Nightwish (An Echoes of Eternity Novel Book 1)

by Sydney Bristow

  I turned and Grams swept me up in a loose hug that lasted approximately two seconds. How odd! Throughout my life, Grams always wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight, holding me there for at least six or seven seconds before stepping away.

  “Yes,” she said, pausing before saying, “the ceremony: please accept my congratulations. But I am afraid that we have more important matters to attend to.”

  I examined her eyes to see if she’d accidentally doubled (or tripled) her dosage of high-blood pressure medication. I often left notes around the house because, over the past few weeks, Grams’s Alzheimer’s had taken a turn for the worse. “You’re right: a demon attacked me.” I waited for a response, but getting none, I repeated: “Eyes that flicker black? Laughs at broken bones as if I’d tickled him? What do you know about that?”

  She offered an amused smile, but she didn’t respond.

  In her right mind, Grams wouldn’t have overlooked my feelings so haphazardly, but Alzheimer’s had occurred, robbing Grams of her normal thought process, so despite my frustration I overlooked her disinterest. “Do demons exist? Do you know anything about that?” I only asked because I wanted her to explain why she decided not to tell me about their presence.

  “Yes.” Grams smiled, as though no further explanation was necessary. “And yes.”

  Despite her satisfaction with those answers, I waited for clarification that never came. “So demons exist. Great! Glad we clarified that. What do you know about them?”

  “They will go to any lengths to hasten your demise.”

  “Why? And how do you know this?”

  “Because they have attacked me as well.” Her smile made it obvious that she could expound on her answers, but she pressed her lips together, preventing that from happening.

  Her indifference annoyed me. Earlier this past week, upon coming home from the last class of my college career, she hadn’t recognized me and called the police, stating that an intruder had entered her house. With narrowed, distrustful eyes, she’d held a broom, directing me toward the front door as I verbally recalled memories from our past in a shaky tone while tears lined my cheeks. The Grams I knew before this terrible disease attacked her mind and removed her loving, albeit cantankerous personality, would have cursed her poor fortune for a few minutes before accepting her fate and saying, ’God has a plan for me. I just have to trust him.’

  Now, Grams’s freaky grin remained plastered in place. “I sense confusion on your part.”

  I needed to regain my composure, so I distracted myself by glancing at the words on her sweatshirt, “Property of the Chicago Bears,” and decided to delve into inappropriate territory, a realm that Grams would no doubt take great satisfaction in. “Come on, Grams. There are 53 players on the Bears team. I’m all for you being a cougar, but where do you get the energy?”

  She stared at me. No, it seemed more like she stared through me, as though she knew I stood there, so she recognized my presence, but Grams refused to expend any time or attention on me. I’d hoped that she’d fire back an insult. But no. Nothing. Except a blank stare.

  “One day, you shall grow up to be an adult,” she said.

  Hadn’t I just hit that milestone today? I looked away, unwilling to speak again, lest sadness creep into my voice. I’d gladly make a deal with the devil to have my real Grams back for one more day just so I could tell her how much I’ve loved and appreciated her time, energy, and sacrifice in raising me. But since her Alzheimer’s struck, I found it difficult to accept this stranger as the woman who made me the number one priority in her life.

  Grams’s grin widened even more, stretching across pointy cheekbones. She lifted her arm and pointed behind me. “Allow me to make salutations to your mother, as well as your sister and niece.” She clasped her hands. “Oh, what a joyous occasion!”

  It seemed like a different person had invaded her body. Her voice no longer sounded brittle, and she moved quicker and with more pep than anytime within the last two years. I considered Darius’s statements about demons inhabiting humans. The idea petrified me, but then an important question popped into my mind: who would want to take over the body of an elderly woman? Granted, she may have magical abilities, but she also sometimes believed she lived during the middle of the twentieth century and daily lost sight of her dentures. Besides, if a demon had possessed her, wouldn’t it have tried to kill me like the creepy dude in the alley?

