* * *
Since the death of my parents, I’ve done everything you can think of to suppress my magical birthright. Being a Seer is after all what kept me from falling asleep at night—and from having a normal childhood. But the second I stepped through my grandparent’s front door, the demons from my past—went head-on with my visions of the future.
What is it about this old Victorian mansion that makes it impossible for anything paranormal to hide? For more than six years, magic—and visions—have been absent from my life. But coming back here has changed everything.
After a speedy trip to the restroom, I take the unoccupied micro-fiber sofa across from my already sleeping aunt. Luckily, Gram placed fluffy blankets and pillows on the coffee table for us. Seconds later, I lay staring at the ceiling, while images of the past—and future—force my heart to rivet against the inner walls of my ribcage, replaying the tiny snippets of images I saw when we walked in.
Did I really think there was a chance this wouldn’t happen? I’m such an idiot. Long Island now feels like the last place on earth I should be.
When I dropped my banged-up suitcase on the floor about ten minutes ago, I had what can only be described as a creepy vision. But I’m not sure what to make of it. For years, I would do everything in my power to shut them out. For the most part, I learned to ignore them. The second a vision began, I would automatically force myself to think of something else. I can’t remember the last time I actually allowed one to play out. This new vision, however, shocked my senses. There was no ignoring it.
There were faces I don’t know, mixed with faces I do.
I could feel pain and fear, but I had no clue why.
The strangers were more bothersome than the feeling of dread. Their fancy attire reminded me of a Masquerade Ball.
But something was disturbing about these people.
Nothing about it makes any sense.
Somehow, I manage to fall asleep, but each time I do, I wake up a short time after remembering the vision. For hours, this continues like clockwork. But as my cast-iron-eyelids finally decide to give in, a noise from upstairs startles me. I lift my hand, trying to slow the erratic thumping in my chest.
The low rumble of my sister’s voice gets clearer, talking on the phone as she clears one wooden step at a time. I’d know her throaty voice anywhere. My stomach knots as the creaky stairs across the room taunt me with her impending arrival.
Gulp. You can do this.
I sit up as she turns the corner, swaggering towards me with her ski-slope-nose in the air, hands on her lithe, tiny waist. If I weren’t so afraid of her, there’s a good chance I’d be in awe of the woman she’s become. At least five-seven—thin—and exquisite. Some might even say breathtaking, with her pixie-like features, flowing mahogany hair, and spidery-long-legs. The exact same features our mother had.
I sigh, yanking the fuzzy fleece from my lap.
I just can’t get over how much older than eighteen she looks. I mean, I’m only nineteen, but she looks so much older than I do with her Victoria’s Secret Angel curves.
Deep down, I’d hoped she might be happy to see me, but that was clearly an overly optimistic wish. Instead, she greets me with the straight-face-of-indifference. Well it’s better than rage, right?
Deep breath, Chloe. Brace yourself for the barrage of innuendo that’s sure to spout from Dhelia Bishop’s often-cruel lips.
Standing before me, Dhelia simply stares, waiting for me to speak.
Okay, I guess I should be the one to say something. We talk on the phone every few months, but it’s so much easier when I can’t see her piercing eyes look right through me. But even then, it’s still forced small talk.
Well, they say it’s less painful if you just yank the Band-Aid off. Yeah, right. Who’s the moron who came up with that one?
“Morning, Dee. I…I hope Aunt Morgan and I didn’t wake you when we got in last night?” I clear my throat, dislodging the imaginary hairball that’s getting in my way. “We tried to be quiet.”
Now refusing to look at me, her eyes jump to the blank TV screen across the room. “Nope. Slept like a baby.” She turns her head back, scanning me up and down more thoroughly than TSA. “You’re a hot mess though. Trouble sleeping?” She snorts. “I’ve heard a guilty conscience will do that.”
And there she is ladies and gentlemen, wasting no time sinking her claws in. That’s record time, even for her.
I shake my head in silence.
How could this brat be my only sister?
I stare at cerulean blue eyes that match my own, realizing: if it weren’t for our eyes, no one would ever know we’re related. Not that most people would notice mine anyway against my pale features. But Dhelia doesn’t have that problem. The twenty layers of black mascara and eyeliner make hers pop with conviction. I tend to go for a more subtle look, where Dhelia goes for the dramatic. Go figure. Then again, she is the drama queen in the family.
