Witchy, Witchy (Spellbound Trilogy #1) Page 4

  “Is that all you see? Nothing else?”

  “Well, on that wall,” I pushed up my glasses and pointed my finger, “There is a drawing of something…it looks like a full moon in the middle with a crescent moon facing out on either side.” I noticed her eyes light up when I said this last part.

  “And that is all?”

  I nodded. What else was there? What was the point of this?

  She grinned, led me over to the couch, and motioned for me to sit. “That was very good. I needed to see where you were…and make sure you were ready.”

  “Ready for what?” I didn't know who was more anxious; her emotions had become indistinguishable from mine.

  Ana took a deep breath. “Ready to find out who you are and why you are here.”

  Chapter 5. Revelations

  Ana's apprehension radiated in powerful waves. Every second she remained silent, my anxiety increased. After what seemed like an eternity she spoke, her voice low and measured.

  “Calista. I've imagined having this conversation with you for so many years…I've practiced what I'd say countless times in my mind. And now that the moment is finally here, I confess, I'm a bit afraid. I wish I knew how you'll react to what I need to tell you, but alas, I do not. A matter that has me somewhat distressed, I must say…” Her voice broke off, and she stared absently, as if she had been speaking out loud to herself.

  If I was anxious before, now I was downright alarmed. Find out who I was? And what did she mean she had thought of having this conversation with me for years? We only met yesterday! I was right to have been worried – this woman was clearly delusional, and maybe had even more serious mental problems.

  I slowly inched my body away from her, silent and uncomfortable. Maybe I should just leave. Tell Dad she's a crazy old woman, and we can't stay here.

  As I was about to stand up, Ana turned and looked directly into my eyes.

  “You are bright and talented – and you are very strong. I presume you already knew there was something important I needed to tell you?”

  I nodded, my eyes wide.

  “Are you an Empathion?” she asked.

  My eyes bulged. “A what? W-what do you mean?” I stammered.

  “I mean, are you empathic? Do you feel what others are feeling? Take on their emotions as if they're your own?”

  I stared at her, but didn’t say anything. Was this some sort of trick or trap? How could she possibly…?

  “Gabby was one, and so am I, to a much lesser extent. It’s only natural that you would be one, too. And if you are, I imagine you must be very confused right now.”

  I felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped all over my body. “G-Gabby?” I gasped. She couldn’t possibly mean…

  “Gabriella. My daughter….Your mother.” She stared at me with an intensity that made the hairs on my neck rise.

  A million thoughts flooded through my mind, and none of them made any sense. “Are you telling me…that you think I am your granddaughter?”

  She placed a slender hand on mine. Once again, I felt a strong sense of love coming from her. Stronger than I’d ever felt from anyone other than my dad. “I know you are my granddaughter, Calista,” she said with a gentle voice.

  “I think…there may, umm…be a mistake,” I stammered, pulling my hand away. “My mother died right after I was born, and Dad told me he and my mom were both orphaned as teenagers. I don’t have any grandparents. I’m so sorry; you're mistaken,” I added, saddened by the crushed look that darkened her sparkly eyes.

  She quickly recovered. “Yes, many mistakes have been made, but there is no mistaking the fact that you, Calista, are the daughter of Gabriella Vivienne Havish. You are, in fact, my granddaughter.” Her eyes welled up as she placed her hand on mine again.

  I could feel that she was telling the truth…at least she thought she was. “How is that possible?” I whispered, my eyes narrowed.

  She reached over to the coffee table and opened what I had thought was a book; it was, in fact, a photo album.

  “These are some pictures from when your mother was younger. I thought you might want to see them.”

  My heart beat faster. I'd only seen one small picture of my mother before. I found it when I was ten, packed away with a box of other things in a storage cabinet, and the image had seared into my brain. The picture was black and white, and showed my mother standing next to my father. They were laughing, young, happy, and in love. When my father found me staring at it hours later, he’d taken it away, saying it was for my own good. I never understood why he'd done that. It'd broken my heart.

  I slowly flipped through the pages, and hundreds of pictures of a young girl stared up at me. They started from when she was a baby and progressed through her teenage years. She had long auburn hair, and the same sparkly, bright-blue eyes as Ana.

  My mother. It was her. I hadn’t realized I was crying until Ana handed me a tissue.

  “Can I borrow this album for a little while?” I asked. I wanted to study it closer. Later, when I was alone.

  “You may,” she replied. “But I suggest you don’t tell your father. I fear it will only upset him.”

  I didn’t like keeping things from Dad, but she was probably right. I'd come to believe it was too hard for him to talk about my mother— he was trying to protect me from suffering the same sense of loss and abandonment he felt. That brought me to another concern.

  “D-does he know about you…that you are my…grandmother?” I still couldn't believe the words coming from my mouth.

  “No, and I think for now it would be best to keep this information between us,” she said slowly. “I don’t like deception, but sometimes it is necessary…as in this case.”

  “But why? Is it because your hiring him was just a ruse?”

  She sighed. “That’s part of it. Also, I don't know what Gabriella may have told him about our relationship. I can’t take the chance of him not understanding, or risk him leaving here and taking you with him.”

