Family Ties

Andrew Lathe was not as strong in magic as his brother, but he was still strong enough to feel my arrival at the home that had once belonged to his parents which was now his.

Moments after I stepped over the threshold from my estate to the borders of his land he walked out on the back deck of his old weathered house, a double barreled shotgun in his hands and a baffled look in his eyes.

I waved.

“Oh… I wasn’t expecting you Miss Caine. Definitely not here. What that you that, did the thing?” He waved his hand in a vague circular motion.

I nodded. “It’s your land sense feeling a connection between the land you claimed for your own and that of another. I thought you would develop it like your brother did, you’re whole family is gifted in magic connected to the home and hearth. It’s something even your curse can not take away.”

He gave me a bemused smile and nodded. “I’m sure that will make sense to me after it bounces around in my head for a few days. Would you like to come in, and maybe tell me why you’re here?”

I nodded and walked across his land toward his house, despite something that felt cold that I could feel wafting out of it and trying to settle in my bones.

He broke open his shotgun and removed two odd looking shells from it, both sealed up with a layer of gray tape. I gave him a questioning look. “It turned out there’s a few werewolves up here and the eldest boy felt like he had to get territorial about me being one of them now. Had to bluff and claim that I had loaded up some shells with old silver dimes to chase him and his friends off last time.”

He held up one of the taped shells. "I loaded these shells up with a mix of silver salts and rock salt. I figure it won't kill anyone, but the silver will make them feel it for a while if they show up here again."

Holding the door to his kitchen open, he waved me in. "It's part of the reason I'm thinking of moving. I am too old for a family feud. And it's time to let go of this place."

I looked around the kitchen of the old farmhouse. A wood burning oven dominated the room and looked to still be in use despite the small electric stove tucked away to one side. “So this is where John grew up.”

He set a kettle on the stove, the electric one. "Yep, all four of us grew up in this house. After my second divorce, I moved back in to help take care of Mom until she had to go to hospice. Then I just stayed. I didn't really have anywhere else to go.”

He pulled out a chair for me. "I hope tea is okay, It's a little too warm out for it, but I'm not sure what else to offer a Witch."

I laughed. “I normally go with Diet Pepsi.” He stared at me in disbelief before he smiled and turned the burner on the stove off. “I’m still not in the habit of drinking pop again, even though I don’t have to worry about sugar anymore. Best I can do is a glass of cider from the fridge.”

I perked up a bit, a sweet glass of cider would be nice. Maybe the last nice thing I would get to experience today.

He poured a glass for both of us. Then waited.

I took a breath. "Girls with magic tend to make things move around, or catch fire before they get their training. We try to catch up with them because they can be dangerous to themselves and others. If their family doesn't practice any particular tradition they end up training with whoever discovers them."

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He nodded. “Poltergeists, I read about it once.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. “Boys… see things instead. It’s not as flashy, we often don’t hear about it. We don’t get to them in time.”

He tilted his head to one side with a questioning look on his face.

"Some of the things they see, are bad. Dangerous. They can hurt, hurt more than a young man can stand."

I looked, and saw him start to make the connection.

"Your family is fairly strong in magic Andrew.”

The big man, my elder by several years, the soldier who my first lover had spoken of with so much pride, lowered his head into his hand and shook as he began to take deep breaths.

He had also been a father, to a son so tormented by what saw, so unable to find the right words to ask for help, that he escaped the only way he could. Into death.

I held the old man in my arms and brushed my hand over his thined white hair as he began to weep like a child.

"You did not fail him. You could no more know how to help him than he knows how to ask for help."

He inhaled. “My Mom, she was a witch. Why didn’t she know?” He looked up at me, utter despair in his eyes. “...Did she know?”

I gripped his hand in mine. "I have asked all of those who may have known if your mother came from a family line of those with magic. If she did it was one so weak as to be unknown. She may have been the first in your family and ignorant of how to notice magic in others. But no mother, no grandmother would have let one of his children suffer so.”

His breathing slowed. “There's more, isn't there? You wouldn't have come here just to tell me this."

I sat down again, looking away. "There is more. But I thought knowing why, would help."

We sat for a moment before I felt his glare. “Tell me.”

“He can’t move on, not entirely. His own grief has anchored him in this world.”

The old man looked confused. "His grief? Wouldn't it be mine?"

I looked him in the eyes. "For what his death did to you, he can't forgive himself. Your grief is your own and only ties you down."

He waved that away. “How… What do I need to do?”

It wasn’t hard to set the points of a circle right there around the stove. The kitchen had been his mother’s place of power, and my workings were being made for the sake of her family.

Andrew simply sat, trapped in an endless loop of self blame for something that had been beyond his ability to help.

I had brought the traditional tools, symbols were so important for ritual magic. A book to allow words to cross over, a bell to sound past the veil, a candle to light the way.

Philip had the Lathe family look. Stern gray eyes, a strong brow, the nose of a hawk, and rather thin lips.

“Dad. I’m so… Sorry.”

I left the room to go sit out on a bench beneath a tree at the edge of the still cared for gardens until the effort to thin the veil began to reach my limits, when I returned the son was already gone, most likely for good this time. Leaving his father standing there alone in the room.

“All this time. He was right here…”

I slapped the back of his head. He turned to look at me in shock while I sternly pointed at him.

“No. Don’t go down that road. What happened to him was a tragedy, but it was not your fault. And he wasn't trapped or suffering in any way. He just needed to forgive himself so he could move on and you need to do the same.”

He glared at me but nodded. I stayed in one of his guest rooms for a few days to try to keep him from falling into a deep funk again, but eventually, it was time for me to move on. I could feel the call that I was soon going to be needed elsewhere.

But before I left…

We were sitting in the kitchen, finishing off a light breakfast, for a werewolf.

French toast with maple syrup and bacon. Two slices of each for me, half a loaf, and the rest of the package of bacon for him

“You know, this was your mother’s place of power, not the land, or the house. This kitchen.”

Andrew grunted.

“You have a niece who is a trained witch, a grand niece who I am training as one, and another grand niece who will most likely be trained as a witch as well. This kitchen which their ancestor used would make a potent place to work in.”

I poked at the edge of his empty plate. “Home and hearth as I said.”

He grunted again and sipped his coffee

“It would be a shame for it to fall away from their family.”

He set his cup down. "I have a grandson."

I blinked.

"More than that really. I got a woman pregnant in Vietnam without knowing before I left. We were both young and needed something. She had no idea how to contact me, and my daughter was never able to figure out how to do so either.”

He twisted his cup around in his hands.

“Her son, my grandson is having visions. Just like Philip.”

I set my hand on his mug to make him stop playing with it. The call from the Old Mother seemed to sound in my heart for a moment as I knew where I needed to go next, and why.

“I would be delighted to help you meet your child and help your grandson Andrew. No need to ask.”

I just had to hope the locals weren't going to be any trouble.