Yes, I suppose it’s safe to say I dipped in the other side of the gene pool.
Average height.
Athletic build.
And golden-blonde hair of all things.
Other than my father, I’m the only blonde in the family. Chloe Bishop—oddball extraordinaire.
Now self-conscience with Dhelia’s piercing eyes upon me, I run my fingers through my imagined bed-head. If it weren’t so long, I’m sure it would be a nasty mess.
Dhelia crosses her arms, waiting for me to say something, but my mind takes me back to the last day I saw her. A frightened and helpless little girl, unable to hide her devastated emotions. Comparing it to the impassivity I see now, I don’t know which is worse. How do I navigate this?
But I’ll be the bigger person and ignore her smart-crack. For now. “It was a long, bumpy flight. I only got an hour or two of sleep once we made it here. Not that anyone else had a problem.” I tilt my head towards Aunt Morgan who lay sound asleep across from me, her face buried in a down pillow.
“Apparently.” Dhelia blurts out an abrupt laugh, turning to walk towards the kitchen. “You hungry?”
Rather than yell my answer and risk waking Aunt Morgan, I get up and follow her. “Sure, what’s for breakfast? Need any help?”
Dhelia stops, her sparkly flip-flops squeaking on the ceramic tiles. “Help?” She sneers. “You’re a little late for that one, don’t you think?”
Ouch! Straight for the jugular. Screw the claws—Dhelia’s all fangs.
Not that I don’t deserve it.
I wipe my sweaty palms against my flannel jammy pants. “I meant with breakfast, Dhelia,” is all I can mutter without feeling like an idiot.
She waives her hand in the air so the refrigerator door slams shut with a loud thud. Showoff!
I try to think of something to say, but I can’t help but notice the kitchen’s new facelift. My grandparents must have spent a pretty penny. Dark cherry cabinets rest overhead on three walls with multi-colored, earth-tone quartz counters under each. And the stainless steel appliances bring together this state-of-the-art, spotless kitchen. Gram must adore her time in here. I sure would. But I think my favorite thing is the matching island for eight in the center of the room. They must spend so much time here.
I open my mouth to comment on the remodel, but sleeping beauty walks through the door and interrupts. “Good morning, girls.” Aunt Morgan yawns. “Been up long?”
Well she must have slept well. By the look of that hair, I’d say a little too well. Talk about a rat’s nest.
“Nope. Only about five minutes or so,” I mumble, hoping my relief at her timely entrance isn’t too obvious. “So, looks like you slept okay.” I giggle, lifting my eyes to admire her mussed coif. “You passed out on me the second you laid down.”
She tries to look up at her hair, patting down the disaster with little success. She’s too cute. “Yea, sorry about that. I guess I needed it.” Stretching, she strolls through the wide-open kitchen taking in the new layout ju
st as I had. “The minute we walked through the door I was overcome with exhaustion. I forgot how relaxing it is here.” She pokes her head into the sunroom off the kitchen. “Are your gram and pap up yet?” Aunt Morgan turns to search our faces, but my blank expression makes her look to Dhelia for a response.
“I’m sure they’re still in bed. They tried to wait up, but I don’t think they made it past midnight. What time did you finally get it in?” Dhelia keeps her eyes on Aunt Morgan like I’m not even here. Nice.
“Oh, it was between three-thirty and four, right Chloe?”
“Yeah, sounds about right.” I nod. “It was the latest I’ve been up in a long time . . . that’s for sure.”
Dhelia rolls her eyes at my response. She always makes me feel like such an ass.
We stand around the island like three strangers at a fast-food restaurant. Could this be any more uncomfortable?
I look up towards the ceiling. Save us, please!
Aunt Morgan breaks the silence, pulling out a bar stool beside Dhelia, wooden legs rumble across the ceramic tiles. “Please tell me there’s coffee?” Her eyes pleading. “There’s no way I can function without my fix.”
“Oh, yeah.” Dhelia laughs. “I knew I was forgetting something.” She grabs a bag of Dunkin Donut’s coffee from the fridge and fills the pot with water.
