The Girl and The Raven

by Pauline Gruber

“What is it?” I squeak out.

  “It’s time you know.” She leans in, her eyes meeting mine. “Your grandmother was a witch.”

  Chapter Five

  Momma told me once that our family is cursed. When I asked what she meant, she got real quiet. Lighting a cigarette, she took a drag, then exhaled long and slow.

  “You’ll understand eventually,” she said, and went back to watching TV.

  That was a year and a half ago. Is this what she meant? Gram being a witch?

  I chuckle uneasily. “What?”

  Persephone displays her trademark frown. Deep lines, brows drawn together severely, lips pressed thin. She doesn’t have laugh lines because she rarely laughs. “This is no joking matter, Lucy.”

  “You’re telling me Gram was a witch.” The smirk appears on my face before I can stop it. “That’s pretty unbelievable.”

  She glares at me, a sigh escaping between clenched teeth.

  “You can’t be serious.” My voice raises several octaves. I fight it—hard—but my lips curl at the corners and I’m struck with a mad case of the giggles. “I’m sorry…I can’t help it! I have visions of Gram riding on a broomstick, wearing a big black hat.”

  She mutters under her breath and fusses with the fabric of her curtains-in-a-former-life dress. “Do you have another explanation for what just happened?”

  The flutter of wings, the gentle flapping sounded so real…and the heartbeat. It’s weaker than last time.

  “You’re serious.” It takes me a minute to compute. “So how did you do that just now?”

  “I channeled Lola and transmitted it to you.”

  Channeled? Transmitted? “Are you a witch, too?”

  Persephone nods. “So is Henry Klein.”

  “Gram’s attorney?” I gulp. Henry came over once a month for dinner during my summers here, usually on Sundays. He and Gram used to go for walks together afterwards. I was never allowed to join them. “Do Sheldon and Bernard know?”

  “Your grandmother never wanted them to know.”

  So Momma’s not the only one who kept secrets.

  “I’m telling you this because it’s time we discuss your powers.”

  I avoid her gaze. She’s referring to The Incident. Momma yelling at me from the couch…always on the couch…always yelling. She wanted another beer. I told her to get it herself. She tried to stand…twice…and fell back on the couch each time. She cursed at me. I laughed.

  In a fit of anger, she picked up the green glass ashtray. I didn’t duck, assuming she’d miss. She always missed. My knees buckled and I saw stars when it struck my forehead and ripped into my skin. Blood, warm and sticky, trickled down my face.

  “You think you’re too good for me? For this house?” Momma slurred. The cigarette fell from her fingers and landed on the center cushion, where the ashtray sat moments ago.

  I didn’t know…never gave into it before. My eyes fixed on the stupid cigarette as it burned into the fabric. I imagined I could hear the slight hiss as the glowing red tip burned the cushion, could smell the burning fibers. The voice in my head told me to turn and walk away. Momma’s voice filled my head with sharp, grating insults. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t listen to the voice of reason. I couldn’t deny myself anymore.

  With that one thought, all sound ceased to exist. Momma’s mouth moved but I couldn’t hear her curses. The TV was still on, but I couldn’t hear its jabber. It was as if my head had been submerged into a black hole of silence. Serenity flooded my veins, lowering my heart rate. Meanwhile, something hot and fierce raged in my belly looking for release. Set it free, I thought. I raised my hands toward the couch. The turmoil raced hot and heavy from my belly up to my chest and burst down my arms where it unleashed from my palms a fiery orb. It shot out, like a bullet from a gun, and hit the center cushion at the point of the cigarette tip, incinerating it in an instant before flames licked their way toward Momma who scrambled to shield herself. She fell off the couch and still I was in silence, awed and fascinated by the flames slashing a black path through the dirty faded fabric and moldy foam insert.

  A splash of liquid on my face snapped me out of my trance. Momma’s voice came through loud and clear. You’re a freak, just like her. I knew it. Devil child. See what you’ve done? I trembled and wiped my face, now smelling like the beer that Momma had tossed from her can. It mixed with the blood still coursing freely from my split forehead. Horror and dread filled me as I watched Momma struggle to put out the flames. What did I do? How did this happen? I stare at my hands, trembling and crimson as if stained by raspberries. Just like her.

