by Marian Gray
I retrieved a pen from the inside pocket of my backpack and thumbed through several pages until the last one stared up at me. A long black line drew across the bottom. Beneath it, bold block letters spelled my name.
Maybe Ivory was my Arctic Circle.
I uncapped the pen and placed the tip on the stained paper. The page soaked up the black ink, and the dot beneath my pen grew.
I paused.
The consequences of this action slammed into me like a freight train. By signing this, I would be agreeing to go to a university I knew nothing about and was completely against my mother’s wishes. I didn’t even know where it was located, as that was kept hidden per education regulations according to Aunt Margot. The only thing I knew about Ivory University was that it was a place of learning for wizards and witches.
But that was all I needed to silence my doubts. With a few quick strokes, I scrawled my signature along the bottom line. The page vibrated in my hand. I dropped it with a quick inhale of fear. Before it hit my lap, the paper folded itself and vanished.
I held my breath. I hadn’t expected my answer to be sent immediately.
“What just happened?” I heard James’ voice in my ear.
“I signed it,” I muttered. Disbelief set in. “And it just disappeared.”
“You signed what?”
“The acceptance letter.”
“The one to the magical university?”
I nodded my confirmation.
“What? Why did you do that?” His tone swirled with an injured panic. “I thought we had agreed to stick together?”
Chapter Five
She didn’t answer. But I knew she was there.
“Mother?” I called out, slipping my backpack off my shoulder and onto the birch bench.
Bergamot filled the air, and the crinkle of a magazine page being turned killed the silence.
“Mother?” I projected stronger than before, but she still didn’t answer. My feet carried me across the pristine living room carpet and into the manicured dining room. “What are you doing home so early?” My hands rested on the back of a chair.
She was perched at the end of the table with a straight back and high society poise. Her nimble fingers turned a page in her fashion magazine as her eyes flitted up to me. “I decided to take a personal day.” Her frail tea cup touched her lips, spilling earl gray into her mouth.
My mother didn’t take personal days. “Why? Feeling more tired than usual?”
“You could say that.” Her eyes didn’t leave me, but her hand kept turning pages. “I have a question for you, Kim.” A tiny clink chimed in the room as her cup came to rest on the saucer. “And you need to very carefully consider how you’re going to answer it.”
My body froze. Both of my arms felt heavy hanging from my shoulders. “What is it you want to ask me?” I mumbled.
“Well, today I came home for lunch. After I had finished eating, I took the recycling out and noticed something was missing from the paper bin.” Her fingertips released the magazine.
I swallowed hard. It was a trap—an obedience test—and she had ensnared me. I should have known that finding the acceptance letter atop the recycling pile was a contrived coincidence.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what I’m talking about, would you?”
My tongue felt thick in my mouth, and my legs numbed. “I’m not sure. It’s the trash. Why were you rummaging through the garbage?”
Her hand slammed down on the table. “Don’t get cute with me.” A frown seeped onto her lips, and her severe gaze squinted with contempt. “Where are the papers?”
“What papers?”
Red flared in her cheeks. “The registration papers from that school.”
I shook my head as watery pressure built behind my eyes.
“Kim?”
The urge to confess flooded me. Like a trained dog, I knew her wrath and did everything to avoid displeasing her—but revealing I had signed them would evoke such anger it terrified me more than not answering her.
“Tell me, Kim.” My mother jumped up from her chair. It tipped from her upward momentum and toppled backward onto the floor. “What did you do?”
My mother was a bully. When she didn’t get her way, she screamed and charged at me like a raging bull. Her nostrils would flare, and eyes grow into moons. She would do everything to bend me until I swayed under her yoke—until I said and did the things she wanted.
I was sick of it. I hated being her puppet, dancing on command. There was a time when I felt comfort in her arms, but those days passed when the scars appeared.
“I took the papers,” I yelled. Adrenaline burst through my veins, sending my heart into short, rapid rhythm.