Aunt Morgan’s lips part as though she wants to say something. She’s wearing that stressed-out look I’ve grown to know so well, arms awkwardly crossed, eyes squinting. Clearing her throat, she looks to Dhelia. “Will he be okay, Dhelia? I . . . .” She pauses. “I know your gram said we should be hopeful, but I need someone to give it to me straight. I need to know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
Dhelia turns my way. “You’d better sit down, too.”
I obey, dropping onto the stool with a thud.
“Okay. Here’s what we know.” She exhales. “Pap has a grade IV Glioblastoma Multiforme brain tumor. But because of its location, his doctor isn’t sure if they’ll be able to remove it or not. They keep feeding us this hoopla about new treatments and procedures, which is why Gram’s so hopeful.” Dhelia’s eyes tear, forcing her to look down. “I just hope she’s not kidding herself.”
Oh my god! I had no idea it was this bad. My mouth falls open in shock as my heart drag races through my chest, shifting gears to speed up, threatening to crash at any second.
Dhelia looks back and forth between us. “We’ve done tons of research and gotten second, third, and fourth opinions. Honestly, we should prepare ourselves. I’m not trying to be a pessimist, it’s just . . . . I just want us to be realistic. If the worst should happen, I don’t want us to be taken by surprise.”
Silence.
As Aunt Morgan and I digest the information, Dhelia winces, hanging her head again. Great. Now I feel even guiltier than I already had. The only reason Aunt Morgan and I are even here is because of Pap. I’m the worst sister in the world.
“So what’s the plan tomorrow?” I rub my frigid hands together, looking to Dhelia. “Is there anything Aunt Morgan and I should know ahead of time?” Please tell me there isn’t something else. Please!
Fidgeting with the edges of a bamboo placemat, Dhelia looks up. “Nothing I haven’t already told you. The plan is to remove the tumor. At this point, they don’t know how far it may have spread. Even if they do remove it, he may still need radiation or chemo. Beyond that, we have to wait and see how tomorrow goes.”
“How’s he feeling?” I lift my eyebrows, unsure if I can handle the answer.
She glances down at the table again. “Well, he has good days and bad…and has probably aged about fifteen years since this all started. Plus, he sleeps a lot and has been super weak lately. Had it not been for the terrible headaches he’d been getting, we wouldn’t have even known he was sick.” Dhelia shakes her head. “But about the time he got the test results, everything hit him full-force. It’s just not fair.”
“Well, I’m here to help in any way I can. I know it’s not what you want to hear right now, but I’m not going back to San Diego. I’m staying.” Where did that come from? Staying here was never part of the plan. What the . . . !
Her posture stiffens, the corners of her lips curling in that condescending way that makes you feel like an insect, just before it gets squashed. “Is that so? Better late than never I guess.”
I push out an exasperated exhale. “Please don’t be like that, Dhelia.”
She releases the mat, laying her hands flat against the gold-flecked quartz. “Oh, my bad. That’s soooooo kind of you, Chloe. I wasn’t aware you’d gotten so considerate in your years away.” Dhelia’s smug nose lifts in the air.
Why doesn’t she understand why I had to leave? She acts like I left to intentionally hurt her.
“Girls, this really isn’t the time. I know you have issues to work out, but it’s gonna have to wait.” Aunt Morgan’s disappointed eyes narrow on us both.
Great. The last thing I want is to upset her. She has enough to worry about. “You’re right. We can talk about it later.” I lift my head, glaring at Dhelia across the table. She rolls her eyes with such animation she doesn’t notice anyway.
My sister gets up from the stool to throw bacon in a frying pan. Instead of offering my help again, I go to the cabinet for more pans and spatulas. Luckily, everything is right where I remember it. I’d hate to have to ask Dhelia where something is. She’d bite my head off for sure.
I notice Aunt Morgan watching our display with a grin. “Kids,” she says, chuckling under her breath. She meanders to the coffee pot to erase her morning sluggishness.
As I reach up for plates, the front door slams shut. “Honey, I’m home! Mmm mmm mmm . . . sure smells good in there. What’s for breakfast?”
