“He was here earlier this morning, but he seemed a little preoccupied with something. He grabbed a croissant and disappeared out,” she informs me.
I instantly worry about what’s on my brother’s mind. He’s carefree and a joker, so if Selma thinks he is concerned about something, it must be serious.
“Thank you, Selma.” I steal another strawberry, and she playfully slaps my hand away. “I’ll go and ask Mother if she knows where he is.”
Leaving the kitchen behind, I go searching for my mother. I know at this time of day, a little before lunch, she’ll be taking her mid-morning coffee in the lounge. She’ll be working her way through the messages she’s received since breakfast, containing all the local gossip. She needs to be on top of of everything because if Helena, her best friend, learns some juicy tidbit before her, then it would be the world’s biggest disaster.
When I enter the lounge, I instantly get the sense something is wrong. My father is with my mother, there’s no evidence of coffee, and my mother’s phone isn’t constantly ‘dinging’ with messages.
“Good morning,” I greet them both with a smile, hoping to lighten the mood. Neither responds, and I begin to worry something is wrong with Connor. “Is everything all right? I can’t find Connor.”
“He’s out,” my father replies curtly.
“Is he okay?” I ask as I step farther into the room and take a seat on my favorite couch. It looks out onto the manicured gardens at the rear of our house and has the best light for curling up with a good book.
“He’s fine.” My mother’s response is also short.
She glances up at the sixteenth century grandfather clock in the corner of the room when it chimes half past eleven.
“Is it time?” she asks, looking toward my father with a frown on her face, and his lips purse together.
“It is.” My father nods, and they both look at me intently.
An icy chill flows down my spine, and I get the overwhelming urge to run from the room and out of the house without looking back.
“There are certain things we’re required to do in life because tradition and society dictate it, Nyah. We have no choice in the matter. We do as we must.” My father’s words are ominous, and I get up from the couch and take a few steps away from him, my sensible court shoes clicking on the dark wooden floor as I move.
My body is still telling me to run. The air is heavy with something—I can’t place my finger on it, but it scares me even though my parents have never given me any reason to fear them.
My father continues, “Every generation before us has fulfilled their obligation, and we’ll continue to do likewise. We shall not be the ones to fail.” I take another step back as the door to the lounge slams shut behind me. I quickly turn around, cursing the gust of wind that caught it. “There are things in this world , Nyah, we can not see, but they are out there. They’re all around us, controlling our lives and our future,” my father adds cryptically.
His words are foreboding and fill me with dread. I want to yell at him to shut up, but I’ve been instilled with too much discipline and restraint to do anything so disrespectful, even in the grip of fear and uncertainty.
The room turns ice-cold, and I wrap my arms around myself to try to find warmth.
“Father, what are you telling me?” I question.
“I’m talking about magic, Nyah. It exists.”
I snort out a laugh at his preposterous declaration.
“Of course, it doesn’t exist. It’s nothing but a myth handed down through fairytales and fables. Claims of its existence in the past were used as a way of getting rid of people who were disliked for being different or for simply being in the way. If the Salem witch trials have taught us anything, it’s that magic is based purely on old wives’ tales and gossip.”
A flash of light blinds me, and I close my eyes and cover them with my hands.
“That will be the last time you mention Salem in my presence!” I’m interrupted by a male voice I don’t recognize. I squeeze my eyes even more tightly shut and hope I’m dreaming that someone has just appeared in the room out of nowhere. “What those people in Salem did to me was unforgivable. They are the reason I still reap what is mine.