“Why?” She stormed over to me. “I expressly forbade you from even touching them.” Her hot breath beat against my cheek as she barked at me.
“Because.” Tears rolled down my cheeks as anger burned in my belly.
Her eyes filled with fury. “Because is not a reason.”
My jaw trembled, and my fists tightened until my knuckles turned white. “Because they were mine. They were addressed to me. And I signed them.” I struck while my bravery still ran white hot.
Her composure shifted from pressing rage to surprised confusion. “What?”
“I signed them,” I shouted. My entire body tensed.
She took a step back. Her hands fell to her stomach as though I had stabbed her. “Why would you do that? How could you? After all I’ve taught you, after all you’ve learned.” Her palm clamped against her mouth. Her eyes swirled with incredulity. She stood motionless for several long seconds.
“I had to.”
“You don’t understand what you’ve done.” Her head shook. Large black ringlets danced around her cheeks. “There was a reason I raised you without all that nonsense. There was a reason the family was cut out of your life.” Her hand raised in the air, threatening to slap me. “You were supposed to be a normal person with a normal life and work a normal job. I sacrificed everything so you could have that.”
“Mother—”
“You’re a stupid girl, Kim.” Her hand lowered to her side in favor of words. “You’re an ignorant, ungrateful little brat.”
“No, I’m not.” My voice solidified with strength. “You’re just a monster of a mother.”
“What?” Her voice rose, challenging me.
A large lump toppled down my throat. “I’m not a little girl,” I snarled inches from her face. “You can’t control me. I’m almost eighteen years old!”
She scoffed. “You think that matters? You think just because you’re almost eighteen that you know anything? That you all of a sudden get to decide everything?”
“It means I get to make the decisions that concern my life.”
A deep laugh spilled from her lips. “You can do that when you start paying your own mortgage and buying your own food. Until then, I make all of your decisions. I’m your mother. I know best.”
“No.” I shook my head. “You don’t.” My signature had sealed my fate, not her words. “I am a person. I am not your appendage nor your pet. I have my own life and dreams and identity completely separate from you. You’re not in control of me anymore.”
Chapter Six
“In the closet?”
“Yes, dear,” Aunt Margot answered, pulling the door open. “And you won’t need your purse. Dollars and cell phones are useless at Brick Row.” She lifted a flowery cloche from a five pronged coat stand. “Hats and coats. We need to get hats and coats on.”
Uncle Hank slid a black ribboned boater hat atop his poof of salt and pepper hair. It fit his head well, but it struck me as odd. I had never seen him in a hat before, and judging by the round boxes in their closet, he owned more than just one. “Do you think Kim could borrow one of yours?”
Aunt Margot and I exchanged wary glances. “That’s all right, Uncle Hank,” I told him. “I don’t like hats.”
He shot me a frown as he turned to Aunt
Margot. “She’ll stick out a bit, don’t you think?”
Her large paw waved the idea away. “It’s a Saturday. Nobody will notice.”
He shrugged, surrendering the issue. “Is the double door on your side or mine?” His feet carried him into the spacious closet.
“Your side, as always.” Aunt Margot pulled on a pair of beige leather gloves to match her hat. “All right, before we go, do you have your supply list?”
I pulled the folded sheet of paper from my jeans pocket. “Right here.”
Her thumb and index finger plucked the page from my hand and dropped it into her purse. “Hank.” Her voice lifted over my head.
“Yes, dear,” he called out as he wrestled a large object behind his numerous jackets.
“Do you have any arcs or do we need to run by the bank and get some? I only ask because I would feel safer leaving our bank key here in the house rather than taking it with us if it’s unnecessary.”
“I have plenty of arcs.” His voice strained between huffs and puffs. He yanked a full size door into the center of the room.
My lips puckered in curiosity. “Arcs are—”
“Wizard money.” She finished my sentence. “And lastly, Kim, do you have the acceptance letter?”
“I gave it to Uncle Hank.”
