Sunlight gradually peeks through my sheer blue curtains, and I climb out of bed. My balance is off, maybe from my sleep deprivation or the aftereffects of the accident. I stumble my way into the bathroom. The bags beneath my eyes are so heavy my face almost droops. Colorful bruises cover my forehead, and the bump hasn’t shrunk any yet.
I drag myself downstairs and start a pot of coffee. Normally I never touch the stuff, but I’ll never make it through today without it.
The phone rings before I take my first sip. “Hello?”
“Hey, Crystal. I’m not going to make it into school today. Do you think you could get my books and homework from my teachers?” Vince recites his locker combination.
“Sure, no problem. How’s your mom doing?” The background noise of people walking around and doctors being paged make it hard to hear him. “Still at the hospital?”
“Only for a few more hours. They’re releasing her today.”
“That’s wonderful!”
“The doctors keep talking about how amazing and swift her recovery has been. She should’ve died, Crystal. The car door cut into her liver. She was leaking poison into her body. They saw it in their imaging, but when they cut her open, it was gone. All of it. And her liver’s starting to heal itself. They don’t know how.”
I desperately want to ask if he knows how but don’t want to press my luck. “I’ll stop by your house after school with your work. Do you want me to bring food or anything? Does your mom need anything?”
“Just my stuff. Thanks, Crystal. I knew I could count on you.”
I hang up.
Mom enters the kitchen with a yawn. “Oh, coffee. Thank you.” She makes a beeline for the pot and pours herself a big mugful. One sip, and she puckers her cheeks.
“That bad?”
“It’s not bad at all, honey.”
I drink mine and nearly spit it out. “That’s awful!”
“Coffee’s an acquired taste.”
“Maybe so, but you’ll have to teach me how to make a proper pot before I’ll drink it again.” Even though it’s wasteful, I pour mine down the sink. Drinking that would be a sin.
Mom touches my shoulders. “How are you?” she asks quietly.
“I’m fine.”
She raises her eyebrows. We both know I’m lying. “Do you want to stay home from school today?”
I shake my head, not bothering to consider it. “Nope.”
“If you’re sure…”
Before she can say more, I run upstairs and change into jeans and the first shirt I yank from my closest. Even though I’ll need a thick layer of makeup to look passable, I only slap on some concealer and run out the door as I shove my makeup bag into my backpack. I don’t have time to apply foundation and powder since I want to catch the bus and not have to use magic to do so. Once or twice—okay more like a dozen times—I wasn’t late for it when I should’ve been. My bus driver is never late and never waits.
Am I really starting to believe I have magic? Having magic is a lot easier to swallow than actually being magic.
At the beginning of my classes that I have with Vince, I ask the teachers for his work. In between my classes, I run around to the teachers he has that I don’t. By the time I collapse into my seat for study hall before lunch, I’m exhausted. I lower my head and close my eyes.
It seems like the bell rings a minute later. I slept the entire period, but I don’t feel rested. Yawning, I wipe my mouth. Ew. Drool.
Head low, I walk to the cafeteria. My friends already sit at our table. Although I love them all, the one I want to see and talk to the most isn’t there.
“You’re here?” a deep voice asks.
“Gavin. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He raises his eyebrows.
For some reason, my temper flares nearly out of control. “Why didn’t you go talk to Father Joseph for me like I asked you to?”
His lips twist into a scowl. “I was on my way there when my mom called. My sister was sick, and I had to run to the store and get her medicine.”
“Oh.” I offer an apologetic smile. “Do you often go for walks?”
“Yeah, it helps to clear my head.” He waves me ahead, and we sit down at the table.
Brianna jumps up and forces Brian to scoot down so she can sit next to me. “Are you ok? I heard about the accident.”
“I’m fine.” I lower my voice. “How are things between Paula and Sean?”
“Not now,” she mouths. Aloud, she asks more questions about the accident, and for the next ten minutes, I find myself going over every detail of the crash. Each time I finish, someone else asks me to start over so they can hear it.
To catch a break, I gather my half-eaten food and walk over to the trash. I have no appetite, had to force myself to eat what I had.
Lydia follows me. “Crystal? I have a confession to make.”
At first, I want to scream—I just want a minute to myself—but she looks so forlorn. “Lydia, relax. Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
She points to a secluded part of the cafeteria, and we head there. “You know my dad’s a doctor, right?”
I nod.
“Well, I asked him questions about thyroid cancer and treatment options and timelines, stuff like that. The thing is… your father should have had a much longer time period to live. In fact, most people don’t die from it.”
“But Dad’s doctors said he only had three more months to live if he continued treatment. That doesn’t make any sense.” My stomach churns, and I’m glad I didn’t eat all of my lunch.
“I know. And I know I should have asked before talking to my dad, but I’m thinking about becoming a doctor myself so I was curious…”
“Curiosity isn’t a bad thing. I don’t care that you talked to him.” A simpler, and much more likely, explanation comes to me. “Could he have been misdiagnosed?”
“That’s definitely a possibility. My dad did mention that.”
A dark idea percolates in my mind. What if someone knew he was going to be the father of magic and wanted to get him out of the way? And then did something to my mother’s car seven months after magic was born?
