by Nicole Marsh
My parents exchange a look before my mom speaks again, “Honestly we thought the two of you would’ve gotten together years ago. We had almost given up hope.”
This is probably one of the strangest conversations I’ve ever had with my parents. What parents would be happy that their seventeen, well now eighteen, year old daughter spent the night with a boy? Most kids would have to sneak out to do that. And with Vlad? He’s terrible. He’s terrorized me for years. I feel like I’ve landed in an alternate reality where my parents are trying to get me to hook up with Vlad and Vlad is being… nice.
I decide not to respond and just nod my head at my parents before I turn to bolt up the stairs. Once I’m safely in my room, I lock the door behind me and dial Sylvia. She answers on the first ring, “You don’t think Vlad is suddenly cool do you?” I shout, maybe a tad bit aggressively into my phone.
“Woah. First of all, calm down. Second of all, no. Why the hell would you even have to ask that?”
I let out a relieved sigh at her response. At least everyone in my life hasn’t lost their mind. I recap the party last night, ending up at Vlad’s house, breakfast, this morning with my parents, everything. I end the recap with, “I swear my parents are obsessed with Vlad and blinded to the fact that he’s a deranged bully!”
When I’m finally done talking, Sylvia releases a quiet, “hmmm.” It comforts me beyond belief that despite all the strangeness from the past few days, Sylvia is still the same person that she’s always been. “Let’s go to the movies, its birthday tradition after all,” she finally says.
Huh. I was expecting something different from Sylvia’s hmm, usually she offers something more insightful that I hadn’t thought of, but maybe she has more to say when we meet up. While on the phone, we scroll through movie listings, settling on a new comedy that shows in two hours. “I’ll come pick you up in an hour,” I tell her.
At an hour on the dot I park at the curb outside of Sylvia’s house. She’s waiting for me on her front porch and the first thing to catch my attention is her new hair. It’s a bit shorter, but more importantly, it’s hot pink. Immediately after she opens the door I yell, “You didn’t tell me you changed your hair!”
We squeal over it together for a few minutes, admiring how vibrant it is. I tell her how she can rock any hair color or style and she tries to convince me to let her dye my natural blonde locks, or at least cut some of it off. After I battle her hands away from my head, we’re off to the theater.
We buy our tickets the head straight for the concession stand for the biggest drink and the giant refillable popcorn tub. We chat up Ernie, the old man who’s worked at the concession stand forever, while wait. He throws in a package of free licorice, and tells me happy birthday with a denture filled smile before we head off. Ernie is the best.
Entering the theater, we get first pick of the seats because we’re almost fifty minutes early. I hate missing the previews, it’s one of the best parts about coming to the movies. Sylvia and I both lean back into our perfect seats and spent the next half an hour in our own version of heaven. Getting to watch movie previews in our own personal theater, or what feels like one, and passing back and forth a tub of greasy, salty perfection.
Raucous laughter starts trickling in from the hallway and I groan. Hopefully those people aren’t in our theater. I hate when people come to the movies and make noise the entire time, it ruins the experience for everyone else. Movie theaters are the equivalent of sanctuaries or libraries. Silence is requested and appreciated, people.
My annoyance quickly morphs to distress when the group moves into our theater and their faces become visible. Of course it’s a group of cheerleaders with their boyfriends. Kaylee and Greg lead the crew, two of the cruelest people I know. Some of the others following were part of the group that threw food at me the other day when I was eating at The Diner with Vlad.
Sylvia and I exchange a glance and she mouths “Should we go?” As the group begins to file into the row behind us.
Before I have a chance to respond, a small crinkle sounds behind us then slimy objects are cascading onto both of our heads and into our popcorn. I scream out in surprise, and a piece of something that tastes disgusting sour falls into my mouth. I jump up and spit it out then wiggle my body to rid myself of anything remaining.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Sylvia doing the same. When I look at the seats and the ground surrounding us, I see it’s littered with moldy, slimy food and other garbage. All of the kids in the row behind us are smirking and laughing while Kaylee holds up a black garbage bag and says, “Oops.”
I stare at the floor as my eyes water, but after a few seconds and a couple deep breaths, I have my emotions under control. I’m not going to cry today. It’s my eighteenth birthday and I’m not going to let them take this day and make it about them
Turning on my heel, I stalk out of the theater. Marching up to the concessions stand, I wait for Ernie’s attention. He’s preoccupied so I eventually cup my hands around my mouth to help project my voice across the counter. “Hey Ernie, can I have two garbage bags to cover the seats in my car?”
He turns around from working on the popcorn machine, preparing a new batch of kernels to start popping. His eyes widen in shock, his eyebrows raising his crinkled forehead as he takes in my messy clothing, then his eyes move to Sylvia standing behind me. “What happened to you two?”
I sigh. “A bunch of kids are throwing garbage in theater three.”
Ernie clucks and shakes his head. “I hate when those kids do that. Stay here for a minute. I’ll grab you some bags and a bin of popcorn to go.”