“In my wallet.” His words were mixed in between his heaves for air. A light glaze settled across his brow. “I have it in my wallet.”
“I think we’re ready then.” She extended her hand, inviting me.
“But it’s just a closet, how are we going to get to Brick Row?” I took a step, squeezing beside Aunt Margot’s wardrobe. “And what is that?”
Aunt Margot sighed. “It’s a double door, dear.”
The deep purple door stood on its own with no support, outlined with a white frame. Seven different locks were screwed onto its face, bolts and chains and latches. Two metal knobs sat on either side. One had a slot for a key, and the other featured a thumb turn. A heavy bronze knocker settled in the middle, ostentatious in size.
“What’s a double door?”
“A bit hard to explain, really.” Uncle Hank scratched the back of his head. “It’s a door that opens to any door, should you know the proper knock.”
I took another step. Aunt Margot’s evening gowns beat my right arm and draped across my shoulder. “Why does it have so many locks?”
“I think it would be rather obvious.” He shrugged. “If it leads to all doors, then all other double doors lead here as well.” His brow scrunched and eyes narrowed in seriousness. “You never know who might be trying to come in.” The idea sent chills down my back. “Traveling through a double door is a rarity nowadays. Most won’t even buy them after that one wizard knocked incorrectly and stepped through to a maniac’s basement. He was obliterated almost instantly.”
“And then there were the Caracas Kidnappings,” Aunt Margot added.
“That was some type of evil.” Uncle Hank shook his head. “Some mundi down in Venezuela got his hands on a double door and purposefully left it unlocked. Any wizard that stepped through by accident was bound and sold through the black market. The investigation lasted several years.”
Aunt Margot leaned toward me. “Nasty bit of business.”
“So, then why do you use a double door if they’re so dangerous?” The desire to be as far from the door flared inside of me.
“Well, it’s convenient and makes travel super easy. Plus, this one’s safe.” He slapped a hand against the white siding. “The seven locks guarantee it can’t be picked, and the duel doorknobs ensures we’ll reach our destination. We paid quite a bit for this model. I wanted one that was safe, secure, and reliable—you don’t get that without forking out more than you feel comfortable doing.”
“Yes, and the cheaper doors also have a bad habit of sending you to some location you never intended to go despite performing the correct knock.” A reassuring smile graced Aunt Margot’s plum-painted lips. “But don’t be nervous or anxious. We have yet to experience a single hiccup with this door.”
“Why do you say ‘yet’?”
“Because it’s a heavily enchanted door, Kim. The more enchanted an object, the more likely it is to get an attitude with you. That’s why wands can be tricky.”
“You mean your wand can be tricky.” Aunt Margot blinked with a sweet innocence.
Uncle Hank sighed. “I’ve already told you, I’m not taking it in for reorientation. It doesn’t need it nor does it deserve it.”
“All right, Hank. But when it singes the ends of your beard again, don’t ask me to fix it.” Before he uttered a word in retaliation, Aunt Margot changed the subject. “Ready to go when you are.”
I struggled to imagine Uncle Hank engaging in any sort of grooming. Both the hair on his head and the hair on his face formed a wiry heap only capable of being tamed by a hair tie. My mother often joked he looked as though he set a large bowl atop his head and cut around the base, beard and all. The description was spot on.
“That’s a first,” Uncle Hank mumbled. He raised a thick arm and released all seven locks. “All right now, it’s two knocks below the knocker, one below those, a hard rap above the right doorknob, and then—” He paused. “And then—” His eyes glanced at Aunt Margot. “And then—”
“Oh, move out of the way, you already screwed it up.” Aunt Margot bumped him with her round hips.
“I did? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because.” She huffed. “Now, it’s two knocks directly above the knocker, one below, and that’s it.” Her gloved fingers wrapped around the left doorknob and pushed the door open. The thick purple wood swung open, but all that appeared was the closet on the other side.
“That’s it?” I crossed my arms. “Did it work?”
