Tethered (A BirthRight Novel)

by Hall, Brandi Leigh

  “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 chomping 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.” He chuckles.

  “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. “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

  The memory of that day makes my head spin and I’m no longer in the mood for chatter. I need air. “Would you guys excuse me for a minute?” I jump to my feet.

  “Is everything okay, dear?” Gram places her silky-soft hand on my shoulder.

  “I’m okay. I think the trip down memory lane is getting to me a bit. I just need some fresh air to clear my head.”

  Dhelia snorts. “Well, I guess you shouldn’t have started it then.”

  My head droops as I try
to think of something to say.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” Gram’s eyes turn glassy. She knows how hard it is for me to be here—and to talk about magic.

  I hug her as I whisper, “I’ll be okay. I promise. But can I borrow the car for a bit?”

  “The keys are on the table beside the front door. Take all the time you need, dear.”

  I turn to walk outside, but the guilt kicking me in the gut only makes me feel worse. I get in the car and put the windows down, praying the chilly air clears the memories from my mind.

  But it doesn’t

  As I pull in to the cemetery a few minutes later, I realize an overwhelming sadness is riding shotgun with my remorse.

  I can’t believe I’ve never been back to her grave since the day she was buried. If my broken heart didn’t know any better, it could swear the funeral was going on right now around me.

  As I kneel on the damp grass before her marble headstone, my mind picks up where it left off at Gram’s.

  The images in my mind so clear.

  I’ve tried so hard to forget. Even harder to bury the haunting vision from that day.

  But it all comes rushing back like a tidal wave.

  My parents’ death.

  No. My mother’s senseless murder!

  She was killed because of my father’s hatred of magic. I doubt he meant for it to be a murder/suicide. He was too much of a coward for that. But it was the end result, nonetheless.

  It’s been six long years, and I can still see it, like it’s the very first time. As if losing my parents wasn’t bad enough, I’m forced to see the rerun—every day, for the rest of my life.

  And just like that, I’m thirteen again, reliving the worst day of my life.

  I was in sixth period Algebra with my face in my palms, daydreaming about the adorable student teacher, Mr. Carr. He looked just like Clark Kent from Smallville. In my mind, he was Superman. As I fantasized about kissing him, the way I dreamt of doing every day, a vision jolted me from reality with images so clear—so vivid—it instantly made me weep.

  Tears covered my mother’s angelic face.

  Her creamy, Irish complexion was sallow as she stared out the passenger side window. The dark circles and look of defeat she wore, tore my heart in two.

  But why was she so upset? What exactly happened?

  My father’s scowl stretched across a face so taut, I'd swear he was made of stone. He’d never been a warm person, but in that moment, it was clear he had ice water running through his waspy, white-collar veins.

  He turned a malevolent gaze towards my mother. “Why can’t you ever leave well enough alone? Why do you insist on touching everything you see?” He huffed. “Is it really too much to ask for you to just be a normal wife?”

  Her wobbly head turned to him. The anguish on her face said his words carried the force of a lead weight. “Normal? Oh, please, my darling husband...what’s ‘normal’ in your tiny, deceptive mind? Is she?” My mother’s nostrils flared as she battled the floodgate within her tear ducts.

  Her sarcasm hit the wrong nerve.

  My father’s quivering muscles and clenching jaw painted the perfect picture of hatred. “This isn’t about her you dumb ass, so don’t you dare make it seem like it is.”

  She glared at him. “So how long have you been seeing her anyway? A few weeks? Months? Years, maybe?”

  “Moira, we’ve had problems for more than a decade. It shouldn’t come as some big surprise that I’ve been seeing her. If it weren’t for you and your damn family, we’d have a normal life, with normal children, free of magic and all the other crap that comes with it. But nooooooooooo…I had to marry a freak!”

  My mother’s jaw nearly fell to her lap. “A freak?” she asked. “That’s really how you see me?” Tears cascaded down her ashen, swollen face as she gasped.

  “I didn’t ask for this and you know it. If I had the choice, I would have never in a million years married a Witch. I mean, really, Moira. What man with half a brain would? Women are crazy enough as it is, without adding supernatural bullshit into the mix. Look at your sister for cryin’ out loud. The second Michael found out she was a Witch, he ran for the hills, which is exactly what I should have done years ago.”

  He fixated on the flooding country road, sheets of rain obstructing his view. He turned up the speed of the wipers, the swooshing sound of the blades mimicked my mother’s breathy, rhythmic sobs.

  “Well no one’s forcing you to stay, you know. I can take care of the kid’s just fine on my own. I’ve already been doing it for years anyway.”

