“How?”
Furtively, he peered into the depths of the trees. “He’s not who we thought he was.” There was a strange conviction to his tone. The sort of conviction that unleashed a shiver down my spine.
My stomach knotted. “Then who is he?”
Somewhere in the woodland I heard a crow caw.
Sam licked his lips. “If I tell you something, do you promise not to tell Todd?”
My mouth went dry. “I thought you told him everything.”
Sam laughed bitterly. “Not anymore.” He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out in a puff of air. “Remember yesterday, when we did the, um…” he hesitated, mulling over his word choice, “spell-type thing?”
I tensed and nodded my head.
Absentmindedly, Sam kicked at a tree root. “Um, well, I think it might have worked. Or something.”
I stared at him, unsure how to react.
After a long, tumbleweed silence, Sam carried on, “And here’s the thing. When I started, um, what’s the phrase?”
“Hearing people’s thoughts?” I offered.
“Yeah. Right. That thing. Well, when I was doing that, I happened to overhear a pretty colossal secret that Todd’s been keeping from us.”
“I see.” I struggled to keep my voice even. “And what was it that you… um, heard?”
Sam rubbed the back of his neck. “Todd already knew.”
“Knew about what?”
“All of it.” Sam swallowed hard. “He knew about the witch stuff. He knew about Ness, too. He knew that our family has… abilities. Wilber told him everything.”
My face dropped. How was I meant to respond to that? Talk about information overload. I was surprised I didn’t short circuit right there and then.
“What makes you so sure?” I asked meekly.
“Because I heard it,” he insisted. “I even heard him try to make himself stop thinking. I heard you do that too, by the way,” he added shrewdly. “And I heard Todd remembering that Wilber had specifically told him not to tell me. Me! And you too. But, I mean, me? Why not me?”
“Why not me?” I countered.
“Todd knew about this and he didn’t tell us. But more importantly, he didn’t tell me. How messed up is that?”
I flipped my palms skyward.
“And what does this mean?” he went on. “If it’s in the family, in the genes, what does that make us? Some sort of thing? Like a freaky witch thing? Because I sure as hell don’t wanna be a thing.”
I racked my brain for something useful to say, but no sound passed my lips.
Sam let out a frustrated sigh. “Damn, Wilber. Even from the grave he’s screwing me over.”
“Hey,” I protested. “It’s not Wilber’s fault.”
“He should have told us,” Sam muttered. “What are we going to do, Sophie? What are we going to do if we’re things?” He stared at me, waiting for me to fix this.
Share some wise words, I told myself. Calm, rational thinking. Perhaps say something profound.
“So, what games have you got on X-Box?” was the best that I could come up with.
#
Sam and I wandered through the woodland for a long while, not knowing where we were heading but not especially caring, either. We walked in silence, immersed in our own private thoughts. After all, we had a lot to think about.
Sam had said that Todd knew about our abilities. What abilities? Was I a witch like Ness? I didn’t feel like one.
And was it true? Could Todd and Wilber have really kept this from us? I didn’t like the thought of it. It felt sordid.
It was kind of a relief when Sam finally broke the silence. “Look who it is!” he cheered.
I followed his gaze. It was the tree-carved bird that we’d spotted on our first day in Phoenix Holt.
“Nice beak,” Sam commented.
“Let’s get a closer look.” I grabbed hold of his jacket sleeve and towed him through the undergrowth.
We weaved between the sycamores towards the sculpture. Up close, the bird was even more impressive than I’d imagined. Every detail was immaculate. Its smooth, hollow eyes glinted with reflecting sunlight and its feathers had been sharpened into fine points.
I traced my fingers along the bark, feeling a strange affinity with the carving. I felt as though it had been meant for my eyes only. It was mine.
“Yep,” said Sam, “that thing is possessed for sure.” He feigned a shudder.
“Well, I love it,” I replied. “I think it’s beautiful.”
“So, it’s true what they say,” Sam teased. “Love is blind.”
