Naomi looked at Poppy and Lucy and smiled. "Perhaps, it would be better if I told you guys everything from the beginning."
"Yeah," Poppy said. "That would be nice."
"Well," Naomi began. "I'm a psychic. I work with the police to find stolen goods, missing persons, that sort of thing. I've always been able to see things. It's just a gift I have."
"It's magic. The same magic that runs through my veins to keep me so young and beautiful."
Naomi sighed. "Grandmother believes that each woman in our family line has the gift of magic."
"It's true!" Cecelia said. "There are many different kinds of magic. Naomi can find things, I can age more slowly. My sister, Shauna, can see things before they happen. And Naomi's sister, Chelsea, can see into the past. This is not just the whims of a crazy old lady, Naomi, this is magic, and this is family legend."
"Has your family always had magic?" Lucy asked.
"As long as I can remember. Why, my own mother was able to cure anything that pained you with the touch of her hand. Her mother was able to banish spirits. It's all documented."
"Documented?" Lucy asked, mouth agape.
"Sure, we have the family genealogy dating all the way back to when our family began," Cecelia said. "We're a family of witches, really, if you want to get technical about it, though we don't consider ourselves anything. We just are." She smiled at them. "More tea?"
"Please," Poppy said. She has just found a Mecca, a treasure. Who better to talk about what was stirring inside her than a family of witches? She could feel something inside her, stirred by the voice that had questioned her. It moved like silk under her skin. "How can you help me find my father?"
"Well, I just sort of concentrate, really." Naomi smiled. "I'll need to hold your hands, Lucy. So that I can focus on the face that you once saw. Would you mind?"
"Not at all."
They turned to face each other and Naomi took Lucy's hands in hers.
Naomi closed her eyes, let herself drift. She could feel herself floating through time, through space. Naomi thought of this as Limbo, that place in between the here and the now; that place where dreams were made. "I see him," she said. "He was a handsome man."
"You can see him just like that?" Poppy asked. It seemed they were putting a lot of faith into these two women. Trust them, the voice told her. They're here to help you.
Well, Poppy thought, if the voices in my head say I should trust them. She chuckled to herself. Man, she was losing it.
"I get a feeling, a vibration. Your father is alive. I can see him, a shadow of him. Your father is alive." Naomi said.
"Oh, thank gods!" Poppy said. "I was so afraid that he would be dead."
"I see him, his aura is strong, vibrant." She opened her eyes. "I can't tell any more without meditating on the images I got. Do you have anything of a personal nature? Was there anything he liked about you?"
Lucy thought for a moment. "He loved my hair. He loved the way it smelled."
"Would you mind cutting off a piece? Just a small one, so I can hold it and concentrate on it."
"Not at all."
Cecelia went to the kitchen and got a pair of scissors. She cut off a small piece of Lucy's blonde mane of hair.
"Come back in three days. I'll have more information for you then." Naomi said.
Poppy and Lucy thanked them both. "We'll call before we come over." Poppy said. "We really appreciate this; it's kind of you to help strangers."
"It's kind of you to accept help from strangers." Naomi said. "But now we are not strangers. We know each other now. I will help you find your father and husband." There was a noise as Cecelia cleared her throat.
"We will help you find your husband and father." They hugged and Naomi saw them to the door.
The door closed behind them. Cecelia turned to her granddaughter. "Do you think she knows what she is?"
"Who?" Naomi said. "The daughter, Poppy?"
"Yes. Do you think she knows?"
"No, I don't think so. She seems to be a little too lost. There is magic in both of them."
"It runs strongest in the daughter"
"I just hope she never finds out what runs inside her." Naomi said.
"Why?"
"Because it may very well be the end of her. Knowing what she is and being able to live with herself are two different things. I can only hope that she's strong enough. If I ever found out I was a Shape Shifter, I don't know what I would do."
"We must hope that she is, dear. All we can do is pray."
* * * * *
Moe climbed the steps to the attic slowly. He liked the feeling of his feet on the worn carpet, the bend of the wood bending under his feet. He held his secret close to him, like a mantle. It felt good to have a secret.
