Killian was out of town on my fourteenth birthday. He left in a hurry, which was odd because he usually planned his trips days, if not weeks ahead. He also refused to let me stay home this time, insisting that I shouldn’t spend my birthday alone, and sent me to stay with Fiona and Elvira.

Something was wrong. I could tell by his face, which was paler than usual, and the tremor in his hand when he subconsciously reached to rub his missing arm, only to find hollow phantom pain.

Much like it was hard to enjoy my 13th birthday because of the first anniversary of my mother’s death, it was hard to enjoy my 14th because I was worried sick about my uncle. Fiona did her best to distract me. We baked a pie together — blueberry — and she put a black candle in the middle. “For protection,” she said. When I blew it, I wished for Killian to come home.

Fiona was an incredible baker, but the pie tasted like ash in my mouth. When Elvira brought my gift into the kitchen — a hand-me-down skateboard I’d begged Killian to buy — I smiled and thanked politely, but I couldn’t feign excitement.

I spent the rest of the day nestled between Fiona and Elvira on the couch, staring at the TV but not seeing or hearing a thing. I don’t think they were watching it either. They were both strangely tense, as if they were waiting for something to happen.

I’ve always been a cuddler. I like being able to touch my friends, make sure they’re still there — most days found me and Amelia walking hand in hand or sitting hip to hip in a pizza place after school, which made people think we were dating. So it wasn’t unusual for me to let my head fall on Fiona’s shoulder. She ran her fingers through my hair not unlike my own mother had, and hummed a song.

They were weird, the songs she sung. They felt out of this world but perfectly familiar at the same time. They were eery and bittersweet. Like something you heard so long ago you can’t remember it, but your body recalls how you felt.

Little crow, fly away

Black crow, my boy

Don’t come back home,

you’ll be happier on your own

There’s a place for you

in my heart

I hate to see us part

Little crow, black crow,

my boy

I hate to see you go,

But it’s better this way,

trust me,

if you stay we’ll both be gone

I fell into a half-dream. I was aware of the warm bodies beside me, and the smell of blueberries and cream. Everything else was twisted; the room was pitch black even though I knew the sun couldn’t have set yet. Fiona’s lullaby was a distant echo. Whatever show had been on the TV earlier was gone, replaced with static.

A black bird landed on the TV — a crow, just like in the song. It moved so smoothly that I couldn’t quite make out where its feather ended or started. It was almost like the whole animal consisted of pure black smoke that shifted and circled in the shape of a crow.

The bird opened its beak. I expected it to croak, but instead it said, in a raspy smoker’s voice: “He’s coming.” I knew it was talking about Uncle Killian. When it flapped its wings and flew away, I woke up with a jolt.

I didn’t have time to tell Fiona and Elvira about the bird because just as I opened my mouth to speak, there was a loud SLAM! It came from the kitchen, where the door to the garden was. Fiona shot up to her feet like she’d been expecting it, and made a beeline to the kitchen.

I tried to follow, but Elvira grabbed me and said: “Not now. Go to bed.” I had never heard her voice go so cold, so quickly. My heart hammered so fast it almost hurt.

“What’s happening?” I asked. My voice betrayed me and cracked.

“Nothing you can help with. Go to bed,” Elvira said calmly. She held a steadying hand on my shoulder.

“Tell me!” I insisted. “It’s Killian, isn’t it?”

Something flashed in Elvira’s eyes. Tears prickled mine and my lungs stopped working. I couldn’t lose him, too. Despite her protests, I struggled away from her grip and ran to the kitchen.

When I saw him, all the pie I’d eaten came back up and I retched.

He was alive, barely. He sat at the table with Fiona, who was mumbling under her breath and crushing dried herbs, a leather-bound book by her side. I wanted to scream ‘Why aren’t you helping him?’ but nothing came out.

There was a stench of burning flesh. His right leg, on which Fiona had rubbed some sort of sickly green ointment, looked angry and red, layers of skin burnt off completely. His head was covered in sticky, steadily drying blood that seeped into his eyes and mouth. There was a deep gash on his shoulder, the side that missed an arm, which bled heavily onto the kitchen tiles. His breathing was ragged. When he tried to say something, only a bubbling croak came out.

