Hexen's Binding

by J. Kowallis

  My lungs finally release as I let out a light breath. “That’s true.”

  Lotte looks back at Dad, studying him. “I have a lot of questions about you. Plus, wasn’t Barnett grandpa’s name?”

  I nod. “I’m sure you do have a lot of questions. I promise you’ll get answers to all of them, but for right now, our schedule is a bit time sensitive.”

  She nods. “Of course.” Lotte crosses her legs and holds out her hands. “What do you need? Do I need to cast a spell, say a few Hail Marys?”

  “Just a drop of blood,” Dad answers. He holds his hand out, palm up, and she hesitates before placing her own outstretched wrist in his grip. “You don’t have your craft developed enough to do a spell worth testing. Bear with me, this won’t hurt.”

  Dad conjures a pin from out of nowhere and pricks Lotte’s finger.

  “What do you need from me, Dad?” I ask.

  Without turning his head, he replies, “A small bowl of water should do it.”

  “Any particular kind? Filtered? Distilled? Holy?” I joke.

  “There’s a river in Bryden,” he answers, squeezing the tip of Lotte’s finger.

  I frown, seeing where he’s going with this. “You want me to get a bowl of water from Bryden?”

  Dad’s violet eyes focus on me. “Is that a problem?”

  “Which river?” I ask, lazily.

  “The river Mole. It’s the closest source of water to Bryden. With the amount of magic seeping out of that torn access point that you and Coll made, it’ll give us what we need.”

  I think back to what I remember of Bryden’s landscape. There were small towns close by with quaint cottages, and the castle was set up on a hill over a golf course and some tree-studded parks. The only area that wasn’t populated was the grove of trees and the small valley where Bryden hid away. I also remember the river. It was small, but it ran right through the Brockham area.

  Focusing my energies and concentration, I work to conjure a bowl of water. I snap my fingers, simultaneously pulling both from my home kitchen and the river. When a bowl of murky brown water appears in my hand, I hold it underneath Lotte’s finger and Dad drips a few drops into the liquid below. He gently starts to hum when I hand him the bowl, slowly waving his other free hand back and forth in the air over the bowl.

  “What’s he doing?” Lotte questions me.

  “I’m not sure.”

  After a few minutes, Dad looks into the bowl, and I see his face fall. He hands the bowl to me and I look inside. It’s no longer murky and muddy.

  “What does this mean?”

  “It means she has command over the elements. Her blood cleaned the water.”

  I take in my sister, scanning her face. “And if she’d been Druw?”

  “Her blood would have created a reflection of the river area the water was pulled from. A window. A gateway.”

  “Like a magic mirror?” Lotte asks.

  Dad snaps his free hand and the bowl disappears. “Similar to that.”

  “So, this means I can’t help?”

  I shake my head. This means we have to go see Alina. Although I know we need a Druw to cast the ejection spell on Ruhmactír, there’s something inside me that hopes Alina is Grim as well. I’ll be hard to find another Druw, but it’ll be even harder to convince her husband to let her come with us if she’s what we need.

  Dad and I don’t say much to each other as we quickly say our goodbyes to Lotte and leave her dorm. I think the same thing continues to play in our minds. Scenarios of how this next visit will go. And if Dad’s got the same scenes playing in his mind that I do, none of them end positively.

  I suppose one good thing happens at Lotte’s though. She and Dad swap cell numbers. I notice a heavy weight lifting from his shoulders as Lotte tells him she “would totes love that” when he mentions doing lunch sometime. Lotte even suggests a great little place just a few blocks from her residence hall.

  Dad and I then travel back to Boise. We stand next to each other, looking up at Alina and Carl’s two-story, white farmhouse.

  Back in Ireland, it’s three in the afternoon. Here, the sun brightly illuminates a new morning and it’s throwing my internal clock on a loop. The oncoming fall foliage of the surrounding trees is just starting to turn red and yellow, and the muddy splatters of a recent rainstorm decorate the white stone and wooden siding of the exterior. The immaculate grass glitters with droplets from the recent run of the sprinklers.