He still had not told anyone about Monica. She was still his little secret. He felt powerful because of it, strong. It gave him a sense of purpose, knowing something that no one else did. Besides, he enjoyed Monica's company thoroughly.
When he found her today, sliding through the wall like a soft breeze, she was on the floor near the window. Light streamed through it, the last rays of sunshine, and it left shadows on her face. They made her look older than her body was.
She was reading a book he had left her. Little Women, one of his favourites as a kid. He had been astounded to know that Monica knew little of the world after her death in 1915. He had been reading to her, showing her books that he favoured. Winnie the Pooh, Paddington Bear, Curious George. Her little room had become a cornucopia of children's things. She looked up when he came in.
"This Louisa woman was pretty depressed."
"Why do you say that?"
"All she talks about is being poor, how Jo wants to write, denies herself love for a career. Her sister dies, at a young age! I would have killed myself long ago if my name were Jo March."
Moe laughed out loud. "I guess that's one way to look at it."
"Well, come on. Where's the romance? Where's the fun? I may have a child's body, Moe, but I am far older than I look. I was only thirteen when I died, but now I am older than time."
"You want romance; you've come to the wrong place."
"You never got romantic with anyone, Moe? Anyone at all?"
"I was married, once. It was a mistake."
"Why?"
"We ended up not loving each other."
"That happens in life sometimes."
Moe looked at her. "You've been in love?"
She scoffed. "Please. But I've seen enough of it to know that the heart is a fickle thing. Sometimes, it's a blessing being dead."
"But I still feel stuff, feelings. I'm not used to this whole dead thing yet. It's new to me; strange. . .does it ever get better?"
"No, it never gets better. But you learn to live with it, to exist. It's all we have left." She pushed some of her blonde locks out of her face, blinking up at him. "Have you ever been inside any of the trunks out in the attic?"
"No, I haven't had the time."
"We're like those trunks. Put in a corner and forgotten, but we still exist. It's a hard life, but a necessary one. Without spirits, there would be no magic."
"Do you believe in magic, Monica?"
"Who doesn't? We're dead but still living, there must be some magic in that. And passing through walls, you can do that too."
"Know any other tricks?"
"A few. . .ever turn yourself invisible?" Monica asked.
Moe shook his head. "You can do that?"
"Sure. It's easy." She stood up. "Just think of yourself as having no substance, being clear. It's as simple as that. See?" She pointed to her feet. She had begun to slowly disappear, from the ground up. It looked as if she were melting away. When only her head was left, she smiled. "You try."
Moe closed his eyes and tried to picture himself clear, see-through. Light poured through him, he was not there. He could feel his body becoming lighter. . . .
"See, you're getting it." Monica said.
Moe
opened his eyes and looked down. His legs weren't there. He could feel them, but when he moved them, he could not see them. "That's a pretty neat trick," Moe said.
"That's nothing." Monica smiled a wicked smile. "Ever possess someone else's body?"
"No."
"Want me to show you how?"
At that, the house began to shake. A rumble started deep in the bowels of the House on Harrow Hill. The walls began to vibrate, the windows in Monica's room shaking and rattling. Small bursts of light began to pop near the ceiling, great, white flashes of light. As the house’s rumbling became more pronounced, the lights became brighter.
"What the hell is going on?" Moe yelled over the racket.
"I think," Monica said, holding onto a bed post, "that the house is angry."
Chapter Ten
Full of Light and Shadow
Downstairs, Poppy and Alicia didn't feel the house begin to shake right away. The vibrations traveled down the walls, shaking them, making them quiver like jelly. A picture fell from the walls and the glass in the frame shattered, alerting Poppy to the fact that there was something wrong. She looked around her, watching the vibrations slowly increase. The walls’ shaking began to increase, until there was a fine dust of stucco ceiling falling around her like snow. There was a loud and terrible crash from the kitchen and Alicia ran into the living room with a panicked look on her face. "Are you alright? The pot rack just fell." She looked at the walls around her and the falling pictures. "What is going on?"
