When Elias came back the next day, he told me that the scrape on my shoulder would scar, but it didn’t look like it would cause me any other trouble. He also diagnosed Amelia with a broken wrist, and Dennis with a concussion.

Killian, who had gone through over a week of torture and interrogation, took the longest to recover. Even when he was finally able to stand up and walk, he had a limp. Dennis grabbed a fallen pine branch in the backyard and charmed it into a walking cane for him. It looked almost like a wizard’s staff, knobbly and twisty and probably unbreakable.

Charon avoided everyone. Whenever I caught a glimpse of him, he disappeared behind a door or around a corner. The skin under his eyes was so dark that if I hadn’t known better, I would’ve thought he was wearing eyeliner. His eyes had turned a deep red colour; a colour that, Amelia told me, creatures with a taste for human blood bear.

After the fight at the Tribune Tower, one of the humans had tried to go after Amelia and I. Charon had stopped her. They had wrestled on the floor and Charon would’ve died if he hadn’t bit down on her arm on instinct. It had taken both Dennis and Killian’s magic to stop him from eating the whole arm.

“The council offers rations to creatures who need human blood. He’ll survive,” Uncle Killian assured me one afternoon when we explored the woods behind the house. I was collecting plants — or in other words, picking whichever ones Killian pointed at with his stick because I didn’t know how to do it myself.

“Just surviving doesn’t sound like fun,” I pointed out.

“It is how it is, lad,” Killian said.

“Everyone keeps mentioning the council and the laws. What’s that all about?” I asked. I added a bunch of moss into the basket that Killian had borrowed from Elias.

“The Council of Valencia,” Killian said. He groaned as he sat down on a big rock. “Sixty-six representatives are chosen every twelve years to oversee our laws and judge our people’s crimes. There are twelve absolute laws, which were set in 1901 when the council was first formed.”

“And what are the laws?”

“They are listed in the spell-book. Have a look yourself if you’re interested,” Killian said. A small smile danced on his face. “In fact… the next election takes place in summer next year. It’s a big happening. We can go, if you’d like. It would be good for your education, both you and Amelia.”

“Sounds great,” I said.

“Of course, we’ll have to keep a low profile…” Killian muttered. “There is no doubt word of you has travelled.”

“Right. The prophecy and all that,” I said. I inspected a small spider that was making its way across brown, crispy leaves on the ground. It looked much less terrifying than the monster we had fought at the tower.

“I’m sorry I kept it from you,” Killian said. He sounded genuinely sorry. “It’s just… Well, your mother and I weren’t close the last few years of her life. I had no idea whether she had kept her magic or not. So if there was the smallest chance you weren’t the son of the prophecy, I didn’t want you twisted in its ropes. Prophecies like this one… they aren’t just any old divination. Every seer has seen it. It will decide the fate of the next millennia.”

“Three fates on my shoulders seems a little bit of an underestimation, then,” I said.

“Perhaps so,” Killian chuckled. “Just remember not to—“

“Not to think too hard about it. I know,” I interrupted.

We fell into a comfortable silence while the world around us kept on with its commotion. The wind, which was a gentle breeze for a change, rustled the leaves that still hung on to trees. Somewhere in the distance, a woodpecker drummed its beak. A squirrel skittered on the trunk of a mighty spruce tree. The steady buzz of a highway somewhere far away was barely noticeable.

“Can you promise me something?” I asked.

“Depends on what it is that you’re asking of me,” Killian said.

“No more lies,” I said strictly. I looked at him in the eyes. They were tired, but as stormy grey and brave as ever.

“I haven’t—“

“You’ve kept almost everything from me. That’s just as bad as lying,” I said.

Killian was quiet for a moment, just staring at his feet. Then he said: “You haven’t always been honest with me either.”

“I’m a teenager. It’s in my nature,” I said dryly.

“True enough,” Killian agreed.

“So do you promise?” I said.

“I will try my best,” Killian said. I figured that was as good as I was going to get. “You remind me of your mother, you know.”

“I do?” I was surprised; he rarely talked about her. Whenever he mentioned her, it was quickly glossed over. I never pressed him to talk about her. It was painful for me as well.

“I was always more of a follower. Bella, though… She dreamt big, and she lived bigger. Dove head first into trouble, most days,” Killian continued. “I think… I think she would be proud of you.”

“I think she’d be proud of you too,” I said.

Killian laughed heartily. “Maybe so, lad,” he said.

