Numerous feelings flash through her eyes. Her initial anger gives way to surprise, followed by guilt, concern, resignation, and landing somewhere around weariness.
“I’m so sorry, darling. I imagine it’s quite a shock walking in on all this,” she apologizes, then looks down at herself. “Oh my, and I look a bit of a fright, don’t I?”
I lean against the doorframe, crossing my arms over my waist, like, if I can hold on tight enough, I might be able to stop the sinking feeling in my gut.
“I’m guessing the coven won’t help us,” I surmise, chewing on my bottom lip.
She presses her lips together as if she’s attempting to swallow the next array of insults that are sitting on her tongue. Clearing her throat, she puts the book down and starts pulling the pencils from her hair while answering, “She had to, most respectfully of course, deny our request as she felt it wasn’t her or the coven’s place to get in the middle of council business. She advised that if the matter is so dire, I should probably make plans to get back to London and appeal to the council.”
I jump as a pencil snaps in her hands.
“What truly infuriates me is how much she seemed to enjoy denying my request,” she proclaims, the bits of pencil tight in her grasp. “As if your life and the lives of the people in this town weren’t important compared to the opportunity to put someone from the original bloodlines in their place.”
“Don’t feel too bad. Her daughter is the same way, so I don’t think it was about you personally,” I offer weakly, fear beginning to flutter in my chest.
“I can’t say I wasn’t warned,” she sighs, flopping down in the wheeled chair behind her desk.
Looking at the small window on the far wall, I watch dust motes dance in the sinking afternoon light.
In a small voice, I ask, “So, what are we going to do?”
“Don’t worry, darling. We’re not giving up,” she reassures with a tired smile. “I told you, the coven was the easiest option, not the only one. I’ll simply find another way to harness enough magic to break the spell.”
With memories of the Bastard’s methods pressing hard against my skull, I stutter out, “Is there a way to use the magic already leaking out of me?”
She tilts her head to the side, her expression calculating and curious, and taps one finger against her lips. “It might be possible. Here, come with me.”
Mildred bounces up out of the chair and grabs my hand, leading me back out into the living room. With a few flicks of her wrist and various commands,Fantasiais back up and running, then she heads toward the stairs.
Maybe it’s because I shared parts of my past last night or maybe I’m tired from a long day, but I freeze at the base of the stairs, and my heart starts pounding in my ears.
My aunt squeezes my hand when she feels the tremors shaking through my body.
“We could find another place,” she offers softly. “Somewhere that doesn’t have stairs.”
The idea of leaving makes the panic worse, and I shake my head vigorously. Not only for the first time in months does Felix have a home filled with life to come back to, but it’s also the first place for me that’s felt truly safe-- despite the evil stairs.
“No,” I reply, trying to make my voice as even as possible. “There are stairs everywhere, and I’m going to learn to climb them without freaking out even if it kills me.”
I release a tinny laugh over my morbid joke.
“If that’s what you want,” she replies simply, her eyes sad.
I take a few fortifying breaths, and my aunt holds my hand all the way to the top of the stairs, patiently taking each step at my pace. She doesn’t let go until we reach her room, so she can go digging in her large walk-in closet.
Starting the process of shoving down all my anxiety, I ask in a way I hope sounds causal, “What are you looking for anyway?”
“You’ll see!” she bellows, sounding like she’s buried under god knows what.
How much crap does she have in there? We just moved here. She can’t have that much stuff.
Waiting for her to come back fromNarnia,I look around the room. This is more in line with the always put together aunt I’ve grown to know. Her bed is made with a floral bedspread and a mountain of decorative pillows. The bedside table is neat with only a lamp and her phone charger on it.
I wander over to the wall closest to the closet and run my fingers along the smooth glass on top of the long, wooden dresser. Only a few things sit atop it: a small bottle of perfume, a Cherrywood jewelry box, and what looks to be a picture of my aunt, my mom, and a man that appears slightly older than the other two.
Do I have an uncle out there somewhere? It’s strange that Mildred hasn’t mentioned him.
Picking up the perfume bottle, I take a sniff and smell my aunt’s familiar rose scent. A soft smile tugs at my lips, until I glance up at the mirror that hangs over the dresser.