“Dru!” I squeal.
I bolt across the kitchen floor, jumping into my baby brother’s welcoming arms. “It’s so good to see you. And when did you lose the pimples and get so handsome?”
Six-two with shaggy brown hair and a chin dimple, he’s even better looking than his pictures. He has heartbreaker written all over him with his dreamy, boy-band looks. I’ve never been more proud.
“Well, thank you.” He puffs his chest out. “You’re not looking too bad yerself there, Blondie.” He pushes me back at arm’s length, looking me up and down. “Looks like San Diego’s been good for you.” He hugs me again, swinging me around in dizzying circles.
My little brother no longer smells of fresh-cut grass and bubblegum—he now smells like a man with his sporty, powder-fresh cologne. My heart that had been aching only moments ago, swells with so much joy to be with my brother again. Not a day went by where I didn’t miss his sweet smile and disarming attitude. Dru’s the kind of brother all girls dream of having. He’s funny, understanding, protective, in touch with his feelings, and has the biggest heart I’ve ever seen. It still baffles me he’s Dhelia’s twin. Can you say “polar opposites”?
While pride for my brother makes me giddy, it occurs to me he’s just now coming through the door. “Just getting home, are we?” I give Dru a sideways grin, wondering if he’s been up to no good. I take a big whiff of his shirt to see if I missed a hint of beer—or pot.
Both Dhelia and Aunt Morgan turn from the stove to look at his face.
Dru squirms, tugging at the collar of his powder blue button-down. “Ah . . . I guess I’m just getting home. I stayed at Peyton’s.” A tiny blush spreads across his round cheeks.
“Peyton?” Huh? Sounds like someone’s got some ‘splaining to do.
Even though we haven’t seen each other in years, we stay in constant contact with e-mails, calls, texts, social media, and tons of pictures. Yet this is the first time I’m hearing Peyton’s name.
“She’s the girl I told you about.” He tilts his head to the side, grabbing my arm. “You know . . . the one I’ve gone out with a few times over the years. I haven’t said much because I’m not sure where it’s going. She goes to Florida State, so I d
on’t know about the whole long distance thing. But summer just started, so we’ll see.” He smiles. “You’ll like her, Chloe. She’s pretty great. Sorta reminds me of my big sister.”
Awe, how sweet is he? “Oh really? Then she must be the coolest chick ever.” We both laugh at my less than modest comparison.
Dhelia sticks her finger in her mouth pretending to gag, but I ignore her. “So when do I meet the lucky girl?”
“Soon. Let’s see how things go with Pap tomorrow. Maybe we can make a plan for later in the week? Unless . . . .” He pauses. “Unless you plan to leave before the weekend?” His cheeks droop like a moping Bassett Hound.
I reach up, pushing his frown into a smile with my fingertips. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.” I gently punch him in the arm. “I’m back for good.”
His face lights up like a tanning bed. “Seriously? That’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Awesome!” Dru hugs me so tight he just might sever me at the ribcage.
He lowers me to the ground, sniffing the air again. “So is breakfast ready or what?”
“Sure is.” I look to Dhelia and Aunt Morgan. “So should we eat now . . . or wait for Gram and Pap?”
“You’d better not start without us!” Pap shouts from the other room. “Heads will roll if I have to eat cold bacon.” He tries to sound tough, but we know better.
We laugh as he and Gram walk in. He still has his wits about him, which has to be a good sign.
As I assault my grandparents with hugs, I can’t help realizing how much Gram hasn’t changed, but how much Pap has. It tickles me to see him, but my heart breaks to feel his frail shoulders beneath my hands. This once strong man now seems more breakable than bone china.
He has to be okay—he has to!
“Now this is the way it’s supposed to be. Well, almost.” Gram purses her lips, eyes shooting daggers at Aunt Morgan. “So how are the boys, dear?”
“Ash and Aidan are just fine, Mother. Anyway . . . .” Aunt Morgan changes the subject, “who wants scrambled eggs and bacon?” Everyone raises a hand. “Well what are you waiting for? Dig in!”
We eat breakfast, reminiscing over childhood stories and making plans for the future. Tension drains from my body the longer we talk. I never imagined it would feel so natural to be with my family again—as if we’d never skipped a beat.