—

“I’m sorry about your car,” I said to Dennis when we were setting the table for dinner. Charon still refused to join us.

“It was an old piece of shit anyway. I’ve been saving for a new one,” he said, shrugging. “I’m just glad you’re all safe.”

Only then did it cross my mind that Dennis had probably had the worst week of his life. Everyone had just disappeared without a word. I didn’t want to know what had gone through his head when he realised he was alone.

“I promise we’ll let you know next time we go on a seriously dangerous rescue mission,” I said.

“That’ll do,” he said. He grinned at me happily and clapped my back. “Thanks for keeping my sister safe.”

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

“It was her keeping us safe most of the time, actually,” I confessed.

“Yeah, I figured,” Dennis said. He looked proud.

After dinner was my first ever proper magic lesson. Killian and I sat on the patio and he handed me the book. It was heavy in my hands, oozing old magic. Like always, there was an odd familiarity to it. It felt like a family reunion.

“Your ancestors have been writing in this book since the late sixteenth century,” Uncle Killian started. “It has had many transformations in the process. Since it is such an old book, I don’t suggest looking too much into the early pages. Old magic can be dangerous. Instead, your studies will focus on this century for now.”

I flipped through the pages. Most of the incantations I saw were in a foreign language. Some I recognised as Latin, but others I had no idea about. “What language are the spells?” I asked.

“That differs from family to family. Ours has always been keen on Old English and Latin,” Killian said. He pointed at a word in a long incantation. “This one, drýge, means to dry. And this one is dréor, blood.”

I grimaced. “I really hope this spell is about cleaning up nosebleeds or something.”

“As I said, you shouldn’t dwell on the older spells,” Killian chuckled.

“What spells can we do, then?” I asked. Killian took the book from me and skimmed to a page on the newer half of the book. I realised it was the same one I had opened at the Tribune Tower. “Ancum,” I remembered.

“Indeed. It’s a useful spell. How about you try it again?” Killian said, nodding.

I searched for something to retrieve with the spell. There was a lone pinecone a few feet from me on the patio. It looked easy enough; light, small and close by. I reached out with my hand, because that just felt right, and commanded: “Ancum.”

I felt magic flow through me like a cool breeze, tickling my fingertips. It felt like letting out a breath, except my whole body was my lungs. The pinecone barely moved; it rolled a few inches towards me. With my luck, it had been the wind moving it, not my magic.

“It’s all good, lad. Magic requires practice,” Killian said patiently.

“How come I did it better the other day?” I asked.

“If I were to make an educated guess, I’d say it was a mix of adrenaline and pent up magic,” Killian said. “Try again.”

I commanded the pinecone again. This time it didn’t move at all. I groaned in frustration.

“Focus. What did the book say?” Killian said.

“Be strict,” I sighed. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The pinecone was a dog off the leash, running towards a busy road. I couldn’t panic. I had to call it to me. I opened my eyes and said sternly: “Ancum!”

This time magic didn’t just flow through me, it rushed. The pinecone flew to my hand swiftly. I was so surprised I almost dropped it the second it hit my palm. I laughed triumphantly.

“Good job!” Killian said.

“That was awesome,” I said breathlessly. The spell had taken a big chunk of my energy, despite the small deed it had done for me. I couldn’t imagine throwing gigantic pieces of rubble around like Killian and Dennis had.

As if he had read my thoughts, Killian said: “It will get easier with time. I remember my first spell… I slept soundly that night, I’ll tell you that.”

“What was your first spell?” I asked.

Killian went a few pages backwards. He landed on a section titled Find your way, signed A.G. — the same person who had written my first spell. “It’s a silly story, really,” he said, smiling fondly. “I came to my magic in the midst of an unfamiliar forest. I was with my aunt, Annabelle Guinne. She had all her supplies with her. She sat down and wrote this spell she had been working on. She told me to figure it out and left me there.”

“Talk about tough love,” I said. I was glad Killian’s methods were less cruel.

“I learned fast, didn’t I?” Killian said.

I traced my thumb on Annabelle’s signature. I had never heard of her. The only relatives I had ever known besides my parents were Killian and my abuela who came to visit once, back when my dad was still alive. I didn’t remember much of her.

“Is Annabelle still alive?” I asked.

“No. She passed about ten years ago,” Killian said.

“Is…” I chewed my lip thoughtfully. “Is anyone who wrote in this book alive anymore?”

“Just me, as far as I know,” Killian said glumly.

“Oh.”

