Angels and Magic

by E. J. Bennett

  We come upon another set of black iron gates. These gates are just plain black but as large as the last pair.

  We park in a circular gravel driveway that goes on forever. My eyes grow large at the sight before me. A huge house towers above us. Pure white bricks that look recently painted gleam in the evening sun, giving off golden tints. Crystal clear glass windows sparkle like diamonds. Bright red stone steps lead up to a wide open porch, a mixture of amazing bright and cheery roses dance in the soft wind.

  A sturdy swing sits alone overlooking the grounds. An old worn mahogany door gives me the chills as a fierce brass lion-head door knocker with ruby red eyes stares at me from the center. Almost as if the lion is alive and ready to pounce.

  Taking in a deep sharp breath to steady my racing heart and calm the swarm of butterflies that have gathered in the pit of my stomach, I step out of the car. The cool night air bursts forward. My legs feel like jelly and begin to tremble threatening to give way.

  Owen ushers me forward, walking briskly. The smell of fresh flowers is beautiful and sweet. Their scent wraps around me.

  Stepping into the foyer, my mouth drops; black and white tiles glisten on the floor, sparkling and shining. A grand circular staircase takes center stage with a royal blue carpet that runs down the center leaving the edges white. The staircase splits into two at the top. To the left of the staircase is a statue of a woman. The stone of the statue looks ancient and scratched, out of place considering the modernization of the foyer.

  The woman's hands are in front of her chest holding a clock in the shape of a star. The sound of the clock ticking is the only sound to be heard.

  We walk left and enter the first room. The room is filled with three over-sized couches with green colored cushions, the color of vibrant grass on a warm summer's day. A large green rug fills the space in between the couches, the shaggy pile soft and inviting, with a solid wood coffee table at its center. The walls are a pristine white, making the room look bigger and brighter, but giving off a clinical look, not a shadow can be seen. In the center of the far wall sits a large open fire place. Glowing embers leap and twirl in a fiery dance casting a soft, warm glow, creating a cozy and warm atmosphere.

  "Please sit, I will let Mrs. Grace know you are here." Owen motions to the sofas as he leaves the room. My Grandmother must be someone of importance with the size and look of her home. Everything looks neat and tidy, not a thing out of place.

  Everything shines and sparkles, reflecting the soft artificial light. What I have seen of the house so far looks more like a showroom than a home.

  I sit on a couch closest to the fire. The hypnotizing flames help to calm my raging nerves. The hissing and crackling fire soothes and relaxes me.

  Within minutes the sound of heels walking along a marble floor echo. My heart beat picks up the thumping matching the sound of galloping as the sound inches closer.

  "I am glad you made it, Kayla," my Grandmother addresses me as she takes a seat beside me.

  It wasn't like I had a choice.

  Clara's soft voice echoes in my mind.

  "If you have nothing nice to say, you are better off not talking at all."

  I keep my lips sealed. My instinct tells me not to trust this woman. If I have learned anything in life, it would be to trust my instinct.

  She is nothing but a stranger.

  "I loved your mother, my daughter very much. I was heartbroken to hear the devastating news; if only she would have let me help her." She sighs and compassion tinges her voice. The first glimpse of emotion I have seen from this stone faced woman. She quickly conceals the tiny bit of feelings that she portrayed and her face becomes as cold as steel once again.

  "Why would she need your help and not let you?" The words are out of my mouth before I even know what I am thinking. So many questions swarm my mind, all fighting to come out and be answered. I don't know where to start.

  "We will have time for questions later. Right now all you need to know are the basics. What I am going to tell you may be hard to believe. But it is the truth, you must accept and quickly. Your life is in danger; I fear they already know who you are." She pauses, her eyes stare into mine. I look away. Her piercing gaze makes my nerves hit an all new level.

  Who has found me? She is not making any sense.