  Therefore, I attributed Grams’s awkward behavior to the Alzheimer’s. She had probably recalled a conversation with a friend from decades ago and now adopted her speech pattern. While this was the oddest behavior she had displayed so far, Grams had become moody, withdrawn, and confused, which made me realize that I should disregard her words as just another symptom of her disease. I turned away from Grams.

  And I set my gaze on my mother, a stunning brunette in her late thirties, whose curly dark tresses fell below her shoulders. Her radiant but insincere smile faltered then returned, dropped then lifted, as though someone in the distance controlled it by flicking a switch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, taking a half-step toward me before stopping and strapping her arms across her chest as though too self-conscious to hug a stranger…who wasn’t really a stranger in the broader sense of the term. It was a deliberate attempt to feign affection that ended up coming off as guarded and distrustful.

  “You too,” I said almost inaudibly, unable to look into her eyes. But now that I’d had a few seconds to contemplate her existence, I didn’t trust that my mother had suddenly come forth of her own volition. I could tell that she monitored me from the corner of her eye, giving the impression that she didn’t trust me…for reasons I couldn’t understand. If anything, I should feel distrustful. After all, she’d disowned me, and now she’d appeared after the most momentous occasion of my life. It ticked me off.

  So I thought I’d press the issue, since I figured that I’d earned that much: “What are you doing here?”

  “My name is Delphine.” My mother steepled her hands and placed her fingertips against her lips. “I’m so proud of you. You’re the first in our line to earn a degree.”

  Proud? If she were proud, she would have made her existence known…years ago! Her praise felt hollow and meaningless. I resented it. And I resented her. But rather than get upset at her, I misplaced my anxiety by striking out at Grams: “What the hell is going on?”

  She notched an objectionable eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You can beg all you want,” I said, “but I won’t apologize. You never told me about my mother, and now…she just shows up? I think I deserve an answer.” Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have reacted so strongly, but she’d lied and now seemed to play that off as unimportant: again, very uncharacteristic of her.

  “Oh, dear!” Grams said. “It appears that I exercised poor judgment.” She snapped her mouth shut, unwilling to offer anything more.

  Incredulous, I stared at her, anger jutting through my veins. “It appears? That isn’t just an accident…like you forgot to take out the garbage.” It occurred to me that I was skirting a touchy subject (her Alzheimer’s), but Grams avoided the subject my entire life. “We’re talking about my mother…your daughter! And you’re saying that not telling me was ‘poor judgment’?”

  “Indeed.” She looked distant, unapologetic.

  Disgusted, I stared at her and waited for an explanation…that never came. I decided to try a tactic that had worked of late: getting off the subject, only to return to it a short time later. I considered it the equivalent of a computer reboot. “It’s still kind of chilly for early May. Where did your Bears’ gloves and scarf go? Some Bears’ boots would look really classy. And hey, I bet I could get a great set of Bears’ earrings and necklaces around this time of season. Guess I’ve already picked out your Christmas gifts.”

  Grams offered a plastered-on smile. “Are you feeling ill, my darling?”

  Darling? She’d never called me that. Depending on her mood, s
he’d always had a nickname for me, which usually began with the first five letters of my name. When she was calm, she often called me Serenity. When happy, she referred to me as Serendipity. I now withdrew from her, first because Grams would have met my sarcasm and raised it a notch. Second, she would have tossed in a curse word before using a term like ‘darling.’

  “Have you been stricken with an ailment?” she asked, grinning as wide as a jack-o-lantern.

  Then a different female voice entered the conversation: “She has a college degree. Big whoop! Let’s all celebrate that she learned a bunch of stuff that’s useless where it matters: the real world.”