"I don't know," Poppy said. "The house just started shaking."
Light began to gather in the corners of the living room, bright white flashes of light that went off with loud pops. Poppy screamed and burrowed deeper into the large leather couch. She grabbed Alicia and pulled her down. They covered each other so they would not be hurt from the glass raining down around them like diamonds. The lights continued to flash and sputter.
"Stop!" Alicia yelled at the house. "Stop, please!"
The house continued to storm around them, they could hear things crashing and breaking in the other rooms. Poppy heard some of the dishes tinkle and crash, and could hear her vase in the main hallway shatter. A whirlwind, full of light and shadow, raged around Poppy and Alicia with them in the centre.
"STOP THIS!" Alicia tried again. The storm continued to rage on.
Moe rushed through the wall and looked at the two of them. "Are you both alright?" he asked.
"Yeah," Poppy said, "considering the house is falling apart, we're doing just dandy."
"Stay here," he said. He pulled himself through the walls, but stopped short. He stayed inside the walls, drywall on either side of him. He could feel the scratchiness of the insulation, the closeness of the dark. He touched the wall in front of him.
"Can you hear me?" He asked the house.
A light breeze moved around his head, filling the small space with a light wind. The house could hear him. He continued to move his fingers in small circles, trying to calm the house. "She didn't mean it," he whispered. "I don't know if that's what has you so upset, but she didn't mean it."
There was a sound, almost like the roar of wind through the mountains, and Moe felt himself being pushed out of the walls, into the living room. "Please. . ." he begged. “They don't mean you any harm, don't harm them." The house roared again and its rage began.
Rather than calm the House, Moe had done nothing but infuriate it. Moe was pushed out of the walls with an audible pop. When he was able to look around again, he saw Poppy beginning to stir from the couch. She was trying to stand.
"NO!" Moe yelled over the wind that was now raging fast and furious. "POPPY, NO! YOU’LL GET HURT!" She couldn't hear him, his voice whipped away by the wind into nothingness. Poppy planted two feet on the ground. Her eyes were shut tight, scrunched up against the flying debris. She could feel glass cutting her face, the wind whipping her clothes and dark hair into a frenzy. She could feel blood on her face, arms, hair. None of this mattered. Standing as still as she could, she tried to summon up all of her courage. She could feel it growing inside her, gathering strength. It moved up her legs, filled her fists, her arms. She imagined herself filling up with energy, with spark. Something hummed inside her, brushed that deep place inside her that changed things from fear to lust and back again. She opened her eyes and Alicia gasped when she looked at Poppy.
Poppy's eyes had gone black, marble as dark as night. Something had changed within Poppy. Something major.
"STOP!" Poppy screamed. Her voice cut through the wind, the nose, the storm. "STOP THIS NOW!" She opened her fists and blue light, much like lightning, shot from her hands and into the floor around her. It tickled the floor boards, electricity moving like a serpent along the floor, leaving scorch marks in its wake. When the electricity had dissipated, the storm stopped. Silence filled the house, though the tinkling of breaking glass could still be heard.
"What the hell was that?" Alicia asked. Poppy stood rigid, a look of shock on her face.
Chapter Eleven
None Before
The day after the explosion in the living room, Poppy found herself up in the attic's main room, sun shining through the wide windows, sitting in front of her easel. A cup of fragrant tea sat at her elbow, its steam letting off a pleasant aroma. The attic was silent and empty but for her. She could hear the house moving around her, the shutters on the windows swaying in the wind. She was hiding up here and she knew it. She didn't know if she could face anyone downstairs, especially Alicia. She couldn't put her finger on it, but Poppy thought there was something that Alicia wasn't telling her. And it all had to do with magic. Or really, magic where there had been none before. After the magic came yesterday, she could still feel it churning in her body, and she remembered a few things. Like, what had happened on Valentine's Day in bright, clear detail. Once the electricity had left her body, she had been left with images of what had happened on that day, what she had done. The memories were etched into her eyes like Polaroids.