But sitting here listening to the contented chatter brings everything to the forefront. The proverbial elephant in the room; the very reason I left home in the first place.
Witchcraft.
They’re all Witches. Other than Pap, every single one of them was born with a magical ability, just as I was. Though, I’m the only one who would do anything to give it back.
But watching the faces of my loved ones, I can admit there is one thing I do like about being a Witch: our funky, brilliant-blue eyes with a dark ring around the iris. When we use magic, they glow such a bright, radiant blue, one might think there’s an electric current running through them. Even I can’t deny how spectacular they are.
Which reminds me of a question I was always either too stubborn—or too afraid to ask. “Gram, there’s something I’ve always wondered about. Did our entire family have the same eyes as us?” For some reason, I need to know.
The room grows silent, her eyes scrunching up as she watches me.
“What?” I shrug.
“Well, dear, you know very well that subject has always been off limits with you.” She looks around the table at the rest of the family. “You can’t blame us for being skeptical of your sudden interest.”
She’s right of course. “Yeah, I know. I’m just curious.” I look down at the greasy bacon on my plate.
“You’re allowed to be, dear. It’s okay. I’d love to answer questions about the family.” She lays her fork on the side of her plate then crosses her hands in front of her. “You probably never paid attention when you were little, but we’re very different from the rest of the Moon family. Yes, they were all born with supernatural abilities, but I was the first one born with our magical eyes.” She clears her throat. “I’ve always said we were special, and that just proves it.”
“Humph,” Pap huffs. “What makes this family so special is the superior, genetic boost that I gave it. Where else do you think the damn twins came from, woman? Me! I’m the twin, not you.” He shakes his head at Gram, but then everyone laughs at their banter.
“Don’t you sass me, old man! I might not have an active power like the rest of the family, but one of my potions can still turn you into a toothless troll.” She pinches his cheek as his eyes widen in animated disgust.
Watching my grandparents now, it’s hard to believe Aurora and Samuel got the short-end-of-the-broomstick as far as gifts go. Pap obviously isn’t part of the Moon Wiccan bloodline, so he learned magic the old-school way after they were married. Not that he was crazy about the endless hours of studying. Gram even made him take a few Herbology and Botany courses.
Pap wasn’t much of a believer back then, but because he loved Gram so deeply, he knew the greatest gift he could give her would be to play a role in the one thing that brought her so much joy. And that’s precisely what he did. According to Gram, he complained the entire time. But knowing Pap, I’m sure he did it with sarcasm and a smile. Just like he always does.
Gram places her hand atop Pap’s and I can’t help but admire her love for him—and for magic. She loves being a Witch and concocting all sorts of potions and spells. No, she’s not the overly commercialized type of Witch with cauldrons and black pointy hats, who rides a broom and twitches her nose. She’d gasp in abject horror if she ever heard someone make such an accusation. For most of the family, Wicca is more of an entertaining hobby. But for Gram, it’s the only way of life she’s ever known.
I glance across the kitchen to the windowsill where I spot glass bottles of what looks to be calendula, lavender, and a strange blue liquid I’ve never seen before. I’m guessing they’re something new Gram’s working on for her skincare line or homeopathic remedies.
My grandparents have built a comfortable life for themselves from her gift. Her biggest sellers, however, are the various love potions people around the world would pay just about anything to get their hands on. She calls it, ‘The Magic Touch’. And believe me, it is.
My trip down memory lane halts, feeling someone’s eyes on me.
Of course. I should have known. My darling brother, the Empath, watches me with an amused smile. It can be a bit unsettling to know someone can channel your emotions. But he’d never abuse it—that’s not his style.
When Dru was ten, his best friends’ dog was hit on the road right in front of them. He felt terrible because his friend was in so much pain—all he wanted to do was make him feel better. Dru tried to console his friend as best he could, but nothing worked. He started saying, “Make it stop. Make it stop.” And the next thing he knew, his friend was somehow calm. Instead, it was Dru who was crying like a baby.
Gram figured that as he got older and had a chance to develop his gift, perhaps he could take away peoples pain without absorbing it all into himself in the process.