9
The Curse
Mirabella
When I arrive home from the disastrous birthday outing with Sylvia, I rush to my room to take a shower before my parents see me. I don’t know what kind of excuse I could make for being covered in food remnants. “I fell in a dumpster” doesn’t seem that believable to my own ears. Thankfully, I’m able to make it to my room without running into anyone, so I don’t have to test out the excuse.
I’m wrapped in a fluffy robe and towel drying my hair when I hear a knock at my door. Taking a second to wrap up my still dripping hair, I yell, “Come in!”
The door opens tentatively and Jacob pushes his head into my room a smidge. “Miss Love, your mother would like to see you in her room for a birthday surprise.”
I clap my hands together and run to throw open my closet doors. A birthday surprise! What did she get me? “Thanks Jacob,” I throw out as I hear my door clicking closed, signifying his exit.
Quickly sifting through my closet, I find a pair of soft, worn boyfriend jeans and a shirt that’s not too paint splattered. I run my brush through my hair a few times so that it’s not hopelessly tangled later, then rush out of my room and down the hall.
My mom is waiting for me outside her room. When she spots me, she smiles gesturing me to come follow her in. “I have something to show you Mira.”
I’m giddy, guessing elaborate surprises my mom may have planned as she leads us to the bookshelf in her room. Standing in front of the shelf, she runs her hand across the bindings before choosing one leather covered book to pull out. I’m wondering if my birthday gift is a book, but as soon as it leaves the shelf, the bookcase springs forward from the wall on one side.
I jump at least a foot in the air from surprise. “We have a secret room behind your bookcase?! How did I not know about this?” I ask excitedly after recovering from my initial shock.
My mom laughs at my excitement. “Obviously it wouldn’t be a secret room if everyone knew about it.” She points out sagely before stepping through the open space in the wall onto the stone floor behind it. She stops briefly, looking over her shoulder to address me. “There’s more to see, but watch your step, the floor isn’t even and I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Our house is pretty large, we have six bedrooms upstairs, plus my studio and a small den. Downstairs we have sitting room, a li
ving room, a small library, my dad’s office, the kitchen, the dining room, and the staff rooms. My mom loves watching home improvement shows, so our home has recently undergone décor changes to look less formal and more like a farmhouse.
Over the years, she’s gone through a few trendy styles, but she’s taken a liking to this one the most. My dad finally had to put a stop to her madness after she tried to replace the doors leading to his office with a sliding barn door.
I’m an only child, but my parents employ a small staff to include a maid, a chef, and a butler that all reside in the bedrooms built off the kitchen. My mom doesn’t work, but she stays busy with social engagements and raising me. She always says it makes the house easier to run with the small staff, and my father indulges her. Honestly, our house and staff is pretty modest for our side of town.
Even with all of the space and the amenities in my parent’s home, I never would have guessed that a secret tunnel existed behind the bookshelf in my parents’ bedroom. Or that it would look like a medieval style dungeon, I think as I take my first step past the wall onto the stone floor.
I watch as my Mom grabs a lighted torch from a sconce in the wall. Where did that come from? And isn’t it a fire hazard to keep lighted torches in our house’s secret hallway? I don’t get a chance to ask any questions as my mom starts to stride away, and quickly begins to disappear from view. I scurry after her, chasing the circle of light bouncing off the stone walls.
We wind around twice at a decline, before reaching a set of steep stairs. I can’t see what’s waiting at the bottom. The entire tunnel has been mostly dark, with a few torches scattered amongst the walls, but the bottom has no visible light drifting upwards. I follow my mom down the stairs cautiously, standing sideways and placing one hand a bit behind me to steady myself against the cool stone.
My mother reaches the bottom a few minutes before me, but thankfully she waits, allowing the torch to continue lighting my way down the slightly uneven stairs. A cold breeze flows past my body at the same time as my feet leaving the last step. I shiver and wrap my arms around myself, trying to keep in my warmth.
With my arms crossed, I glance around the small circular area we’ve landed in. Behind my mom stands a large wooden door and I watch as she takes an old looking metal key from her pocket, inserting into the door. She turns it, creating the echo of a loud click, before swinging the door open.
Mom stands to the side so I can enter the room before her and I let out a gasp as I step up to the doorway. With a few more steps forward, I twirl around, trying to take everything in at once. The room is a perfect circle like the antechamber, with a domed ceiling towering above us. Shelves line the walls haphazardly, some are stacked with books and others hold jars of slime, or colorful looking plants that I’ve never seen before. One is holding what looks like a circle of blueish-gray light and another holds green smoke. In between the shelves are more sconces holding lit torches.
The floor is covered in an old-looking burgundy rug, threadbare in some places as if it’s sat in this room for as long as I’ve been alive. In the center of the room sits a large table with a large, pewter… cauldron. Is that a cauldron? A wooden end sticks out of it and on the table lays another leather bound book, left open revealing yellowed pages with scrawled script.
Looking past the possible cauldron, I spot another table closer to the far wall that has a stack of nick knacks. Items of various shapes and sizes that my hands itch to investigate. In a different part of the wall, a cutout holds a huge fireplace, with a large stack of wood placed beside it. Two navy colored arm chairs sit in front of the fireplace arranged in a cozy way with a small end table between.