  “You ready for this?” I ask.

  “She’s going to hate us.”

  “I don’t think Alina is the one we’ll have problems with,” I glance at my dad. But he doesn’t return the look. His eyes are fixed on the front door.

  Both of us start to make our way up the slab stone steps to the red front door. Before I announce our arrival by ringing the doorbell, I warn my dad, “I haven’t seen Alina in about a year. At least according to my memory of my own timeline, the last time I saw them was Thanksgiving, and I may or may not have whispered to Mom that Carl was a controlling piece of shit . . . and he may or may not have been standing behind me when I did.”

  “Then this will be extra fun.”

  Dad beats me to it and presses the door-side button. Inside I hear the delicate chime of the doorbell and the soft pound of feet on hard floor leading up to the door. Additional—two more sets—small feet join the first and I hear some young chatter from my sister’s kids before the door opens.

  It’s Carl. His face, usually boring and unenthusiastic, with a large John Krasinski nose, falls sharply. Dressed in just a pair of basketball shorts, a Boise State t-shirt, and a pair of athletic socks, he looks like I just interrupted him while he sat on his butt in front of the television screen with a barrel of cheese puffs between his legs.

  “Auntie Taran!” my six-year-old niece, Charlie, squeals and lunges for me. Her dad grabs her arm and pulls her back in the house.

  “What are you doing here, Taran?” His eyes flicker to Dad. “Alaric?”

  “You know my dad?” I ask.

  He turns to Charlie and four-year-old Tandem (yes, they named their son Tandem) and tells them to go to the playroom.

  Charlie pouts, arguing with her dad.

  “Not now. Aunt Taran will have to come back another day. Now go downstairs.” He paddles her little behind gently and pushes her toward the stairs. When he comes back, he tries to shut the door by about four inches, but I put my foot in the way.

  “How do you know my dad?” I ask again.

  “Lotte just called Alina to tell her how excited she was. Wanted to give her a heads up.” He pauses. “So, I’ll state this as quickly and simply as possible: we’re not interested.” He tries to push the door shut again, gaining another inch or two.

  “With all due respect, I’d like to hear that from Alina’s lips. Not your thin beak.”

  “Taran,” Dad censures me. I ignore him.

  “Get your foot out of my doorway,” Carl leans toward me.

  “Or you’ll what?”

  “I’ll call the cops. You’re not wanted and you’re trespassing.”

  “I dare you to try.”

  “Taran.” Dad clips.

  I press my hands against the door and shove back against Carl’s massive weight. “I’ll move my damn foot when you agree to let me talk with my sister.”

  Carl looks as if he’s going to have an aneurism from the debate going on inside his head. Resignation hangs from the corner of his mouth as he releases his pressure on the door. But he still doesn’t invite us in.

  “Fine. Wait here.” My brother-in-law turns on his heel and I remove my foot, looking to my dad with a sad sort of triumph.

  Seconds later, the door slams shut and the deadbolt locks into place. Carl looks at me through the side glass panel of their front door and, at the peak of his assumed victory, flips me off.

  Dad eyebrows sharply pinch together and he stands there dumbfounded.

  “You see? You see what I have to deal wi
th?”

  The tendons in Dad’s jaw protrude and flex as he clenches his teeth and breaths harshly through his nose. He motions toward the door, stepping back. “You know what, Bug? I’m not going to stop you.”

  “Good.” I pull the elastic band off my wrist and twist up my hair. After a pop of my knuckles, I reach inside myself and stare at their robin’s-egg-blue door. “Eíghlase,” I whisper.

  Twenty-Two

  Though whispered, the word slips over my lips with so much force, so much feeling, the door unlocks and rips open, nearly breaking off its hinges.

  “Son of a bitch!” Carl bellows, now standing about twenty feet from us. “Are you insane?!”

  “Crazy as they come.” I step into the house, Dad right behind me. “Now where is my sister? I’m here to talk with her.”