  “Lucy.” Persephone’s voice jerks me out of the memory. “I have an important question for you and I need an honest answer.”

  My powers. Persephone knows about the fireball. Had Gram known, too? I clench my jaw as my fists curl in my lap. I kept Momma’s secrets all these years—except when her life was on the line—but she had no problem betraying mine.

  “Have you been approached by a stranger…a man…since arriving in Chicago?”

  Jude Morgan. I flinch as I recall the shock of his touch. Do I tell her? I want to. I’m tired of keeping everything inside.

  “…so I need to know if he contacts you.”

  Her face comes back into focus. Lips moving. Stern expression.

  “I did…I mean, I was…” I mumble and then clear my throat. “A man bumped into me at the airport.”

  Persephone narrows her eyes. “Tell me everything. Right now.”

  Chapter Six

  -Pierce Douglas-

  A series of small bells chime as I open the door. The air is thick with the smell of shoe polish.

  “Mr. Douglas, it’s good to see you.” Sergio shuffles around the counter to the row of empty chairs. I take a seat in the center chair, relieved that I am alone.

  “Business good?” I grab the Wall Street Journal off the chair to my right. The old man sits on a low stool and gets to work on my shoes giving me a clear view of his thinning gray hair and shiny, bald crown.

  “It comes and goes. I can’t complain.” He shrugs and flashes his easy smile. Despite his coffee stained teeth and stooped posture, he possesses a quiet dignity. So much like my father.

  Within five minutes, I slouch comfortably, my eyes growing heavy. I sigh. This is my sacred space. No one can find me here. Not the office. Not Alana. Not even Gita.

  I catch myself snoring and jerk upright. Sergio is oblivious, or at least pretends to be. I snap the newspaper straight and return to the article I was reading. The bell sounds. Damn. Not that Sergio would ever rush me, but I couldn’t relax with someone sitting beside me. I should’ve taken the left chair.

  “Come in and have a seat,” Sergio says. Must be a new customer. Sergio knows his regulars by name. The chair to my right creaks as it takes on the weight of a man in a dark suit.

  “I’ve heard you’re the best around,” the newcomer says.

  I freeze, my breath trapped in my lungs. It can’t be. I close my eyes, wishing I could hide beneath my newspaper while Sergio dabs, brushes, blots and rubs, oblivious to my discomfort.

  “I am, yes. You will be very happy with my work,” Sergio says.

  “It’s been a long time, Pierce.”

  The blood running through my veins turns to ice. My worst nightmare has come true. I lower the paper, clear my throat and face the devil himself. “Jude.”

  “Surprise. Happy to see me?”

  The wolfish smile reminds me that Jude is the reason for my sleeping pill habit.

  “What do you want?” My voice trembles and I glance at Sergio, hoping he didn’t catch it.

  Jude’s eyes bore into me. That damn smile lingers.

  I struggle to breathe, but my lungs don’t cooperate. I feel lightheaded.

  The smile turns patronizing as Jude reads my distress. “Relax. I’m here for a favor.”

  I blink as I wait for it. The word favor is a dangerous one, especially when uttered by Jude Morgan. “What
is it?”

  “Excuse me, gentlemen. I need something from the back.” Sergio rubs his hands on a worn cloth, his gaze avoiding mine. He shuffles off to the back room. I’m relieved. I don’t want him in the middle of this.

  Jude’s eyes are bright. “You’re going to meet a young lady within the next week. She’s important. Her name is Lucy Walker.”

  “What?” I ask. “Where am I going to meet her?”

  “When you do—” Jude plows on, ignoring my questions. Asshole. “—I want you to offer her a job as your nanny.”

  “But I already have a nanny,” I protest.

  “Not for long.” The smile grows wider.

  Jesus, no. I feel sick.

  Jude pushes himself out of the chair and strolls to the door.

  “Hold on! Are you saying I have to hire this girl?” I sputter. “How do I know her qualifications? That my children will be safe?”

  At the door, Jude turns. “Consider me her personal reference.”

  As he opens the door, the bells chiming, he adds, “Oh, and with regard to the other matter, you’ve got two weeks.”