Fiona grabbed two vials from the cabinet next to the fridge that was usually locked. One had a clear liquid in it, the other a deep red one. She carefully poured them into Killian’s mouth, and he swallowed them with great effort.

Whatever was in those vials worked like magic. Killian’s breathing steadied and he allowed himself to close his eyes.

He didn’t even notice me. He always noticed me. He always saw me, always made sure I was okay, but not today. Not even when I cried hysterically and tried to approach him before Elvira grabbed me tight and brought me upstairs.

I cried myself to sleep. Elvira was there with me. I told her to go help my uncle, but she didn’t leave me alone. She wasn’t motherly like Fiona, she didn’t know the right words, but she tried. She held my hand until I fell asleep.

When I stumbled downstairs to the kitchen the next morning, Killian wasn’t there. Elvira told me that he was sleeping in the guest bedroom.

“Sit down,” Fiona said softly. I didn’t want to, but a gentle invisible force made me. Or maybe I was just tired and my legs gave up. She gave me a steaming cup of tea, and I drank it gratefully. It wasn’t too hot or too cold, because she knew how to make tea just right.

“What happened?” I rasped. “Can I see him? Is he dying?”

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“You can see him once we’ve talked. He’s not dying,” Elvira said.

“Talked about what?” I asked.

“There are things in this world, Oscar, that… That won’t make much sense to you, at least not yet. Killian didn’t want to tell you until you were older, but we feel like you have the right to know after— after you saw what you saw,” Fiona started. She looked nervous.

That day I learned about witches. My uncle was one. Fiona was one. Elvira was… she wasn’t a witch. She was something else. They didn’t tell me, but I knew. Dennis, Hattie and Amelia were witches. That one hurt, because Amelia hadn’t told me. (“Every witch swears an oath, after coming to age, that they won’t tell,” Elvira explained.)

They told me about how magic worked. How if you took a bite too big, you could end up dead or killing someone else. Fiona showed me her book of spells, the big leather-bound tome I had seen the previous night. Every witch family had one, and every book was different. Killian had one as well.

“Am I a witch?” I asked shakily.

“That’s up to you, crow,” Fiona said warmly. She took my hand on the table and squeezed it lightly. Her hands were always warm.

“It’s a choice?” I said.

“Your mother chose to give up her magic,” Elvira said. Fiona shot a glare at her; she wasn’t supposed to tell me.

“Why?” I asked.

“That’s something you need to discuss with your uncle,” Fiona said before Elvira could say another word.

“What happened to him?” I pressed. Fiona sighed.

“Magic is a dangerous thing, and so is the world around it,” she said slowly. “For now, the less you know the better.”

“I’m tired of not knowing!” I yelled, startling her. Elvira stayed calm. “I’m tired of adults not telling me anything because it’s ‘for my own good’, I’m sick of you, everyone, trying their damn hardest to keep me safe when I don’t even know what it is that wants to hurt me!”

There was silence, after that. Just my chest heaving and the kitchen faucet dripping. Elvira glanced at Fiona, who was at a loss of words.

“The magical communities of America are approaching a war,” Elvira said calmly. “Not just puny rivalry between covens, but a civil war. The tension has been building for decades. The West Coast was one of the few safe places for a while, but the fights are coming our way. Your uncle, among others, are trying to protect this city.”

“From what?” I asked shakily.

“Some of them are witches.” Fiona hesitated. “Some are… other creatures.”

“What kind of creatures?” I asked. I remembered the rules Killian had told me. Don’t go out on a full moon. “Werewolves?”

“Yes, and others,” Elvira confirmed.

“What—“

“Your uncle will tell you more when he can. It’s not our place to teach you,” Fiona said sternly.

Both Killian and I stayed for two more nights. I got to see him after our discussion, and he looked much better. Still pale and breathing shallowly, but alive. The following morning he even talked, let me know that he was sorry to worry me. Fiona fed him soup and tea.

My birthday had been on a Monday. I returned to school on Thursday. When Amelia asked where I’d been (she had gone as far as knocking on our door and throwing rocks at my window) I told her what I knew. She was excited that the secret was finally out; she didn’t have to hide herself from me anymore.

She asked me to tell me everything I knew about the war that was supposedly approaching. I just repeated what Elvira had told me, which was barely anything, but it was more than what Dennis told Amelia.