I scanned the area. “I wonder if there are more…”
Something amidst the foliage caught my eye. But the object of my interest wasn’t another carving. There was a glimmer of red submerged beneath a scattering of fallen leaves.
“What is that?” I muttered to myself. As I approached, I wondered if I’d found roses, or perhaps poppies, but when I brushed the leaves aside, I noticed that the red flower was unlike any I’d ever seen before. The bold, scarlet petals were long and slim, and they floated on the breeze like angel’s wings.
“Sam!” I called.
“What? Have you found the bodies?”
I glanced back at him. “I think this is the plant that Ness was talking about. Phoenix Tail.”
Sam yawned. “Oh, wow. Tell me more.”
I ignored his sarcasm. “This is the flower that only grows here in the holt,” I recounted Ness’s words. “Remember? The plant that sprouted from the phoenix’s ashes.”
“Fascinating story.” Sam mimicked a snore. “And even better the second time around.”
I skipped back to him.
“Hey, at least now we’ll be able to find our way home,” I said, recalling our first trek to the cottage. “There’s the path that takes us straight to it.” I pointed to a trail of trodden-down foliage.
Sam smiled wryly at me.
I frowned. “What?”
“You called it ‘home’.”
“Did I?”
He nodded.
“Oh.” I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about my slip of the tongue. If Phoenix Holt was home, then what was Port Dalton? If I wasn’t calling Port Dalton home, then what was I calling it? A memory? Or did it quite simply no longer exist for me anymore? And if that was the case, where did that leave Wilber? If I chose to detach myself from Port Dalton, how could I possibly hold onto him? No. I couldn’t allow myself to forget the past. Phoenix Holt could never be home.
“Port Dalton is home,” I said decidedly.
Sam laughed. “No, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. We grew up there.”
“And now we live here,” he reminded me.
“But Wilber doesn’t.”
Sam sighed. “No, he doesn’t. But we do.”
My expression must have fallen, because he hastily amended his comment.
“Just until I’m eighteen,” he said.
We began walking towards the footpath.
“And then what?” I asked.
“And then we can make anywhere our home. We can go back to Port Dalton, if you want. We’ll get jobs as fishermen, and we’ll live in a huge mansion overlooking the sea. We can drink Champagne on our balcony while we drive golf balls into the tide.” He draped his arm over my shoulders as he painted his picture of bliss.
I pulled a face. “Why do we have to be fishermen?”
“Because fishermen get boats.”
“Can’t we just get a boat anyway?”
“No.”
“Why not? We’ve got a mansion; can’t we afford a boat, too?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’re not wasting money on a boat when we can get one for free.”
I decided not to point out that being a fisherman didn’t automatically entitle a person to a free boat. Instead, I shrugged his arm from my shoulder and said, “Okay. I’ll be a fisherman.”
“
Good. Until then, we’ll live in the land that takeaways forgot. But we’ll escape soon, I promise. And do I ever make promises that I don’t keep?”
I grinned. “Yes. All the time.”
He gave me a good-natured shove. “No I don’t! I’m not talking about fake promises like I promise not to break your stuff, or I promise not to spray you with the hose, or I promise I didn’t steal your diary—”
“I knew it was you!” I exclaimed. “Where did you hide it?”
“I mean real promises,” Sam went on, “like I promise to keep us together. Those I keep.”
In spite of my exasperation, I felt a lump form in my throat. Sam’s words served as a bleak reminder of just how close we’d come to being separated, and how much we’d been through to avoid that fate.
A part of me longed to return to Port Dalton and live out the rest of my days as a golf-loving, mansion-owning fisherman, and forget all about our alleged abilities. However, something nagged at my subconscious.
Ness. She was our family now. Wasn’t she?
And what about Jaxon? I wondered. If I leave, I’ll never see him again. I’ll never know him.
“Hey, Sophie,” Sam’s voice broke through my reverie. “I think there’s something we need to do. We need answers.”
I bit my lip. “Answers?” I echoed.