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, I stand at the front window and watch Marcus drive off. It was late when I left Persephone’s last night. I felt wrung out as I descended the stairs and paused before his door. I made a deal with myself or the universe or whatever. I would stand there for a full minute. If Marcus opened the door, I would find out if he knew about Gram being a witch. If he did, I would confide in him, telling him about my dark secret.

  The door remained closed, even though I gave him an extra fifteen seconds.

  I turn from the window and flip the switch on the vacuum, rougher than necessary. My uncles refuse to let me help around the apartment, but I’m not a free loader. The second they left this morning to run errands, I jumped out of bed and got to work.

  The doorbell rings as I finish vacuuming. I stand rooted to the spot. Why was Marcus back so soon? I sprint across the room and fling open the door.

  I can’t hide my disappointment as I stand face to face with a skinny girl with shoulder length blonde hair. “Um…hello?”

  “Hi. You’re Lucy…Lucy Walker, aren’t you?” She smiles, revealing braces.

  “Yes.” I nod and glance over her shoulder, wishing Marcus would magically appear in the foyer.

  “I’m Katie Stevens. I live across the street in the brick bungalow.” She points through the wall in the direction of the street. “My mom is friends with your uncles and said I should come over and meet you.” She smiles again and I notice her braces are colored hot pink. “I like your accent, by the way. Where are you from?”

  “Lexington, Tennessee.” I shrink self-consciously in my old gray cut-off sweats and pale blue tank top. In comparison, Katie looks really pretty in her navy blue shorts and yellow short-sleeved top. “You live in Mr. and Mrs. Hauri’s old house?”

  “Yeah. My parents are divorced and I’ve been at my dad’s house in Fort Myers—that’s in Florida—since school let out.” She smiles again. “It was miserably hot, but there were a ton of really cute guys at the beach, so I’m not complaining. And I didn’t have to spend the whole summer there this year. Thank God!”

  “That sounds pretty cool, actually.” I’m captivated by her eyes, huge pools of deep blue like the ocean. I give myself a mental slap, remembering my manners. “Do you want to come in? I have chores to do, but they can wait for a few.”

  “I can’t. My mom and I are doing yard work today.” Her nose wrinkles when she frowns. “I have to go, but I’m going to the mall tomorrow with some friends. Do you want to come? They’re a lot of fun—my friends. You’ll like them.”

  She stands there, her eyes wide and pleading and I can’t say no.

  “Su…sure,” I stammer and try not to grimace. I’m in Chicago now. The teasing and gossip are behind me.

  “Awesome! We’re heading out around two. Caroline has a car so she’ll pick us up. We’re also planning a beach trip for Friday. You’re invited to that, too.”

  “Sounds fun,” I say, trying to convince myself. I walk her out the front door and onto the porch.

  Across the street, a woman with long, dark curly hair mows the lawn—Katie’s mom, I’m guessing. As Katie approaches her, yelling to be heard over the mower, the woman looks over at me with a smile and waves. I smile and wave back.

  From the corner of my eye, I see fluttering wings in one of the Oak trees. My body goes rigid as I stare at the familiar bird. Lola? It fluffs its feathers again and utters a cry. I exhale sadly, recognizing the familiar caw. It’s only a crow.

  As I head back inside, I grab Jude’s card from my purse. I told Persephone about him. She didn’t seem surprised. I asked questions, but she didn’t answer them and instead simply told me that she needed to speak with Henry. I pace the kitchen, flicking the card with my fingers. I wonder again how he knows me. I think of his powerful touch. Is he a witch like Gram?

  It’s very important we meet. Call me, please.

  Since Persephone didn’t tell me anything about him, I’ll just have to find out for myself. And if I’m going to call him, it has to be now, before my uncles get home and before I lose my nerve. I take a deep breath, pick up the phone and dial the number on the card.

  “Jude Morgan.” His deep voice vibrates in my ear and I shiver. Panicked, I rush to hang up the phone when he calls out my name.

  I pull the receiver back. “How…how do you know it’s me?”

  “Lucky guess.” He chuckles. “I’m glad you called. I wasn’t sure you would.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

  “Don’t hang up, Lucy. Please. We need to meet. It’s about your grandmother.”