  “Why would he want to leave? And why wouldn’t he know about you if you were my mother’s mother?” I pressed.

  Ana paused, and there was deep sadness in her eyes when she finally spoke. “Some very unfortunate events took place a long time ago, long before you were born. Even before your parents met and fell in love. Your mother and I had a falling out and parted ways. I never saw Gabriella again after she left here. She was only eighteen years old,” she added, her voice heavy with regret.

  “Why did she leave? What happened?” I couldn’t wrap my head around Ana's confession. Each thing she told me caused a crop of new questions to spring to mind. Why didn't she find us sooner? Why did she let us be so poor for so long? What made her bring us here now?

  She sighed deeply, clearly distressed by my question. “That, I’m afraid, is a long story. And it is one I will tell you. Before I do, however, there are other things you must know.”

  She got up and walked over to the round table, reaching toward the group of unlit candles in the middle. As she lightly tapped the top of one of them, a little spark came off her fingertip, igniting a small flame.

  She turned to me with a smile. “Have you ever done this?”

  I stared at her, shocked. It hadn’t occurred to me that if she and I were related, which we obviously were, then maybe she possessed some of the same weird abilities I did.

  I nodded dumbly.

  “Well, you haven’t yet run from the room screaming – I suppose that's a good sign.” She gave me a wobbly smile and sat back down beside me on the couch.

  “How can we do it?” I asked her.

  “First, why don’t you tell me what unusual abilities you’ve already discovered about yourself? You’re safe here. You can tell me anything.”

  I studied her face carefully. The truth was I did feel safe with her, and something told me I could trust her. Before I could stop myself, I began telling her all the secrets I'd kept carefully guarded my whole life.

  “It st
arted when I was really little...too young to remember exactly when. I'd see glimpses of things before they actually happened...like my mind was on fast forward or something. I'd see my dad walking through the door moments before he did, or know a car would pass by, and then it would.”

  Ana nodded encouragingly. I took a deep breath and continued.

  “But as I got older, the visions got bigger...I could see further out...days, even weeks.” I bit my lip and looked at my hands clenched tightly in my lap. I'd never told this to anyone before.

  She waited for me to continue. When I didn’t, she said, “We refer to the visions as percepia. It runs in our family to varying degrees.”

  “Well, I don’t have them anymore anyways. They disappeared. Actually, right when you sent your letter inviting us to come here...that very same day. I couldn't see you or this place or anything.”

  She frowned slightly. “That must have been frightening for you, having come to depend on your powers. Unfortunately, that happens from time to time. The powers…they sometimes shift or evolve into different manifestations of themselves.”

  I shrugged. “To be honest, I can take it or leave it. It sucks knowing bad things are going to happen and not be able to do anything about it.”

  “What about when you see good things?”

  I shook my head. “I’ve never had that happen.” I thought of the times I saw Dad being laid off at work, or not getting hired because he was older than the other men competing for the job. I saw us being evicted from the tiny one-bedroom in Tennessee, and saw the horrible, decrepit shack we'd move to in the Louisiana swampland. I saw all of it before it happened, and there was nothing I could do to change it. I had to sit in silence and wait for it to happen.

  Ana looked sympathetic. “You are also an Empathion. That can be tough – for anyone. Have you developed any methods to control it? To block out the unwanted feelings of others?”

  “No, but if there is a way to make it stop please tell me. I hate it.”

  “Maybe there is something we can do about that…it’ll take me a few days,” she mused.

  “Anything is better than nothing. It’s torture being around people who are stressed, upset, nervous, scared...you have no idea how awful it is sitting in a classroom during finals week or before a big dance. I feel like my head’s going to explode!”

  She chuckled softly. “Yes, Gabby complained of the same thing. I promise we’ll come up with something. Is there anything else?”

  I glanced around the room and spotted the stack of books on the floor. I swished my hands, causing them to fly neatly onto the bookshelf. “Well...there's that.”

  Ana laughed and patted my arm. “Levitan. Fun, and very handy.” She flipped her fingers in a circle, and the books neatly re-arranged themselves.

  “I get it from you,” I whispered, both amazed and greatly relieved. “That’s why I can do the things I can do. Because you can.”

  “Yes, but it goes back much further than just me,” Ana replied.

  “What is it? How can we do it?”

  She cleared her throat. Her nervousness had returned. “This is hard for me to just announce to you in this way…people like us are usually raised knowing from a very young age exactly who we are, and why we are different from the others. As for the small amount of powers that you’ve already discovered on your own…I suppose you have some explanation in your mind as to what causes them?” She looked at me curiously.

  “Um, yeah, I did a little research on the computer, and read a few books... it’s a form of extra-sensory perception, I guess. It’s not unheard of, but a lot of people don’t believe in it…they say people who think they have it are crazy or just faking it for attention.”

  “That may be true in some instances, but it’s clearly not the case with us, now is it?” Ana was smiling again.

  I laughed for the first time since I’d been in the room. “Well, I’m not so sure about the crazy part yet.”