“Answers…” he went on cryptically. “And there’s only one sure way to get them.”
I had a sinking feeling that I knew where this was going.
Sam flexed his hands. “You know,” he began as he inhaled deeply, “I’m in the mood for some herbal tea.”
That was what I was afraid of.
#
Sam and I sat cross-legged on the floor of the apothecary room, the book laid open in front of us.
“How about this one?” Sam read from the yellowed page, “The Scorned Lover’s Revenge.”
I frowned. “Neither of us has been scorned.”
“Speak for yourself! I’m a scorned lover.”
I raised my eyebrows dubiously. “Since when?”
“Um, hello? Suzie Lincoln.”
Suzie was a girl from Port Dalton who, for years, had followed Sam around like a lovesick puppy—until she met David Ashton. In a matter of minutes, Sam had become yesterday’s news, which in turn had catapulted his sudden interest in her.
“You didn’t even like Suzie Lincoln,” I exclaimed.
“I did!” he yelled. “She broke my heart. Ergo, I’m a scorned lover.”
“She didn’t break your heart,” I scoffed. “You only liked her when you couldn’t have her.”
“You don’t know that,” he argued. “Maybe I was just shy. An introvert, or whatever they’re called.”
“You’re not introverted, Sam. Narcissistic, perhaps, but not introverted.”
“Ha! Joke’s on you—I don’t even know what narcisseptic means. Anyway, she did break my heart.”
“Wounded your ego, more like.”
“It’s the same thing.”
I turned the page. “Forget it. We’re not getting revenge on Suzie.” I inspected the faded ink scripture in front of me. “Look at this,” I said. “See No Evil. To temporarily blind your opponent, simply crush the petals of an orchid and say the words ‘see no evil’.”
“You’re not blinding me,” Sam groused. He flipped to the next page.
“Okay,” he said, “this one could be good. Secrets Be Known. To uncover the truth you seek, ingest one small drop of the brew you reap, envision the person whom you wish to reveal, and let the mind show you what is known to be real. Additional advice: do not exceed the recommended dose, and keep off tiled floors.”
“Tiled floors? You made that part up,” I accused.
“No, I didn’t. See?” Sam underlined the passage with his finger.
Keep off tiled floors?
“Weird,” I said. “So, if we drink the brew and concentrate on a person, we’ll find out what we want to know about them?” I was ashamed to admit it, but the concept struck a chord with me.
“Looks that way.”
“Whose secrets do you want to know?” I asked, attempting to sound blasé.
“Todd’s, I suppose. What about you? If I go Todd, you could go Wilber? That way we’ll definitely get to the bottom of this.”
“Mmm-hmm,” I said. I avoided eye contact, fearful that he might be able to tell that I was more interested in Jaxon’s secret than Wilber’s. “How do you think it’ll work?”
“Not sure. Probably the same as the Hear You Me spell. We drink the brew, say a little rhyme, then…”
“Then what?” I pressed.
“I don’t know. You hear stuff, I guess.”
I sat forward, eager for more. “But what was it like? Did you hear voices, or was it just a feeling?”
Sam pondered over it for a moment. “It was voices. But muffled voices. It was as though you and Todd were calling to me from underwater. I could only pick up on a few words clearly; the rest were just mumbles.”
“Were you scared?” I asked.
“Not really.” He shrugged. “What is there to be scared of?”
“Well, it is kind of frightening when you think about it.”
“So don’t think about it,” Sam resolved with a nonchalant shrug. “Don’t think, just do.” He patted me on the arm. “That’s some grade-A brotherly advice for you, right there.”
“Don’t think, just do?” I repeated. “That’s not very good advice.”
“I didn’t say it was good advice. I said it was brotherly advice. Now, I’m going to call out the ingredients and you can go get them.”
“Thanks,” I said, dryly. “Give me the worst job, why don’t you.”
“I’m sorry, princess,” he shot back. “How cruel of me to suggest you actually get up off your ass and help me. Milk thistle extract. Go.”