  "Tomorrow morning after breakfast we shall discuss everything, for now Mary-Anne will show you to your room. Get a good-night's sleep, my dear, as tomorrow is going to be a busy day. You have a lot to catch up on."

  An elderly lady with emerald green eyes leads me out.

  ***

  Wall length windows line the far wall with baby pink curtains, perfectly tied back. The stars twinkle brightly in the night sky. Against the wall, a large four poster bed stands proudly. Pink drapes hang loosely giving the sense of privacy, accompanied by shocking pink blankets and a variety of decorative pillows in all kinds of shades of pink.

  A clear white bedside table lies to the side of the bed with a rosy colored lamp. To the left of the room a big pale pink rug covers the floor, leaving little of the plush beige carpet free. Two black couches overlook the stunning views with fluffy cushions and a dark pink throw. Pink is not really my color, but the room is magnificent.

  I lay under the soft comforter feeling like a pauper in a princess's bed. I feel out of place and unhinged in my new surroundings. I have never been one for change. Holidays are difficult for me, in new surroundings and unfamiliar faces.

  My eyes sting and burn as they coax me into closing them looking for the sweet relief sleep will bring. I know better. Sleep only brings terror. My blinks become longer. My eyes become heavy.

  Chapter 7- Kayla

  Will she like me? What if she doesn't like me?

  Crash, the sound of metal screeching violates my ears, jolting me out of my thoughts. My body jerks forward, the sudden movement causing pain to run through my muscles which scream in protest. Before I can recover the force of something hitting the car again makes my body jolt to the side. Searing pain runs up my spine and into my neck. I cry out.

  Breaking glass echoes loudly as my body is propelled to the side colliding with Owen. Gripping my shoulders, he holds me in place as the car is hit a number of times, and each time my heart beat doubles as panic takes my breath. My entire body shakes in fear and anticipation, waiting for the next hit.

  The limousine speeds up darting down the highway at an alarming rate, weaving in and out of cars and other traffic. I grip the seat tightly, squeezing my eyes shut. Owen places his hand over mine and gently squeezes. The act of comfort goes unnoticed as fear fills every fiber of my being, followed by dread.

  The limousine darts to the left, squeezing into the smallest gap ever, left by two large trucks. I scream a blood curdling scream that pierces my own eardrums.

  The driver must be crazy or suicidal. Sitting in the backseat limits my view causing my fear to pick up.

  My breathing becomes short and fast as I gasp for breath.

  The few bits of sandwich I had recently eaten threaten to make reappearance.

  My heart beats quickly, the sound raging in my ears. My breaths short and shallow I am on the verge of hyperventilating.

  How the car has managed to fit into that gap is anyone's guess. The car continues speeding down the highway my body constantly being thrown in every direction.

  Swiftly, we leave the highway and come upon a dirt road, never losing speed. The road narrows with a sharp bend trees whiz by at a fast pace, creating a blur of dark greens and browns.

  After ten minutes we come upon large black iron gates with interlacing patterns of what look like symbols. The gates open slowly as we approach, the car creeps forward. I feel like ants or insects are crawling over my body I begin to scratch and rub as a shiver runs down my spine.

  I shudder. I hate spiders or any creepy crawly for that matter. The feeling vanishes as fast as it has come. I look at Owen, who is sitting perfectly still, showing no signs of being affected.


  I must be in shock

  What the hell happened back there? I think to myself, afraid of the answers, but another part of me, the curious part wanted to know.

  "Wh ... what happened, did someone crash into us?" I stutter my voice shaky mirroring my nerves, my heart still racing at the speed of light.

  "Someone lost control of their car, a simple accident is all," Owen answers without looking at me. "We are here, welcome home, Miss Grace." Owen indicates to the window.

  ***

  Breakfast is tense, the dream replaying in my head over and over again. Not to mention my Grandmother's eyes are following my every move.