“Yes, that’s it. And there’s only one way to know if it worked. Margot, how about you come through last, just to be safe.” His hands tugged on his jacket, straightening out any wrinkles before he lifted a foot and stepped over the white threshold. His legs vanished into the air and soon his entire body was gone.
I rubbed my eyes, unsure of what I saw. It was one thing to believe magic existed but to see it in action was another. My chest inflated, overwhelmed by the experience.
“And now you.”
“Me?” I mouthed to myself. The entire situation was unnerving—traveling to a wizard town through an enchanted door that may or may not kill me in order to buy supplies for a magical school. But this was what I chose for myself when I scratched out my name on that coffee-stained page.
I marched myself into position. I stood a single foot length from the empty opening. “And I just go in?” Aunt Margot nodded her head and ushered me in with both hands. My lungs pulled down a deep breath before my leg lifted and stepped across the threshold. My foot disappeared before me and a light pressure hugged my shoe and ankle. It mimicked the sensation of stepping into gelatin—or at least what I imagined stepping into gelatin would feel like.
Once I was halfway in, a great tug jerked me forward. An unseen force yanked on my body bit by bit, drawing me in. It squeezed every inch of me.
But it was over before I had time to react. I took another step to steady myself. Instead of carpet, my shoe met a hard surface.
“Welcome to Brick Row.” Uncle Hank’s hand clapped my shoulder, steering me to the side. I tripped over my own feet. My head swam, trying to find equilibrium. “Well, the Brick Row Chamber House. Once Margot’s through, we’ll step out.”
I nodded and leaned against the cold wall to pace my breathing.
We stood in a circular room with white walls and black marble floors. All different shapes and sizes of doors appeared and disappeared as their individual owners entered or exited. People were coming and going like a busy subway station, and they were all dressed in Uncle Hank and Aunt Margot’s odd style. Most everyone had on a hat. Leather gloves covered their hands. Not one individual sported a pair of jeans. Even the children wore slacks or a s
kirt or a dress. One young child even pranced through in a kilt. And in place of cotton T-shirts, they all wore blouses and fine-fitted Oxford shirts.
“Did you lock up?” Uncle Hank as Aunt Margot stepped through.
“Of course.” She pulled the deep purple door shut. As soon as her hand released the knob, the thick wood folded in on itself and escaped from sight with a small pop.
Uncle Hank held out his arm for Margot. Her fingers wrapped around the fine cloth of his jacket, and the three of us proceeded through a set of hefty double doors. Beige steps poured before us, sliding into a narrow street that carried the masses to and fro. The town’s name became apparent as I glanced down either direction. Various shades of blue brick dressed each and every building.
“Where to first?” Hank turned to Margot.
“Let’s see.” She slipped her hand into her purse and retrieved the list. “All first year students are required to bring one wand and its accompanying case; one McGowen Student Alchemical Glassware Set; one mid-century kitchen scale; and one twelve count of chalk—white, classic. Required textbooks: Civics and Citizenship by Cecil Greaves, The Basics of Alchemical Invention and The Novice Botanist’s Field Guide by Dorian Jelenic, The Wand and Words by Madame Anastasia DuPont, Beyond the Crystal Ball by Alistair Kingston, and The Beginner’s Guide to Augmentation by Vinay Ravin.” The list fell from her face, and her eyes went wide. “A wand. She needs a wand.” Urgency marked her voice. “But she hasn’t got a license.”
Uncle Hank rubbed his chin. “I think I may know a place that can help us out with that.” He nodded. “Right. Let’s tackle the wand first.”
We turned and started down the bustling street. My neck bent and twisted every which way. The first shop we passed had an extravagant display of men’s and women’s hats, boasting of different styles, rare colors, and the perfect shapes.
“He just signed with Boston,” an older wizard commented to another.
A chalkboard sign announced a sale on lizard creams, parrot red rouges, and basin mud baths at Amazonian Antidotes: Beauty for the Organic Witch.