Why would shamans kill my parents? They haven’t even known about my existence until recently.
If it hadn’t been the shamans…
I shudder. Maybe Sapphire Belladonna is on my side, but that doesn’t mean that other witches are, and that includes Silver Tiger. If fact, either, or both of them, could have been responsible for my parent’s deaths.
“Crystal.” Lydia waves her hand in front of my face. “The bell just rang.”
Blinking, I return to reality. “Lydia, seriously, don’t worry about it. I want to know the truth. I should call the hospital. I doubt they’ll still have his file on record, but I’ll learn who his doctor was and maybe talk to him or her.”
She smiles widely. “Oh, good. I was so worried about telling you. I thought you would hate me.”
“Don’t be silly. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“Bye!” Her wide smile isn’t enough to make me feel better, but at least she’s happy.
It’s not easy maneuvering my way through the horde of students to get back to the table and claim my backpack. As I run to class, I pass Gavin. His head hangs down. A pang of regret shoots through me. I had no business being so rude to him, especially since he had a legit reason for not helping me out.
I wave to him, but he doesn’t see.
The rest of the day flies by, and I lug my heavy backpack onto the bus. “Hi, Mrs. Carson, could you drop me off at Vince’s stop? I have his homework.”
The bus driver purses her lips and nods. “Just this once, Crystal. You know I normally need a note.”
Five stops later, I get off the bus and trudge down the driveway to Vince’s house.
His dad opens the door. “Hello, Crystal. I’m so glad you weren’t badly hurt.”
“Hi, Mr. Fuller. Thanks. Is Vince home?”
“Vince!” his
dad calls as we walk into the living room.
“How is Mrs. Fuller doing?” I ask.
“Just fine,” Mrs. Fuller says as she walks into the room. Although she moves gingerly and bruises mark the side of her face that had slammed into the window, she looks wonderful.
Impulsively, I hug her. “I’m glad you’re home.”
“Me too. Vince told me what a comfort you were to him last night in the waiting room.”
My cheeks grow uncomfortably warm. Does she know we’re… Are we together?
“Come on up, Crystal,” Vince’s familiar deep voice calls from upstairs.
Mrs. Fuller crosses her arms. “Leave your door open.”
“Mo-om.” He thunders down the stairs and waves me over.
I giggle nervously and follow him to his room. He sits on his computer desk chair, so I sit on the edge of his bed. My hands are clumsy as I remove his books and his list of assignments from my backpack.
“Don’t I even get a hug?” he asks.
My face feels like it’s on fire. “Sure.”
We stand and awkwardly embrace. Some of the closeness we had last night seems to have disappeared, much to my dismay.
“Did you miss me?” he asks as he sits back down.
“Yes.” I reclaim my seat on his bed.
His grin affects me like never before. He’s always been able to make me smile, and I’m more than happy to do the same to him, especially now.
“I missed you too. I…” He wrings his hands together.
“You what?”
His gaze on the red carpet, he mumbles something.
“Excuse me?”
“I said I tried to pray last night.”
I raise my eyebrows. “How did it go?”
“Not well. I haven’t talked to him in so long. Normally I just yell at him or ignore him. Talking isn’t my strongest suit, not with him at least.”
“Did it help any?” I suppress any eagerness from my tone.
“Yeah, I think so. I thanked him for saving Mom.” His voice cracks.
I reach over and pat his knee.
He places his hand on top of mine, and we sit like this for a few moments, not saying anything, just enjoying each other’s company.
“Vince? Is your girlfriend staying for dinner?” His mom’s voice floats upstairs.
He looks at me. “Can you?”
My blush returns, almost too warm. “I… I don’t want to burden your mom. She just got back from the hospital today.”
“It’s probably pizza.”
I do love pizza. “Let me call my mom and ask.”
Without my having to ask, he hands me his cell.
After I receive the okay from my mom, he shouts downstairs, “She’s staying.”
“Good,” Mrs. Fuller calls.
His crooked grin makes another appearance, and he leans back so far in his seat I’m surprised it doesn’t fall backward. “You are, right?”
“Are what?”
“My girlfriend?” He’s obviously trying to look nonchalant, but his eyes are begging me for confirmation.
My heart skips a beat to see it. “Yes,” I whisper.
Vince lets out a whoop and picks me up off the bed. He whirls me around and lowers me to the ground. His lips press against mine, both soft and hard. I’m not sure where to put my hands.
Before I can work up the courage to put them on his shoulders, there’s a knock on his open door and the sound of a throat clearing. “Dinnertime,” Mr. Fuller says.
Certain my face and neck, probably my whole body, are red, I jump away from Vince, my boyfriend.
After we eat, Mr. Fuller drives me home. Vince tags along. His dad offered to let him drive, but he shook his head. After what happened the last time he got behind the wheel, I don’t blame him. None of us talk much. Sometimes, silence can be comfortable.
I wave goodbye and enter my house.
Mom’s watching TV. Without hesitation, she grabs the remote from the coffee table and clicks it off. “How are the Fullers?” she asks.
