it happened. The curse was meant to keep her forever, but somehow it didn’t. We had you, she died and there was nothing I could do. I believe that Natalie is one of your sisters, but I don’t know which one. That is why you feel such a strong connection to her. You have been searching for her soul for over three hundred years. We have searched for centuries for all three of you girls and for your mother, but have never been able to locate anyone except you.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
Zoë’s voice crackles through the air. “Emma?”
I turn to look at her. She is fixated on a drawing, a look of complete shock on her face. “What is it?” I ask, not wanting to know.
She turns the book around to face me. The drawing in the journal, an image created in 1715 is that of a man and a young girl. The man is my father. The young girl is me. Zoë slowly shakes her head from side to side. “How is this even possible, Emma? These drawings were made three hundred years ago!”
“Zoë, there is a lot you need to know too," my dad begins again. "You are connected to us more than you know. In a way you could never have imagined.”
Zoë lowers the book to her lap again. “I’m listening.”
“You family, your mother, father and grandmother in particular, are instrumental in my and Emma's existence.”
“How is that possible? We didn’t even know you until twelve years ago.”
He hesitates briefly. “That’s not exactly accurate. Our families have been connected for roughly three hundred ten years. Your grandmother, Hattie, is the woman who kept us safe for the majority of that. She only passed the reins on to your mother about fifty years ago.”
“Fifty years ago? My mother is only forty seven.”
“Your mother is very good at what she does and has been able to… preserve herself very well.”
“What?”
“Emma, have you not shared the story with Zoë?”
“She only heard the first half of what I’ve read aloud in the car. In the journals there is a woman named Hattie. Is she Zoë’s grandmother?”
“She is. We owe her our lives. I couldn’t have done anything without her. We would have been captured the first night. She stopped me from making incredibly stupid mistakes on more than one occasion and protected us along the way.”
“Emma,” Zoë interrupts. “What did the journal say?”
I hesitate, not knowing how to put it all into words.
“Zoë,” my dad cuts in, “your grandmother, Hattie, she was a conjurer.”
“A what?”
“In terms you would better understand—she was a witch.”
“This is ridiculous.” Zoë slams the journal down on the bed and stands up. The pages, responding to the sudden gust of air, flip to the next illustration. I look down and see the face of a woman, with dark skin, short tightly curled hair, and a small girl wrapped in her arms that looks like she could be Zoë’s sister. The date under the illustration reads 1804 and is accompanied by the names Hattie and Nora. I reach out and grab Zoë’s arm to stop her from walking away. “Zoë, look,” I command her.
Her eyes fall to the journal. She takes a moment to let it soak in before collapsing into a little ball on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed. Her mouth hangs open. Shock and confusion cover her face.
My dad continues. “Zoë, your grandmother was the most powerful witch I have ever met. She taught Nora, your mother, everything she knows. Your grandmother kept herself alive for over four hundred years with potions and spells. When she decided she had enough time in the physical world, she allowed herself to age. Her powers gradually began to fade and she aged faster than anyone expected her to. She died three years before you were born.”
“How long has my mother been alive?”
“She was born the same year that Emma originally was, 1698.”
She briefly sits silent, her expression cluing me in that her mind is hard at work. “My mother is three hundred and sixteen years old?”
“Like I said, she is incredibly talented with preservation spells.”
“This is ridiculous. How did I never know this?”
“Your mother couldn’t tell you what you really were. It had to be hidden from you. Your family has long been protecting our family. When you were five, she cast a spell on you to bind you to Emma and to keep you both safe. You had to believe you were the same as