  “Taran?” Alina screeches from the staircase landing to the left. She jogs down the remaining steps and her steps thunder as she approaches. Her blonde hair is shorter these days than it used to be. Chopped into an easy-to-manage pixie cut she typically styles like her son’s. Boyish. Disheveled with a little wax. As the shortest of all three of us Grim girls, she looks like a blonde Peter Pan.

  “Are you kidding me? You can’t go blowing my door out of your way! We said NO, now let it go!”

  I fold my arms, taking another step forward. “I can’t! If I had the choice to back down like you and live in your protected little bubble, believe me, I’d do it! Unfortunately, I have an entire race of people depending on me and right now. I need your help and you’re going to cooperate.”

  “Like hell I am,” she scrunches her nose. “You can’t show up at my doorstep after a year of zero communication and assume that I’m going to welcome you into my house with open arms! With our deserting father, by the way.”

  “Mommy?” Charlie asks from the top stair leading down to the basement. Her blonde hair, just like Alina’s and my mom’s, is starting to come out of its ponytail and messy strands frame her round face. She’s obviously upset too. She’s got worry painted on her face and cheeks redder than apple skin.

  “Go downstairs, Charlie!” Carl barks at his daughter.

  She cringes, but in true Grim style, holds her ground. “Why?” her little voice replies, stepping up the final, carpeted stair.

  Carl rushes toward her and grips her little arm. “I told you to go downstairs,” he growls, his voice dark and out of control. He shoves her about six inches back. Her feet trip on the stairs and she cries out, “Daddy, no!”

  “Hey!” Dad steps toward them, and I swear the ground beneath my feet trembles. He snaps his fingers and freezes her mid-fall, her small body inches from toppling down an entire flight of stairs. Dad’s lilac eyes flash in a powerful wrath and every muscle in his arm tightens like ropes pulled to their extreme. With a wave of his hand, Charlie balances out again and she grips the handrail over her head, crying.

  “Whatever problems you have with me and my daughter stay be us. You shove your little girl like that again and I’ll make sure you never move for the rest of your life. Do you understand me?”

  Carl’s eyes go wide and his nostrils flare. As if in question, he gauges his wife’s body language for some kind of confirmation that what Dad just said is true. When she looks away from my father and folds her arms, Carl turns toward Charlie and walks over to her. After scooping her up to sit on his hip, he hushes her in a tense, but loving way. Then he mutters something about going to the playroom and letting mommy talk with her family. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen him back off. And a part of me feels just as proud of my timid father as I am terrified of the very real earthquake he created.

  We all watch Carl descend out of view and then we wait a while longer. Just to make sure he, Charlie, and Tandem are out of ear shot. Even after that, there’s an uncomfortable stillness that settles over the three of us. I don’t know if Dad’s waiting for me to be the one to proceed, or if he wants to be the first to speak. Either way, Alina just stares at both of us with a shady scowl.

  “Alina,” I finally open my mouth, “please. I need your help.”

  She continues to glare at me, her jaw clenched tight. Refusing to interact with me, she finally shifts uncomfortably and stares past Dad’s head, looking somewhere off into the corner of the entryway. The stress of the last five minutes is eating into each one of us, and it’s overwhelming.

  “If I had time to wait for you to stare off into an oblivion, I would have patiently stood at your doorstep. But, as you can see, I don’t.”

  My sister straightens her neck and cocks her head and responds with unsympathetic disdain. “Great? Good for you?” She looks at me like I’m the most selfish person on the planet. “I’m sorry, Taran,” she stops, “no, actually, I’m not sorry. I already gave you my answer.”

  “Oh, that’s bull,” Dad chimes in.

  “And where do you get off?” She turns on him like a rabid dog. “You take off on mom right after Lotte was born and abandon your entire family and then assume you can just waltz back into our lives without a single call, or a letter, and tell my husband how to parent our kids? I mean, who are you?”

  Now knowing what I do about Dad, and why he left us, he has every right to tear into her right now. But in her eyes, he’s just a dead-beat loser who left us. I look over at him and his face softens to the point of shame and he slowly licks his lips.

  “You’re right. You’re right. I missed out on my chance to parent.”

  “Dad, you don’t have to—” I interrupt him, but he holds up a hand to stop me.