Grumbling indignantly, I rose to my feet and lumbered about the room in search of milk thistle extract. I found it, the jar filed efficiently on the shelf under ‘M’.
“Got it,” I called to Sam.
“Powdered orris root,” he reeled off the next item.
I trotted to the ‘O’ section.
“Check,” I reported back. I lifted the jar from its space and popped off its lid. Nursing it to my chest, I scooped out a handful of orris root.
We continued with our system until all of the ingredients were gathered in the base of the cauldron. Sam ignited the oil lamp and propped the book open on its stand.
As I watched the mixture slowly turn to mulch, Sam collected two glass pipettes from off the shelves before returning to the cauldron.
“Ready?” he asked, handing over one of the pipettes.
I examined it with a mistrustful expression.
“Just one drop,” Sam reminded me. “Then all we have to do is say the verse and think about…” he cleared his throat, “them.”
I nodded my head.
Sam went first, dunking his pipette into the brew and drawing the liquid into the glass tube. This time, the mixture was a cloudy orange hue that smelled like lemon peel and sandalwood.
I followed his lead, dipping my pipette into the cauldron. Billows of black smoke rose from the concoction and disappeared into the chimney pipe.
“Stand next to me,” Sam directed.
Feeling like the novice that I was, I did as he asked. My palms began to feel clammy.
Sam raised his pipette and clunked it against mine. “Cheers,” he said before squeezing a drop of the liquid onto his tongue.
My heart began to race. Don’t think, just do, I told myself. And with that inner pep talk, I poised the pipette above my mouth and squeezed out one drop.
It wasn’t bad. I didn’t really taste it, actually, although it did leave a faint herbal aftertaste that didn’t particularly bother me.
Sam gestured to the book, and we began to read.
“May the secrets which are hidden deep, be shown to me while I doth sleep.”
I clos
ed my eyes. My fingers began to tingle and my body felt weightless, as though I were no longer inside of it.
I need to focus, I thought, woozily. Jaxon. I played back our time together, watching it like a home movie on rewind.
It wasn’t long before I became swamped by images spinning through my mind. It was as though I was in a dream that I couldn’t quite wake up from. Somewhere in my consciousness, I heard my glass pipette smash onto the floor, though I hadn’t noticed it slip from my grasp or seen it fall. In fact, I couldn’t actually see anything in the apothecary room. Not Sam. Not the book. Nothing. All I saw was Jaxon, preserved in the scene my mind had settled upon. He was standing in the meadow graveyard, exactly where I had bumped into him the previous day. But as the meadow grew more vivid, Jaxon started to fade.
I blinked, and when I looked again, Jaxon had disappeared completely. Instead, it was me who stood in the graveyard. And I wasn’t alone. There were dozens of other people, all dressed in black. I saw Sam and Todd there, too, standing with their heads bowed.
At once, I realised that I was watching a memory—the memory of Wilber’s funeral back in Port Dalton. I saw Sam take my hand as we stood at the graveside.
And then the funeral began to replay backwards. In a flash of vibrant colours, my entire life with Wilber sped before my eyes. I saw him. Every detail of his kindly face and weathered skin. I saw him celebrating birthdays, singing in his car, reading a book on the pier, nursing a crying baby…
And then all I saw was light—blinding light glaring into my eyes until I cowered away from it.
I was no longer with my grandfather; instead I was alone, somewhere between my memories of him and the reality of the present.
I blearily made out the shape of the apothecary room.
Was it over?
I couldn’t tell whether hours had passed or mere seconds. But I felt a degree of frustration, knowing that my thoughts had wandered away from Jaxon. I became even more dissatisfied when I realised that I was no more enlightened about Wilber, either.
Had I done the spell wrong? And why was my vision still so distorted and my body so unsteady?
I felt a hand grab mine. Distantly, I knew it was Sam, although the only thing I could truly be sure of was that I was moving. No, not moving. Falling.
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