  I redirected my gaze to the person speaking, only to find that she looked…exactly like me! Shocked, I ignored her disrespectful remark and checked out every detail of my identical twin. Her pouty lips were more seductive, and her dark eyes were captivating and impossible to read. But why stop there? Unlike my pink blouse under a velvet cashmere sweater and jeans, a combo that did a fantastic job of diverting attention away from breasts that were too small, my sister wore a tight, black leather vest over a red tank-top that accentuated…I stopped comparing us, fearing that it would only result in the burden of poor self-esteem. No matter how well martial arts had toned my body, my sister looked fitter and sexier. I wanted to hate her, but I was too fascinated and freaked out that I had an identical twin to let fury resonate inside me.

  “Hi,” I said to her, embarrassed that my tone came out sounding like the croak of a frog.

  “Hey,” she said with a disinterested nod. “I’m Alexis.”

  Where I aimed for calm and collected, Alexis looked aloof and quadrupled my coolness factor. She reminded me of the popular girls in high school who never turned an eye upon those below their social status.

  She turned to her mother. “Remind me not to look in the mirror again.” Her eyebrows arched and her cheeks puckered as she stared into my eyes. She gave a frustrated shake of the head as she focused on me. It made me feel like an insect trapped under a microscope. Based on Alexis’s reaction, she hadn’t appeared any more intrigued by my existence than if I’d never been born. Still upset but also a little disappointed, I had no time to prepare for the onslaught of these emotions. On one hand, I felt incredibly overwhelmed that someone almost replicated my DNA. On the other, I felt unprepared and insecure to see that my mirror image made me look like a spinster.

  I broke eye contact, but I felt the need to dissolve the tension between us. “You all right there, Alexis?” I asked, trying to dilute some of my apprehension. “You look like Superman trying to shoot lasers from his eyes.”

  She ignored my sarcasm and glanced at the blond thirteen-year-old girl beside her. “Celestina, go meet your Aunt Serena.” My niece examined me with great concentration, as though studying my image because she feared that she’d never see it again. Despite her age, she looked wise enough to deliberate before uttering her thoughts, whereas at that age (and even now), I tended to speak first and then often regret that I hadn’t filtered my thought process. I admired that about my niece.

  Celestina bit her lower lip with indecision. She wore a black T-shirt featuring numerous white dots, which formed a stellar constellation and blue jean cutoffs. Her hesitance and discomfort reminded me of… well me, to be honest. And for that, I immediately gravitated toward her. I stepped forward and smiled. “Hi, Celestina. I guess…I’m your aunt.”

  That idea made me smile. When I looked into her eyes, a comforting sensation took hold of me: acceptance. While I had a difficult time recognizing Delphine as my mother, and to a lesser extent acknowledging that I had a twin sister, I felt a special kinship with Celestina that words could not explain. Her presence set me at ease in a way. Instinct told me that we’d come to care a great deal for each other, and seeing her smile the moment that thought crossed my mind, made me feel that I should trust that foresight.

  I offered my hand awkwardly, because how do you greet a teenage family member you never knew existed.

  But instead of taking my hand, Celestina went to my left hip and enveloped me in a hug. Caught off guard, but touched by her gesture and the emotion behind it, I wrapped my arms around her, taking in her scent, which reminded me of pinecones and pumpkins, of the winter holidays and… what I always imagined having family would feel like. A ray of sunshine shot into my heart. I held her tightly, just as Grams had always done with me before her illness stole her memory.

  “Okay,” said Alexis, irritated. “Enough of that. Get back here.”

  Celestina left my embrace. She craned her neck to the side, glancing at her mother and grandmother, seeking assurance and hoping for acceptance. But she got neither, so she lowered her head, as though silently punished for acknowledging my existence.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  Alexis let out an exasperated sigh. “She doesn’t know you. I don’t know you.” She looked down at Celestina and curled a protective arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a hug. “I just don’t want her to get her hopes up about someone who…may not play a role in her life.”

  “Who says I won’t?”

  She opened her mouth to speak but paused for a long beat, as though reconsidering the response that came naturally in favor of one with more prudence. “We just met. Let’s take things slowly.”