  “Now, I don’t care if you listen to me. This is your home, and you are within your right to toss me out. But you will listen to your sister because it’s not just her life that’s at stake, but it’s yours. And your children.”

  Alina’s eyes go wide. Defiant, even. “Are you threatening me?”

  “We’re trying to save you,” I spit. “Selfish brat,” I tack on under my breath.

  Of course, she still hears me. “Good job, Taran. Now I really want to help.”

  “Oh, come on!” I move toward her again and she faces off.

  “Stop!” Dad steps in between us. “Taran, can you knock it off for just a few minutes and respect her? After all, buttering her up will help your case a lot more than whatever the hell you’re doing.”

  I rear back, hearing Dad swear. I mean, its baby swearing, but a cuss word just the same.

  “And you, listen to your sister for once in your life.” He glares at Alina before stepping back.

  Alina folds her arms and looks at the floor. After a thought, she finally acknowledges me and nods. Once. Just once. “All right. You have my undivided attention for five minutes.”

  “Twenty,” I counter.

  “Six.”

  I roll my eyes. “All right, if that’s how we’re going to play this game, then nineteen.”

  My sister groans. “Fine! Ten minutes and not a second more.”

  “Thank you.”

  Like I did with Lotte, I do a retelling of the last few months, only this time I recite it just a bit faster. When I start explaining the rest, Alina cuts me off and tells me that the rest of it she’s already heard from my youngest sister. Then, she takes a deep breath and looks me straight in the eye.

  “You sound like you actually love this . . . what is his name? Cole person?”

  My head jerks back and Dad lifts his brows. “That’s not what I said.”

  “You didn’t have to.” Alina shifts her small weight onto her left foot.

  You sound like you actually love this Coll person. Her words echo again in my head.

  Waving my hands in front of me to erase her last statement, I shrug. “However I feel or don’t feel isn’t the point. The point is, I need him alive. I need him, not his body-snatching ancestor. And you might be the one who has the blood to help us do it.”

  “So, I take your blood test, and if I don’t have what you’re looking for, you move on? You leave me alone?”
/>   “Only if you want us to,” Dad replies softly.

  “And if I do have what you’re looking for, what if I refuse to help?”

  I shake my head, forcing the angry tears to stay where they are. The fact that she would even suggest that makes me want to leave. Right now. Without even testing her.

  “If you have the ability to save him, and you choose not to, I’ll never forgive you. But I promise, I will leave you alone and never ask you for anything ever again. And whether you want it or not, our relationship will be over.”

  Dad crosses his arms, the entire movement saturated in discomfort. Conflicted, I’m sure, Alina takes her time responding. Finally, she nods, holding out a single finger, her jaw shifted irritatingly.

  “Then let’s get this over with.”

  Again, I summon the water near Bryden and hold it out for Dad. He pricks Alina’s finger and squeezes the tip until a few drops run over her skin and plop into the filthy water below. A couple stray drops of blood fall to dad’s shoes and he almost sloshes the water out of the bowl due to his reaction.

  “Sorry,” he mutters. Alina rolls her eyes and slowly saunters into the kitchen and comes back with a bandage over her finger. Silently, I judge her decision to avoid simply healing her skin.

  Patiently, I wait while Dad mutters words over the water and swirls his hand over the top of the bowl.

  Dad looks into the bowl.

  And swallows.

  The color might have even just vanished from his pale-toned skin.

  I hold my hand out for the bowl and he passes it over. Inside, I see a glimmer of the sky looking back at me. If I shift the bowl to the side, I see the banks of the river, a tree overlooking it from another angle.

  She’s a Druw. Holy shit, she’s a Druw.

  I sigh. It’s laced with both relief, and absolute disappointment. I found the help I need, but I know, deep down, she’ll refuse.

  “What?” she asks, peering into the bowl. I hold it out to her, and she looks into it. “What am I looking at?”

  “That,” I point, “is somewhere along the river Mole. It’s near our ancestral home called Bryden. The fact that we’re seeing it confirms what I’m sure you don’t want to hear.”