  My stomach is in knots, my nerves on overdrive. This woman makes me feel uncomfortable. Pushing my plate away, I peek up at her. Sure enough her eyes lock onto mine, like she is looking into my soul, searching. With a shuddering sigh I look elsewhere.

  "Follow me," she instructs getting up and walking towards the door. Blindly I follow her into the sitting room and a feeling of dread washes over me.

  She takes a seat on the couch and pats the seat beside her indicating for me to sit. I perch on the edge of the couch twisting my hands nervously.

  "Sit back, relax, we have important things to discuss and you look like you are ready to bolt."

  Doing as she asks, pushing myself back I find it impossible to relax. The house and the woman claiming to be my Grandmother feel too out of my comfort zone. I prefer simple things; everything around me feels extravagant and screams money.

  "I am not going to beat around the bush or baby you. We have not got time for that. What I am going to tell you is important. I need you to listen carefully and let me finish. You may not believe what I have to say, but it is the truth, you must accept it quickly."

  I nod, unsure of what to say or what she is talking about.

  "We are witches. We come from a long line of witches. In a few months time you will be turning eighteen which is when witches gain their full power. That is why it is crucial that I take you in at this point." She looks at me with ice-blue eyes, pausing for a moment.

  "Why your mother sheltered you from our world I do not know. There are powerful forces out there. The forces of darkness, I have been told that you have already encountered them, is that correct?"

  This woman is a fruitcake on the border line of insanity. She is crazy. A witch, really, forces of darkness?

  "I have no idea what you are talking about. Are you on any medication that you forgot to take?" I couldn't help but ask. The whole conversation seems far-fetched to me, a fairy tale gone wrong.

  Her eyes spark with anger before settling back to neutral. "Were you or were you not attacked in the mall?" She spoke slowly each word clear like I am the one with the problems.

  "Two men tried to rob me. It happens all the time," I say shrugging my shoulders. It wasn't a big deal. The red eyes flash before me, causing me to shudder.

  "That is not what happened. This is not the first time that the creatures of the dark have tried to attack you. The guardians have done well, protecting you these two years. But unfortunately the incident was too much of a close call."

  Staring at her blankly I have no idea what she is talking about. She really believes whatever she is saying and her eyes shine with determination.

  "What do you mean guardians?" The word guardian swims around my brain.

  "I sent three guardians to watch over you when I found where you were located. The Michaels have been doing a great job. When they reported you were attacked I made the decision that it was time to bring you into our world, to bring you home where you belong." The name Michael echoes in my head.

  Misty's last name is Michael. Clara had told me Misty's brother brought me home. Misty has always been secretive about her family changing the subject whenever I asked questions.

  The crazy lady watches my face intently while thoughts swirl around my head.

  Red eyes flash in my mind again.

  It can't be real. My dreams can't be real. I must be the one who has gone crazy. She is not taking about Misty, my best friend. Strange past conversations with Misty float through my mind, pieces start to fit together like a jigsaw.

  Misty has asked me on numerous occasions if I believe in magic. Each time I would laugh and say no. She has told me countless times that she believes that magic is real and that there is more to the world than what the eye can see.

  "I think maybe you need to see someone. Get help." The words come out in a whisper. I cannot believe this woman, even though my heart is telling me it is the truth.

  "I don't need help. It is the truth. Now, I have someone that wants to talk to you, maybe she can help you believe."

  My dreams flash through my mind, dreams and reality both mixing as one, merging together into a blurry picture.

  I refuse to believe her. There are no such things as demons and magic. Demons only exist in movies and dreams, not in real life. Maybe she has watched one too many horror movies and now cannot tell fiction from reality.

  Misty walks into the room, her face full of excitement as she bounces with each step.

  My breathing stills.

  How could she? She lied to me.

  My blood begins to boil as anger heats up my skin. I become on the verge of a meltdown, my mind on overdrive ready to explode.

  Misty was never my friend, just hired by my crazy Grandmother.

  Misty has the grace to hang her head low and her excitement vanishes within an instant.