  “Tell me, how have you managed to keep your secret for so long? Especially from your father? Most magical children are raised under the strictest of controlled conditions. They’re taught early that they are special. How did you know not to reveal yourself? Or have you ever been caught?”

  I shook my head. “There’ve been a few close calls, but nothing drastic. I don't know how I knew to keep it hidden, I just knew. Instincts, I guess. Like knowing jumping off a tall building or running onto the freeway is bad.” Did she really just call me a ‘magical child’?

  Ana nodded again. "Good. Very good. Now if you'll excuse me for just one moment, I'll be right back."

  Then she stood and exited the tiny room, leaving me alone with my bewilderment.

  Chapter 6. Gifts

  I turned my attention back to the photo album. As I slowly flipped through the pages, I was struck by how drastically my mother's appearance had changed toward the end. She’d transformed from an innocent, happy and carefree girl, to a scowling, angry-looking young woman. Her once soft, kind eyes had become hard and cold; instead of smiling at the camera, she glared at it with hostile resentment.

  I wondered what happened to cause her to change, and if Ana was the photographer. Were these later pictures taken after they had had their 'falling out'? I didn’t have long to ponder this, as Ana suddenly returned holding a large silver tray with a gold teapot and two white teacups.

  Tea? She ran out in the middle of the most bizarre conversation of my life and left me hanging here for tea? Seriously?

  “Forgive me, my dear, for my brief absence,” Ana said as she set the tray down. “I knew Henri had just brought this to my room, and I thought I would fetch it before it got cold. Would you care for some?” She hovered the kettle over one of the cups, pressing on the lid with her withered fingers to keep it in place.

  “Sure, thanks” I replied, even though I wasn’t really thirsty.

  She poured two servings and leaned back on the couch, sipping slowly from her cup. I had started to think she’d forgotten our conversation when she cleared her throat.

  “After you finish that, let's step outside and get some sunshine. We can talk as we walk through the gardens.”

  I quickly downed my tea and stood up. “Ready when you are.”

  I needed answers, and I needed them now.

  *****

  The gardens were vivid, more colorful than when I’d first approached Ana's house earlier this morning. I told myself it was because the sun was shining brighter now, but it seemed more than just sunlight that was causing the grass to sparkle like emeralds, and the plants and flowers to burst with vibrant reds, pinks, blues and yellows. It was as if some sort of filter had been removed from my eyes... everything seemed brighter.

  “So, where were we?” Ana mused as we walked along a cobblestone path.

  “You said something about me being magical,” I mumbled, “although I'm sure that's not really what you meant.”

  “Why yes, dear, that's exactly what I meant.”

  I laughed and stopped to smell some lilacs. Their fragrant scent was overwhelming, and I took a small step back. “Magic isn’t real.”

  She smiled at me with the corner of her mouth and leaned over to pluck a small, purple lily. “Isn’t it? How else can you explain what we can do? Who you are?”

  “Okay, I’ll bite. Who am I?” We’d reached a small pond filled with koi, and I watched as they swam in lazy golden circles.

  Ana stood beside me. “You are a witch. You are a very powerful, natural-born witch whose magical bloodline can be traced back for over seventeen centuries.”

  I drew in my breath sharply but said nothing as I turned to stare at her.

  “…I know this is a shock for you my dear,” she continued, “and I know some of what I must tell you will be difficult for you to hear. But my blood runs through your veins, and I know that you are strong. Stronger than anyone—including you—knows. But you must know this: what you are…who you are…is good. You need to know that in your hear
t, absolutely and positively.” She reached for my hand.

  I walked over to a marble bench near the pool and sat down. I didn’t trust my legs at that moment. Ana sat beside me as I stared at the gardens.

  “So…being able to see visions, well, until they stopped anyways, and feeling people’s emotions and moving things…that makes me a witch?” That made no sense. Witches—at least ones with magical powers—weren’t real! I questioned her sanity again.

  Ana continued. “That’s a part of it…a very small part. You’ve been blessed with an extraordinary gift—a magical blessing from the ancient gods who created our kind. You were borne from the deepest and oldest love in existence, and you are a very, very special young woman.”

  I thought about this for a moment. Part of me knew I should be freaking out at this information, but oddly, her words comforted me. A light breeze ruffled my dress, and I patted it down, my hands trembling.

  “You’re a witch, too?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I took a deep breath. “And my mother…she was one?”

  “Yes. The magical bloodline is passed down through the mother.”

  I stood up and walked over to the pond. I stared at the water a few moments before turning to her again. “What exactly do you mean by ‘witch’? I thought they were old and ugly and flew on broomsticks.” I envisioned myself with a long flowing robe and pointed hat. Forget the warts though…the occasional acne was bad enough.

  Her eyes crinkled in guarded amusement. “Really? That’s your impression? And here I thought we’d come so far in recent years, image-wise. I suppose old stereotypes are tough to break. Personally, I prefer a nice carpet over a broomstick any day for long flights.” She winked at me.

  “And I thought…” I stopped.

  Ana’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You thought what?”

  I sighed. It had to be said. “I thought that witches were…well, bad. Evil.” I shifted my eyes away.