I want to take photos of this place to paint it later, but I didn’t bring my phone with me so I settle for snapping mental pictures, hoping to remember every detail. I have to fight the urge to wander around and inspect every item in the room to learn more about this place that’s been hidden underneath my home for what looks like years.
Forcing my eyes to stop flitting around the room, I turn and face my mother. She’s wearing a huge grin like my reaction is exactly what she’d hoped for. She speaks before I can work past my awe to form my first question, “Let’s go sit by the fireplace and talk, I’m sure you have many questions.”
Once we’re settled into the armchairs, my brain finally decides the best question to start with. “What is this place?”
My mom smiles at me again before she answers, “This is our Witching Chamber. We come from a long line of witches. This room was first built over one-hundred years ago by my great-grandparents. As time has progressed, we’ve become better about hiding our secret, and the house we live in was actually built on top of this chamber as part of the design.”
Witches? “So is that a cauldron?” I blurt out, craning my neck to look behind me at the table.
“Yes, it is. We are potions witches, so all of our magic has to be produced in the cauldron. Some potions have to be consumed, but other can be applied to the ground or directly to another person. Some can even be bottled and released into the air.”
I’m mystified. My family is a witch family? How did I not know? My parents are so incredibly normal, besides the fact that they love Vlad. There was no way for me to know that one, or both of them, were down here practicing magic. But still, I can’t believe that my parents have kept this secret from me my whole life.
I have so many questions. If it weren’t for this chamber and all of the weird items surrounding the room, I would think my mom was playing a trick on me. But she’s been deadly serious and all of this lends credibility to her words.
Words force themselves past my lips as I think, “Is Dad a witch? Am I a witch? Is everyone in Florence a witch?”
My mom laughs after I barrage her with questions. “Your dad is a witch, from a witching family also. He doesn’t practice much though.” She pauses looking contemplative, “You have strong witching blood running through your veins, but until you join the coven, you won’t actually be considered a witch. It’s one of many things that you’ll learn about being a witch, as you read through our history, you have to be a part of an active coven to practice magic.”
Mom gets up and walks to the far wall, brushing her fingers against more books before selecting one. I half expect another wall to open up once the book is removed and I’m only a tiny bit disappointed when I realize nothing in the room has changed as I peek around.
My mother walks back to the chair and sits down again before continuing, “About half of the town is comprised of Witches. In order to live on our side of the Main Road, witching blood has to be present in your veins, although not all witches decide to join the coven anymore.”
“Why did you wait so long to tell me?” I ask, a bit disappointed she didn’t want to share this part of her life, and our family, with me sooner.
“It’s tradition to wait until eighteen years old to reveal our family’s secret. It helps to keep it safe.” She admits as she puts the book from the shelf onto the arm of my chair and taps it gently. “This is the history of our coven, you can hang onto it for a while to read it. Just don’t take it from the house, we don’t want it to get lost out in the real world.”
I snag the book of the arm, eager to learn everything I can about my legacy. I flip through a few of the pages and stop when I reach something that looks like a witch casting a spell. “Can we cast spells?” I ask, holding up the page for my mom to see, she only brought up potions, but maybe that’s just the start of what she’s capable of. What I’ll be capable of, someday.
She looks over the page and a sad look comes over her face. “Many years ago we were capable of more magic than we are today. Unfortunately our ancestors within the coven and this town were placed under a curse. Now all that we are capable of is potions magic.”
My eyes widen, a curse? My family is cursed. I flip through more pages, wondering if details of the cures are in the book. Mom guesses what I’m now frantically looking for and s
he puts her hand on top of mine to keep me from flipping through more pages. “The book doesn’t have any information on the curse, the coven hoped to break it before it affected the next generation so it was never added to our history. I can tell you more about it later, but how about we head upstairs and eat lunch. This is already a lot to take in for one day, and we have plenty of time for you to learn more.”
“Okay, I guess.” I reply as I reluctantly cradle the large book to my chest and stand from the armchair. Before we leave the room, I take a few more mental snapshots for future painting material, then follow my mother out of the room and back through the hallway.
As we wait for lunch to be served, my mom and I are sitting at the table. She’s reading Better Home and Gardens and I’m starting to read the first page of my family’s witching history book. My thoughts keep drifting to the conversation we had downstairs. Something is poking at my consciousness, as if she said an important tidbit and I need to analyze it a bit more, but I can’t figure out what I’m missing.
I flip through a few pages of the book and suddenly it’s as if a lightbulb goes off in my head. “Hey mom,” I ask, waiting for her to put her magazine down and give me her full attention. “You said that only families with witching blood can live on our side of the Main Road, right?”
“Yes sweetie, it’s part of the covenants of the town. The law technically doesn’t specify that you have to be a witch, the world at large would lose it if something like that were ever to come to light. Instead it specifies if you’re a descendant of the original families of the coven or in some way related to those families. I don’t remember the exact verbiage, but it works on keeping our side witches only.” She says with a shrug.
My mind is racing, churning out thoughts almost faster than I can process. “Does Vlad and his family know that we’re witches? Why did they move to the other side of town?”
