Sea-Witch
Page 8
The next morning, one hour after sunrise, I prepared to leave the house I grew up in. Mom was downstairs; I’d heard the kettle whistle earlier, telling me that she was already sitting at the table drinking her tea. I took the opportunity to sneak into my parent’s bedroom. I’d never been allowed inside. My parents had viewed their room as a sanctuary—one I wasn’t allowed to trespass into, but I’d snuck in a few times before and knew where Mom kept her emergency stash of cash. But today I wasn’t after money. I was looking for something of his.
I didn’t know what I was looking for, but once I laid eyes on it I knew it was what I wanted. I found it in his bedside table. The clay sculpture was clumsy and imperfect, and the blue paint was chipping. I’d given it to him for father’s day when I was ten. He’d smiled and hugged me tight and said he’d keep it forever. The sculpture, a quarter moon with a smile and a star sitting on its tail, was no bigger than my hand. I stole one of Dad’s sweaters from the closet to wrap the keepsake in, and then I stuffed both into my suitcase before exiting my childhood home.
“Take care.” Mom pressed a small, brown paper-wrapped package into my hands. “I know you don’t normally write things down, but I bought you a journal—just in case.”
I took the gift from her and squeezed her as hard as I could, but it wasn't enough to change her mind. Before I knew it, I was sitting in the passenger seat, on my way to a new life.
Leaning against the cool glass window of Grandma’s spotless vehicle, I stared at the mystical swirls of thick morning fog as we drove through Surrey and Vancouver, past the half-hidden sky-rises, and into the thick wooded area near the Horseshoe Bay ferry. I kept my horrible red hair hidden under my favourite beige hat. I pretended I was still the girl with happy parents, a best friend down the street, and a cute, almost boyfriend. I knew that it wasn’t true, and that everything had changed, but I couldn’t help but hope that in a couple of weeks everything would be back to normal: I’d be back home with Mom –without Dad and in a new house—but home all the same.
We arrived late at the docks and ended up stuck in a long line. We boarded the third ferry of the day. As soon as Grandma put the car into park on level six, I jumped out the door and ran up to the observation deck where I was hoping to have some alone time. The cool salty sea air hit my face with a wash of mist. My lungs welcomed the freshness. I leaned up against the rail, gripping the cold metal surface with both hands. The fog was beginning to lift, giving way to a thin layer of ash-grey cloud.
Beside the ferry dock was a small marina. Just past the line of white yachts was the highway that had brought me here. I looked to the west, where I was heading, and kicked the railing, looking down.
The waves lapped against the great berth of the ferry. The water began to churn as the engines were turned on. The frothy bubbles were hypnotic and I stared down into them, overcome with a frightening desire to jump in, sink to the dark depths. The ship's horn blared into life, nearly sending me tumbling over the banister and into the deep waters below.
“Startling, isn't it?”
I slapped the guardrail. Of course she would follow me. I glared at Grandma as she approached.
“Just a bit.” Couldn’t she see I didn't want her in my life?
She moved closer, standing beside me at the railing, proving she didn't know me at all. “Nessa, you should know that no matter what, you’re fated to move to the island.” Her ocean-coloured eyes were focused on the water rushing swiftly past us. The small, rocky, tree-capped islands began disappearing as the ship moved out of the bay and across the Strait of Georgia.
“What do you mean?” My stomach clenched, like I was expecting the worst sort of bad news.
“Your mother told me you had an accident with a fire hydrant.”
“That wasn't my fault.” I twisted my hands on the railing.
“I know.” Grandma stared at me, her eyes hawk-sharp. “It’s just your nature. Things like that might occur from time to time. And your hair, what happened to it?”
This question surprised me. Instead of asking what kind of fool I’d been to buy hair dye off the Internet, or if I'd been idiotic enough to try lightening my hair using hydrogen peroxide, she asked me what had happened to it.
She knew something.
“It changed; all by itself. I didn’t do a thing to it. I even tried to dye it brown yesterday but it didn't work. I'm stuck with this hideous red hair. Dad would hate it.” I reached up under my hat, pulling out a strand, glaring at the red-pepper colour.
“I used to have dark hair too, when I was young. But when I inherited my powers, it turned red, just like your hair has. Now I think my hair is beautiful and wish for nothing else. You’ll get used to the colour, just like I did.”
I paused, tilted my head to one side and briefly debated if I'd misunderstood her. “Oh come on,” I said.
Grandma turned and raised one quizzical eyebrow that told me she wasn't impressed with my attitude.
I sighed. “Powers, Grandma? I'm not five. And I'm not in the mood for jokes or kidding around right now.”
She kept that one eyebrow raised. “I'm not kidding. It's time for you to learn the truth Nessa, and time you learn how to deal with it: you're a redheaded sea-witch. Just like me.”