“I wish we could do something,” she mused as we sat on the sand at Ocean Beach after school that day. It was cloudy and windy, but there were people in the water. It wasn’t a good beach for swimming or surfing, I’d been told, but no one seemed to care.

“Yeah. Sucks that they don’t tell us anything. I mean, we’re affected by it too, right?” I said, wringing my hands. I wanted to help Killian do whatever he did, make sure he stayed safe. I didn’t want to lose him after he’d become… well, not like a father. He was never like a father to me, and never tried to be one, either. But he was as close as.

“Have you come to age, anyway?” Amelia asked curiously.

“I don’t really know what that means,” I admitted.

“It’s when you come to your magic. Or your magic comes to you, I guess,” Amelia explained quickly. “Has anything weird happened?”

“I don’t think so,” I said. Aside from that crow, a voice in the back of my head reminded me. I ignored it promptly and asked: “Is something wrong with me? Am I not a witch?”

“You probably are, it runs in your family super strong,” Amelia said. “Don’t worry, it should happen soon enough. Boys always get it later. My cousin Tate, it took him ages— he was 20, I think, but that’s pretty rare. He set his own bed on fire…”

I listened to Amelia ramble about Tate’s magical puberty and watched a lone surfer walk across the beach. He looked about our age. He was very tall, with broad shoulders and sun-kissed skin. He reminded me of the paintings and statues of Greek gods and heroes. He caught my attention because he didn’t seem to be cold at all, and he was wearing swim shorts instead of a wetsuit.

“What kind of creatures are there?” I asked Amelia. Uncle Killian hadn’t told me anything yet; he was still bedridden, and I didn’t want to stress him out.

“Hmm… Well, the ones that can easily live among humans, like witches, there’s lots of. Others have to lay low so I don’t know much about them,” she answered.

“Witches aren’t humans?” I said.

“That depends on what you believe in, I guess. Dennis says we’re creatures too, just lucky ones. Some witches think we’re better than creatures,” Amelia said thoughtfully.

“So which ones am I supposed to be worried about?” I asked.

“Vampires and werewolves are some of the more common ones. They’ve integrated pretty well, so it’s hard to tell they’re not human.”

“Unless it’s a full moon or they’re trying to suck your blood,” I quipped.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry though. West Coast doesn’t have a lot of creatures, especially in big cities,” Amelia said. “San Fransisco is basically the safest place in the country.”

“What else is out there, then?”

“Well, there are banshees, ogres, ghouls, sirens…”

“What are sirens like?” I asked.

“They’re good in water, obviously, and musically talented. They can convince you to do stuff. One moment you think you’re just chatting with a good-looking person and next, you’re dinner,” she said and mimicked cutting her own throat.

I shivered. “Dinner?”

“Yeah.” Amelia frowned. She bit her lip. There was something she wasn’t telling me. “Not a great way to go out.”

It didn’t sound like she wanted to talk about creatures any more, so I asked about magic in general.

She told me that most witches practiced simple rituals, potions and spells. A lot of it had to do with nature; herbs, stones, phases of the moon. There was a difference in making a potion in salt water and fresh water. Many witches believed in Karma; don’t let your magic hurt anyone if you’re not ready to get payback.

Some witches possessed a specific skillset. Fiona, Amelia had been told, was wicked at fire magic. She could heat things up with her bare hands and could let her fingers rest on fiery coals without getting burnt. It made sense now, how quick she was to fix a cup of tea.

According to Amelia, Fiona’s skill with fire magic was very impressive. “Most witches totally lose control when they try to perform elemental magic. It’s too wild,” she explained.

“That makes sense,” I lied.

“Words have power,” Amelia told me. “You can technically do spells without them, but it’s easier to channel magic through words.”

“What kind of words? Do I need to learn Latin or something?” I asked. My mom had spoken Latin, but not enough for me to understand it.

“Depends,” Amelia said, shrugging. “You’ll need to look at your family’s spell-book.”

“Can I not do spells from other books?” I asked.

“You can, but only if they allow you to,” Amelia said. I decided not to ask how that worked; my head was spinning enough.

I picked up a handful of sand and let it fall through my fingers. I imagined it was magic coursing through my body. It felt unfair that everyone else in my life seemed to know more than me. They knew more about me than I did.

“Do you think they’ll ever tell us everything?” I asked.

“We might just have to find out ourselves,” Amelia said slyly.