I wonder how much luck he’s had with that?
Dru shakes his head at me. “Stop it!”
“What?” I lift my hand to my cheek, feigning ignorance.
“You know what.” He points his finger at me. “Find something better to think about.”
Better? Not a chance. “There’s nothing better than my little brother.” I blow him a kiss across the table.
“What’s going on with you two?” Gram asks before taking a drink of orange juice.
“Oh, Dru doesn’t want me getting sentimental thinking about him.” We stare at each other with a smile. My god, I’ve missed this. Why did it take me until now to realize that?
“Just for that . . . . ” He grabs two slices of my bacon and shoves them in his wide-open mouth.
“Are you showing off again, dear?” Gram laughs at the c
homping Dru.
“Oh, no way am I being a show-off.” He turns to Dhelia. “There’s only room for one of those in this family.”
“Excuse me?” Dhelia’s jaw falls open, glaring at her twin. “What did I do now?”
“Nothing, yet. But do you remember the stuff you used to do in school? Like the time you pulled the chair out from under Bobby Wilson as he was sitting down. Or the time you made chalk fly out of Mr. Lingenfelter’s hand when he was writing on the board? He thought the class was haunted.” Dru howls with laughter. “But the best was the day you made the tennis racket fly between snotty Susie Frank’s feet. I’ll never forget the way she nose-dived in the middle of the court.” My family laughs at the memory.
“That wasn’t funny,” I reply. “Didn’t she hurt her knee when she fell?” Dhelia can take her Telekinesis a little too far sometimes.
My sister lifts the pitcher of orange juice off the table with her mind, only to fill my glass so full it spills over into my lap. I give her the death-stare, but she just snickers. “Dru was right. Show off!” I snap.
“No bickering,” Pap mumbles with his mouth full. “Eat.”
She’s so infuriating.
I grab a handful of napkins from the center of the table and wipe myself off, while the rest of the family gets back to breakfast.
I can’t tell you how many times she put our family at risk with her ego. But Gram always found a way to calm an angry parent or teacher. By the end of the conversation, they’d think it was the other child who’d done something wrong. Yes, Gram’s gift works miracles on more than just wrinkles and unrequited love. As long as she kept her family safe, Gram saw no harm in bending the rules a bit. Even when my mother was alive, it was still Gram who came to Dhelia’s rescue. My mom on the other hand, wasn’t nearly as good at the art of persuasion. She didn’t have the same charm as Gram, but that was okay with her.
My mother’s gift was pretty cool though. If I could have traded mine with hers, I would have done so in a heartbeat. She was what’s known as a Reader. When she touched an object—any object—she could tell you everything about anyone who’d ever laid their hands upon it.
Unfortunately, my father didn’t find her gift to be as wonderful as I did. He used to get so pissed at my mother for what was in his eyes, an invasion of other people’s privacy. It had gotten to the point where she’d walk around with her hands in her pockets, just to avoid an argument. It was irrelevant that it didn’t happen the very second she touched something. She had to take a moment to focus on the object before the flashes of information would flood her mind.
The technicalities didn’t matter to my closed-minded father. He didn’t trust her not to snoop around where she didn’t belong. He always hated my family’s magic. No, more like, he resented it. If only she’d been honest with him before they’d gotten married, but Gram didn’t think it would be a wise idea. History was always doomed to repeat itself in her eyes. And she was right.
But my mom hopelessly loved my father back then. Gram knew if he’d heard the truth, he would have never married her, which would have crushed my mom. And considering how difficult things had gotten for my mom after he’d found out, I know Gram regretted her interference. Even though she’d been right about how he’d react.
My parents argued so much those last few years, and it always broke my heart to see my mother filled with such regret. She hated that she hurt him—and he never let her forget it.
In the end, she paid the ultimate price for her betrayal—and for her gift.
What had she touched to set him off? What had she seen?
Most of their fights blend together in a haze of memory from childhood, but it was the last fight they had that remains crystal clear in my mind.
It was that last fight that made me hate who I am—and forced me to run away from everything I ever knew and loved.
Chapter 2
A FAMILIAR FACE
Tethered (A BirthRight Novel #1) Page 2