  “You don’t trust me. Is that it?”

  “You got it, sister!” She glanced at Delphine. “I don’t like this. Any of it.”

  “On that, I agree.” Then it dawned on me that if Celestina was a teenager and Alexis was my twin sister, that meant my sister gave birth at…eight years old! But how could that be possible?

  As though understanding my insight, Alexis’s cheeks became as puffy and dark as a storm cloud covering the sun. “Do. Not. Go. There!”

  Shocked by her outburst, I almost wavered in place at the barely bottled fury that crossed her face. I found it both startling and frightening that, a moment after contemplating the age at which my sister delivered her child, I felt like someone had plucked my brain with a spoon, as though trying to carve out my thoughts.

  It was as if Alexis had read my mind! That thought left me unexpectedly gasping for air. Of course, the idea was ludicrous. But was it any more unheard of than surviving a demon attack?

  I set my eyes on Alexis, but she looked up at Delphine, who gave her full concentration to Grams. How odd! In contrast to my sister, who shrugged off my existence as of little consequence, Delphine looked at Grams with great respect. This seemed out of place because, Grams once admitted to wishing she’d had a chance to correct the mistakes she’d made in raising my mother. Based on that response, I had presumed that Grams had inadvertently driven Delphine out of her life.

  Therefore, it surprised me to see Delphine look at Grams with reverence. I’d always imagined that they never understood each other, resulting in countless arguments and fights. Of course, my interpretation was based on very little information and lots of conjecture, but I would never have expected my mother to regard Grams with anything but spite. So to see Delphine giving her the utmost respect made it nearly impossible for me to speak. But sensing that she’d kept in contact with them behind my back loosened my tongue quickly.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about them, Grams?”

  Grams removed her gaze from Delphine, but looked at Alexis instead of me.

  “My mother and sister want nothing to do with me, so why am I here?” Despite that realization, I was hurt that Grams kept this part of our lives from me.

  It seemed she’d kept a lot from me, especially an insignificant fact that… I’m a witch! But again, why? Something must have dissuaded her from revealing the truth. So why had she introduced us now, only to remain silent? It didn’t make any sense.

  Coming from a place without power (in the sense of information), I needed to establish myself and demand that the trio recognize me. I looked at Alexis. “How long have you known about me?”

  “All my life.”
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br />   Even though her response made it difficult to swallow, I did my best to appear unmoved by that revelation. “What’s your last name?”

  She took a deep breath and let it out, annoyed. “Sykes.”

  Well, at least, Grams hadn’t lied about my last name. Alexis didn’t wear an engagement ring or wedding band, so if she’d gotten divorced, she still used her maiden name. Another pluck hit my mental synapses.

  Alexis glared at me, obviously thinking that I’d inquired because of Celestina, as though she’d had a one-night stand, which resulted in her daughter’s birth.

  But I hadn’t spoken a word! Either she could read my thoughts or…no—there was no other explanation! Alexis had the ability to read my mind. Looking at her smile now, a pang of nausea hit my stomach, but rather than submit to self-consciousness, I catered to curiosity. “Okay, congratulations. You can read my mind. But I never invited you inside my head.”

  “So?” She smirked unapologetically.

  I looked for some measure of insincerity, but Alexis clearly believed that she had approval to use her powers whenever and however she chose. Rather than contemplate that distorted point of view, I said, “You can’t read me clearly can you? I didn’t ask your last name because I have a twisted need to hurt you. I asked because I wanted to know if Grams lied about my last name.” I turned my attention to Grams. “You know, since you’ve lied about a family I never knew I had.”

  Delphine clucked her tongue against the bridge of her mouth, eliciting a tsk-tsk sound.

  “How would you know? You never gave me a chance. You gave me away. So you don’t get an opinion.”

  My mother clenched her teeth and couldn’t hide the hint of a snarl.