“Doing well.”
“Good.”
I sit on the love seat so I can easily face Mom on the couch. Time for another inquisition. It’s the only way to keep her from prying about Vince. For now, I want to keep him to myself. “We’re learning about something really interesting in history right now.”
“What about?”
“The witch trials.” I pay strict attention to her face. “Did you know that they used to bind a person they thought was a witch and throw him or her into a river? If they sank, they were innocent of witchcraft, but if they managed to get free, they were deemed a witch and were killed.”
“Yes, I did know that.”
“Do you believe in magic?” I ask point blank. She’s already hedged about this topic every other time I’ve brought it up, but I both want and need the truth.
“Well…”
I close my eyes and see a dark man. He throws a fiery blast at Mom, and she chars instantly.
My eyes fly open. I tuck my trembling hands under my thighs. It couldn’t have been scrying. Even I know you have to look into something, like water or liquid or a mirror or crystal ball, to scry, and I hadn’t. It’s probably just from my overactive imagination.
Or a premonition from God like at the cookout?
For the first time, I want God to not exist. Immediately, my conscience threatens to tear me apart.
Trying to backpedal, I rush to add, “I don’t. Everything can be explained. There’s always a reason for everything. Like you raising me as your daughter instead of your niece. You so badly wanted a child, even if I wasn’t biologically yours.”
“Yes.” Her gaze isn’t on me though, and she doesn’t seem to have noticed my sudden fright. I mean, I’m sweating, but I have the chills.
Dear Lord, help me to stop talking.
“Do you believe in magic?” I ask again. My lips and tongue are moving against my will. Guess my desire to talk to someone is bigger than my fear for Mom’s safety. I’m too young for this responsibility. War and magic and all that—I can’t figure it out by myself.
If Mom doesn’t know much, I’ll stop involving her.
“You just made such a fine argument that rationale and reason can explain everything. How could there be magic then?” Her laugh sounds forced.
“So you don’t believe in witches then?”
“Honey, where is this…” Her face blanches. “You lied to me. You read the letter.”
“Why not tell me the truth instead of bits and pieces? Why didn’t you go to the witches to have a child yourself?” The words tumble out of my mouth in a rush.
She hangs her head. “I’ll tell you what I know, all of it, but promise me first that they’ll be no more secrets between us.”
I nod. Fair enough. The rift between us has to stop growing, or we’ll never again be close.
Her face doesn’t lose its pained expression. “I promise too. The witches… I wasn’t willing to pay the price they demanded. I knew Marian had no other choice, that she would be willing to make the necessary sacrifice.”
I shudder. “What sacrifice?”
“I don’t know the exact terms of her deal. I never asked her. It wasn’t my place to.”
“How did you know them in the first place?”
“Magic always fascinated me.” A light shines in her eyes. She’s still drawn to it. “I studied it, but I never could learn how to control magic, not even the simplest of spells.”
“Do you know what I am?” I whisper.
“What you are?” Mom furrows her brow. She’s not faking her surprise.
She answered my question. Time to repay her trust. “I went to see the witches.”
“You what?” she shrieks. “What did they say?”
Me and my big mouth. Maybe I should’ve kept that to myself. I pick at my nails and try to remain calm. “Did my dad really die of cancer?”
“What else would he have died of? Don’t try to ch
ange the subject.”
“What weren’t you willing to sacrifice?” I press.
“That’s none of your concern, Crystal.” Her tone, her body language, that glare—she’s getting pissed.
But I can’t stop myself. “What weren’t you willing to sacrifice?”
“I… Crystal…” Tears fill her eyes.
I get up from the love seat, sit with her on the couch, grab her hand, and give it a squeeze.
She nods and gives me a smidgen of a smile. “In-In order to give life, life must first be taken away. They… they needed my mother’s heart.” Those tears stream down her face. “I said no. Actually, I had a lot more choice words than just no.” She places her other hand on top of ours. Her sigh cuts through me. “My mom ended up dying of a heart attack two days later.”
How horrible! Did the witches cause the heart attack?
I really don’t think highly of the witches, do I?
How could the witches live with themselves, asking for such a thing? While a part of me reasoned that they might have needed the heart to perform the spell to bring forth a pregnancy, another argued that Daniel and Marian had been killed after she had given birth.
What had Marian been asked to sacrifice? Patricia must’ve thought Marian was so desperate she’d do anything the witches demanded.
Mom yanks a tissue from the box on the coffee table and blows her nose. “After I called the ambulance and they said she couldn’t be revived, the first thing I thought of was that I should have told them yes. How could I have thought that? What kind of a daughter was I? I’ve never been able to forgive myself.”
I can almost feel her pain through our held hands. “Why didn’t you tell me about the witches when I confronted you about my birth parents?” I ask.
“How would it have sounded? ‘Yes, dear, I adopted you from my brother and sister-in-law. Oh, and by the way, you were born through magic because your mom made a deal with witches based on my advice.’“
“Well… when you put it that way, I would have thought you were crazy.”
“See?” She smiles wanly. The tears have stopped, their tracks glistening on her cheeks.
“But I still wished you would have told me.”
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