  I grip the phone. “What about her?”

  “One of my employees, Aiden, lives upstairs from you. We could meet at his apartment. Does next Tuesday at eight o’clock work for you?”

  Marcus’ brother works for Mr. Morgan?

  “Why can’t you tell me now?”

  “I’m sorry, Lucy. I’m running to a meeting.” His voice is friendly, but rushed. “Can we discuss this on Tuesday night?”

  He and Marcus’ brother know each other. I push aside my nervousness. I want to hear what he knows about Gram. “Sure.”

  “Excellent.”

  We say goodbye and I hang up the phone. It’s not until I return to the living room that a thought occurs to me that makes me freeze. How does Jude Morgan know where I live?

  * * * *

  Caroline Appleberg’s Toyota Camry isn’t meant for six people, but we manage to squeeze into it.

  Katie makes introductions as we back out of the driveway.

  Caroline, who is lucky enough to have her own car, is super pretty. She has blonde shoulder-length hair, brown eyes and the most perfect teeth I’d ever seen. I love her hot pink top.

  Ella Rosenthal has wavy red hair, shocking blue eyes that I’m certain aren’t natural and based on the strain going on under her white tank top, she’s either blessed or is wearing a killer push-up bra.

  Suzy Rodriguez seems easy going—an artist according to Katie—with long, dark brown hair and huge, beautiful brown eyes.

  Cloe Gardner has skin the color of milk chocolate and shoulder-length, curly, dark hair that frames her face. Her lop-sided grin and easy laugh put me at ease.

  “I’m hoping the caliber of hotness at the mall is better than last week,” Ella announces from the passenger seat, staring in her visor mirror as she applies lip-gloss.

  Caroline cranes her neck to check traffic as we enter Highway I-90. “Yeah, no kidding.”

  “Don’t mind them.” Suzy smiles and winks at me as she lies across our laps in the back seat. “They’re boy crazy.”

  Everybody laughs except for Cloe.

  Did my laugh sound natural? I force my posture to relax. My gaze sweeps around the car again and I wonder if my jean shorts and red top measure up. I catch Ella’s eyes on me from her visor mirror.
My breath catches at the intensity of her stare and I quickly look away.

  At the mall, we walk in and out of half a dozen stores, spending the most time at Hot Topic and Forever 21. Two hours later, my stomach is eating itself and I stare longingly as we pass an ice cream shop. No one else seems interested, so I don’t suggest stopping.

  “So what’s the deal with the beach?” Caroline asks as we exit Aeropostale. “Are we going to Oak Street on Friday, and if so, what time?”

  “Definitely Oak Street,” Ella says vaguely as she turns toward a group of four guys off to our right. Suzy pokes my arm and twirls her finger by her ear, reminding me that Ella is boy crazy.

  “What about North Avenue Beach?” Katie suggests. “My mom said it’s nicer.”

  Ella and Caroline both stop cold and turn around. My stomach lurches as Ella raises one eyebrow and fixes Katie with an icy stare.

  “Because we don’t want to go to the mom-friendly beach, Katie. We want to go where the hot guys hang out.” She enunciates each word as if Katie’s dense. Suddenly my stomach swirls. White heat races down my arms and settles in my hands, throbbing. I clench my fists tight to my sides and take a deep breath. Then another. And another. Incinerating Ella at the mall would be bad. Very, very bad.

  “Don’t be so bitchy.” Cloe glares at Ella. “Besides, wasn’t Oak Street Beach shut down last year for pollution or an algae problem?”

  “Seriously? That’s totally gross!” Caroline covers her mouth with her hand.

  “That’s our Cloe. Always on top of pollution and algae.” Suzy hooks one arm through Cloe’s and the other through Katie’s. “It’s just one of the many things we love about her. That and her monochromatic wardrobe.”

  Looking at Cloe’s outfit—a mid-thigh black cotton skirt and white top—I assume she chose them because they look good on her.

  Cloe narrows her eyes at Suzy. “I’m color blind, girlfriend. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  “Let’s just go and check it out.” Ella’s voice turns whiny. “My cousin was there last week and said it’s awesome. If it sucks, we can head over to North Ave.”