—

The lawyers hooked us up with what they called a special ride. It was a classic New York taxi, except we somehow all managed to fit in comfortably and it was, you know, not in New York. The inside of the car smelled like cigarettes and stale chewing gum. I didn’t look forward to getting used to that smell for the next five days.

Our driver was an old woman with grey, untamed frizzy hair and clothes covered in cat hair. Her eyes were wide and unblinking. She introduced herself as Selma and drove like a maniac. About an hour into the drive, I realised why the lawyers had called it a special ride. When I looked out of the window I saw a sign welcoming us to Arkansas.

It took us a total of three hours to drive across the entire country.

Marina and Cassandra cried when we dropped Charon off at their house. They held him so tight he couldn’t move an inch. He didn’t complain, though, and just pressed his face against them and allowed himself to cry. I realised then that Charon was the only one who hadn’t seen any of his family during our journey.

As tired I was, I didn’t sleep that night. My own room felt strange, empty and inhabited. In many ways, it felt the same way it had on my first night in San Fransisco. I tried not to think about Fiona or Elvira, whose house still had no lights on. I took out my walkman and listened to my uncle’s old albums until the sun rose.

In the morning, Uncle Killian and I sat down with big cups of tea and talked things through.

He told me about the night he had gone missing. Fiona had taken him by surprise. “She’s a good talker, you know,” he said. “She, er… She convinced me she wouldn’t hurt you. That she only needed me and the spell. I should’ve known you would come after me — she certainly did.”

“And what exactly is the spell she needed?” I asked.

Uncle Killian sighed. I had a feeling that last month, he would’ve said it wasn’t time for me to know yet. But he had made a promise. “Do you know who the Dead Witch is?”

“Yeah. Isobel Whitlock,” I said, nodding. Her finger was safely in the leather bag, under a loose floorboard in my bedroom.

“It is said that when she is awakened, the events of the three prophecies will begin to unfold. The spell Fiona needed was the ritual to awaken her,” Killian said gravely.

“Wait, pause,” I said before he could continue. “Three prophecies?”

Killian nodded. “Yours is the… How do I say this? The main prophecy. The most important one. The two others will build up around it,” he explained.

“Why does there have to be three?” I groaned.

“Nearing the end of each century, three big prophecies are told. That’s how it has always been,” Killian said.

“And what do the other two say?” I asked.

“That’s the trickier part,” Killian sighed. “They aren’t as accessible the first one. They need to be found.”

“Let me guess. We have to find them before someone else does,” I said.

“Preferably, yes. We’d have the upper hand, then,” Killian said.

“That crow I’ve been seeing… Do you think it has something to do with the prophecies?” I asked.

“Divination is a tricky subject, my boy,” Killian said. “I’m afraid I’m not the right person to ask.”

“Back to the Dead Witch, then. How does the ritual go?” I asked.

“It’s a very old spell, written by the witches who bound Isobel to her grave—“

“I thought she cursed herself,” I interrupted. I didn’t know which version I trusted more — the one the old lady in Arizona had told me, or Fiona’s.

Killian frowned. “Where did you hear that?”

“I— I don’t remember. Go on,” I lied.

“The ritual is very old magic, necromancy. The only reason it was still in our spell-book was for its historical value. But not all hope is lost yet, because Fiona is missing a vital ingredient. The ritual requires the witch’s finger, which was cut off before her burial,” Killian finished.

“Right,” I said. I realised he didn’t know that I had it. There weren’t many people who did; only Amelia, Charon, the not-vampire twins, Mathilde Cormier, and the old woman who had given it to me. I doubted any of them had gossiped about it.

“No one knows its whereabouts. I assure you, the second it is found I will know,” Killian said determinedly.

“You sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

I retrieved the bone from my bedroom and brought it down to Killian. He inspected it with wide eyes, fingers caressing its smooth skin. “I can’t believe it. How did you acquire this?” he whispered. I couldn’t tell whether he was impressed or scared.

I told him the story of the old woman whom I had come across in the very beginning of our adventure. Now that I thought of it, I couldn’t quite remember her face. Only the strange bones she sold, and the abundance of accessories on her body.

“That is… quite concerning,” Killian muttered. He gave the bone back to me. “I want you to keep it safe, no matter the cost. Can you do that for me?”

“Yeah. I will,” I said.

“Well… Do you have any more questions?” Killian asked.

“I can’t think of any now, but I’ll definitely be grilling you more at dinner,” I promised.