“It is more foolish for me to forget that my daughters and wife ever existed than it is to be noble and attempt to bring them home.”
She stared into my eyes. “There is only so much protection I can offer you. I am a strong witch, but there are things even I cannot do. Things that all of us working together cannot do. You must understand that.”
“I understand. Just please, try to help me.”
After a moment of hesitation she finally gave in to my pleading.
“Emma will need to remain with me so that I may maintain my connection with you. I will need to come to your home as well to surround myself with your energy.”
“Shall we go at once?”
“No. You must first learn to return to your body.”
Emma walked over to me and grabbed hold of my hand. Hattie’s eyes bore deep into mine and she began a rhythmic chant. I felt weak. My head spun. The earth beneath my feet gave way. I gasped for air as blackness surrounded me. Suddenly, I was being pulled through a tunnel of light. My eyes opened with great force and my breath filled my lungs as if it were the first I had taken in years. My heart pounded hard and fast within my chest.
It took me a moment to realize where I was; sitting in the wooden rocker in front of the fireplace that had only ashes remaining in it, Emma still curled in my lap. I panted hard, drenched in sweat, even though the room had fallen bitterly cold. Emma began to stir. She lifted her head from my chest. “Hello, Papa.”
I placed my hand upon the back of her head and pulled her closer to me. I was not sure that any of what I had just experienced had truly taken place or if my mind had played tricks on me.
The ring of an unfamiliar phone rips through the silence in the room and pulls me from my deep concentration in the journal, setting my heart into a speedier rhythm. Zoë gasps. We look at each other. “Answer it!” she shouts at me.
“It’s not eleven yet,” I mutter as I set the journal on the bed next to me and lean forward to grab the phone from the foot of the bed.
I flip the solid plastic cover up to a green tinted viewing screen that simply says ‘incoming call’. “Hello?” I ask, fearful of what I might hear. There is a slight static on the line and an indecipherable voice crackles sporadically through. “Dad? Dad is that you?” I ask softly, with apprehension in my tone.
The voice responds. “Emma?”
“Yeah, it’s me.”
“Emma… where are you?” The static breaks just long enough for me to hear the question.
I turn to look at Zoë. Her face is tense and her expression holds fear. “Is it your dad?” she asks, her tone just above a whisper.
“I can’t hear anything. There’s too much static on the line.” As I speak those words, the static abruptly stops. “Emma, are you there?”
“I’m here.”
“Where are you, Emma?”
“We drove for about three hours. We were too tired to keep driving tonight.”
“Three hours in what direction?”
My brain stops my mouth. Why would my dad ask that question? He gave us a bag full of maps with the route we should take highlighted in bright yellow ink. He knows exactly what direction we headed. This voice does not belong to my father. “Who is this?” I manage to verbalize, my voice crackling with dread.
“Emma, I need to come to you, to help you. Tell me where you are so that I can do that.”
My throat feels like I swallowed a golf ball. A wave of anxiety builds within me and a burning heat spreads across my skin like wildfire. Suddenly, the thought occurs to me. I am the one who holds all the winning cards in this game. I have the journals, the pendant and the maps to the colony. Whoever this person is has no idea where I am. They can’t find me and they can’t hurt me. I have no reason to be afraid and no reason to hold back the power that clearly lies within me.
“Is this Alexander?” I boldly ask the voice. There is a moment of silence.
“What do you know of Alexander?”
“I know that Alexander will never find me. He will never win this fight. I have