  She peeks at me through her long lashes, her baby blue eyes dull with sorrow. I glare back, furious for believing her. Mad not only with her but myself for being so gullible.

  Before Misty came into my life, making friends was hard for me. I never felt as if I belonged. The other students thought I was strange, keeping to myself and going out of my way to avoid them. Misty changed all that. Slowly she coaxed me out of my protective bubble. Still, she has betrayed me.

  "Kayla, I am sorry, I wanted to tell you but I had orders, I couldn't break them." She steps closer, desperation in her eyes as she places her hand on top of mine. Whipping my hand back with surprising force I jump to my feet, taking a step away from her.

  "I thought you were my friend but all this time you have been lying to me! Hired by that insane woman to watch me and report to her!"

  "I am your friend, Kay, I ...."

  Holding my hand up I do not want to hear her excuses. "Don't, Misty, if that is even your real name or just your stage name." I cut her down with my words, my anger taking control.

  "I am sorry, please forgive me," she pleads for forgiveness but my heart is as cold as iron.

  I let her in. I told her how much I wanted to know my real family. How I wished I could get my memories back. I told her things I had never told anyone else. I trusted her. All this time she was working for my Grandmother.

  Glaring at her, I walk past her, my head held high. Nothing she can say will make her betrayal any less hurtful. Once out of the room I head to the staircase that leads to my room. This place is a joke. Whatever twisted game they are playing I want no part in it. I should have fought harder to stay with Clara and David. Clara works for a judge I am sure she could have pulled some strings. Instead I played the good little girl and went obediently all the while my heart screamed to fight and stay.

  "Where are you going, Kayla? We have lots more to discuss." My Grandmother's voice calls out, grating on my nerves.

  Spinning on my heels, hate filling every pore of my body I step towards her. My Grandmother's face falls, and she takes a step back, panic evident on her schooled face.

  "I think we are done here permanently. I am going home, to my parents, the two people who have raised me. You are a crazy old woman. You need help and I hope you get the help that you need. But I am done here." Before she can say anything in response I bolt up the stairs and into my room, throwing a few items into a rucksack.

  This has been a disaster. My best friend is not my best friend, just my crazy
Grandmother's puppet. How did I fall for her fake smile and bubbly personality that made me feel alive?

  Homesickness sinks in. I miss Clara and David and their easy going personalities. Clara and her words of wisdom, she is the kindest person I know willing to give everyone a chance even those that have wronged her she never lets anything bring her down. Always be kind was her motto.

  How can I be kind after what I have just learned?

  When I reach the front door, I'm relieved that no one is there to stop me. I run down the driveway through the iron gates, following the dirt road.

  I have no plan in mind. One way or another I will make it back to California even if that means I have to hitch hike with a dirty truck driver. It will be a small price to pay.

  Chapter 8- Kayla

  Reaching to open the gate my hand smacks against something solid. Looking at where my hand had been there is nothing there. Reaching again, my hand hits an invisible wall. Placing my hand flat the wall is smooth, not a bump or groove.

  Feeling stupid I pull my hand back trying once more, shock and disbelief courses through me.

  This is not real. I am stuck in some strange nightmare, I tell myself, once again reaching for the handle on the gate just to hit the wall again.

  Throwing my rucksack on the floor in frustration I pound the invisible wall. Nothing happens. Alarm crashes upon me like a ton of bricks. I pound harder, my knuckles sting with pain. Ignoring the pain, I punch and kick the wall harder, a part of me hoping that it is just my imagination playing tricks on me.

  "You can beat the barrier as much as you want. It will hold," a familiar masculine voice says, sending shivers down my spine.

  Spinning around to face the man, my fist still clenched I am sure I look like a mad woman, anger and despair filling every pore of my body.

  Chris, the man from my dream leans against a tree trunk, arms crossed, with a slight smirk on his lips. His blue eyes dance with amusement which only fuels my anger more.