She had seen herself hiding behind Alicia and David and Orlando, cowering in fear. She could feel a surge inside her, a flame that told her to use it, use what was inside her. She saw herself stepping forward, placing her hands on Jethro's arms and letting what was inside of her kill what was inside of him. She could feel the evil that had seeped from him now and she wondered why she had not felt it before. She remembered being thrown into the wall behind her, could still feel the brick slamming into the back of her head. Alicia had approached her after she had let the magic lose in the house. She had had a look of shock on her face. "Are you alright?" she’d asked.
What a stupid question, Poppy had thought, when she so clearly wasn't. "Mm," Poppy had muttered.
"Honey, come here," Alicia had said, leading her back to the couch and sitting her down softly. Alicia had brushed her hands through Poppy's hair to clear them of the static electricity that made her hair spark and crackle. She had pulled Poppy to her, rocking her back and forth slowly, a soft song playing on her lips.
"What's happening to me?" Poppy had asked. Her voice sounded weak to her.
"Nothing," Alicia had said, "nothing at all."
"But I just. . .Oh, Goddess, Alicia, I remember everything, I remember."
"Sshhh. . . ." Alicia had said. "It's alright now, I'm here. It's going to be okay."
"I did magic, Alicia, real magic. I can do magic."
"Ssshhh. . .just relax, alright? It's going to be okay. . . ."
As Poppy had lain there, being rocked by her lover who would not say anything about what had happened mere moments before, she had wondered whether or not things would ever be alright again. She looked at the canvas in front of her. Just like the canvas, Poppy felt like a blank slate. She realized that she was now a blank slate. Magic changed things. She would have to relearn herself, reacquaint herself with herself. She knew who she could speak to. Who knew more about magic than Witches? Smiling to herself, she dipped her brush in some bright blue paint.
*
* * * *
Downstairs, Alicia called Orlando on the telephone and told him what had happened. She left nothing out. When she was done, there was silence on the other end of the phone. "Well?" Alicia prompted. "What do you think we should do?"
"There's nothing we can do," Orlando said. "We still can't tell her anything."
"Why?" Alicia's voice was pleading, "Why can't we tell her anything? She's beginning to figure it out. It's the second time she's used magic, Orlando. How long before she begins to change?"
"She doesn't know how to. . . ."
"You know that doesn't matter. She doesn't have to know how to change; her body will do it for her." She stifled a sob. "I lied to her today, Orlando. I lied to my lover, to the woman who trusts me."
"You weren't supposed to fall in love with her," Orlando said.
"I know," Alicia said quietly. "But I did."
"But you did. And we just have to work with that. In a way, it couldn't be better. You're better able to protect her because you're so close to her."
"I'm better able to protect her because I love her, Orlando. What are we going to do if she uses magic again? We can't leave this until it's too late."
"Halloween is coming," he said.
"We may not have until Halloween. And if Poppy learns that she's a Shape Shifter before I tell her, she's going to be pissed."
"We can't. Not until Karma gives the go-ahead. We have to proceed with this the right way. Poppy is the first Shape Shifter born in three centuries. There will never again be another of her kind. We don't even know what she changes into yet. We have to keep watching. Karma said she was going to keep an eye out for signs."
"I think our time for signs is almost over."
"We have no choice but to wait."
"Wrong. We have to tell her. And soon. If we don't, it could mean our downfall, as well as hers."
* * * * *
"Sweetheart?" Chip’s voice echoed in the bedroom. The light from the doorway streaked across the floor, engulfing Roz in shadow. Chip liked the bedroom; it was large, with high ceilings and two, large windows. Both were covered with thick drapes. They had moved from their old apartment near Elgin. It held too many memories for Roz; Jethro coming into their home, what he had done to them. Chip had scrubbed as hard as he could but could not remove the bloodstains from the bedroom floor. When Roz had recovered enough, they had moved to their new apartment. They lived in the entire top floor of an old converted brownstone on Marlowe Street, in the Glebe. Chip had hoped that the move to a new place, a new home, would bring back Roz from inside herself. She seemed haunted by her internal thoughts lately, replaying the same images in her head, no doubt.
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