  Her seething words seemed to penetrate flesh, muscle, and bone—like no tangible weapon ever could. His scarlet face twisted like a demonic possession. “Oh, so now I’m a bad father? That’s priceless coming from the woman who teaches her children how to use magic. Trust me...no judge in the world would give you custody of those kids. Just wait until the world finds out what you and your psychotic family really are.”

  Sheet white, my mother froze. “You wouldn’t! You’ve already exposed us by telling her.” She latched onto his arm. “Please, Daniel...promise me you won’t hurt my family that way?”

  Her hysterical pleading would have broken even the most evil man’s heart, but not my father’s. His face turned expressionless. “If you force me out, I honestly don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  Lightning crashed down in several places in the distance, but my father never eased off the gas.

  My mom took steady, deep breaths. “You know I don’t want you to go, Daniel. I still love you just as much as I did the day I married you. But if life with me is so unbearable, I won’t make you stay somewhere you don’t want to be.” As the words left her lips, her tears fell faster than the rain battering the outside of the car.

  He squinted in stymied surprise. “Are you kidding me? You don’t want to make me stay somewhere I don’t want to be?” he asked in a condescending tone. “After ten years of this bullshit, now you won’t make me stay?” Hatred couldn’t even begin to explain the abhorrent gleam in his eyes.

  Ignoring the weather and poor visibility, his rage forced his foot firmly on the accelerator. The engine roared as he sped through the splattering water.

  “Slow down, Daniel!” My mother yelled, unable to divert her attention from the barely visible road.

  Where did this loathing in my father come from? Why hadn’t I ever seen it before?

  She’d pushed him too far this time.

  My father turned the wheel with so much force, the back of my mother’s head slammed into the side window.

  “Daniel, no!” Her lungs hissed like they were ready to burst.

  Slow motion kicked in as he drove the silver SUV through guardrails.

  They plummeted down a darkened ravine—and all I could do was watch.

  My mother took one last look into my father’s enraged eyes as the vehicle sliced through trees, debris, and spewing mud.

  When the abraded vehicle hit bottom, the car exploded on impact.

  And they were gone.

  Those last few seconds played over, and over—like a skipping movie projector.

  The replaying sound of crushing metal, shattering glass, and licking flames was so deafening my head could have burst. But even worse were the noxious fumes of gasoline and antifreeze, mixed with the stench of scorched hair and burning flesh.

  How could I ever forget such smells?

  Then darkness consumed my thoughts as the vision ended.

  I remember opening my eyes to a room full of classmates, staring at me as if I had two heads. And I couldn’t even defend myself. I can only imagine what my body had involuntarily done during such a horrific vision.

  Afterwards, I was paralyzed.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  In shock, I was unable to gain control of my senses fast enough to comprehend what was about to happen.

  I couldn’t tell my teacher or anyone in my class what I’d just “seen”. I had to think—and thi
nk fast.

  I jumped from my seat with my hand over my stomach, moaning I was about to be sick. Once Mr. Carr nodded, I bolted from the room as fast as I could towards the nearest pay phone.

  My hands shook, but somehow I managed to pick up the receiver and dial. After two short rings, the voice on the other end said, “Hello?”

  With a frantic voice I spoke. “Gram, I don’t know what to do. I just saw Mom and Dad in a car crash. We have to call them. They can’t leave the city yet. They have to wait!”

  After a brief pause, Gram said, “Chloe, it’s too late, dear. I just got a call from the police.”

  Then it hit me. She’d been crying when she answered the phone, but in my panicked state, I hadn’t noticed. “Did they...is she...?”

  “Oh, Chloe. I’m so sorry, dear. You shouldn’t have found out this way. You shouldn’t have had to see it happen.” The pain in her voice rattled me to the core. “I’ll call the school and tell the principle what’s happened. Go get your brother and sister. Your pap will be there shortly.”

  I hung up the phone.

  I was numb.

  I dropped to the floor and cried until my eyes went dry.

  Minutes passed, but I had no idea how many.

  “Okay,” I told myself aloud, trying to get a grip. “You have to find Dru and Dhelia. You have to tell them.”

  My body trembled, but it didn’t keep me from what I knew I had to do. “I’m the big sister, so I have to be the strong one. They can’t see me fall apart.” I continued talking to myself, thinking it would make what I was about to do, somehow make sense.

  But it didn’t.

  How could my father have done this? Pain ripped through my heart again.

  I had no idea how to tell them. But the more I tried focusing on my brother and sister, the more the flashes of my vision permeated my consciousness.