cozy moccasins at the edge of the bed. I stepped into the bathroom, grabbing a scrunchie and tying my hair out of my face. As I was preparing to brush my teeth, I heard Lily speak up from outside the bathroom.
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