It was past two a.m. when Rosariel returned home. She drove slowly over the gravel road, having turned off the lights of her parents’ car. After she’d parked it, carefully, in the garage and headed into the house, she saw her father sitting on the rocking chair outside the front porch, the light from the windows outlining him in soft yellow. His face was grim, and he said nothing as he stood to meet her.

Rosariel began, “Dad, look, I’m eighteen—”

Her father shook his head, strands of his long black hair partly covering his closed eyes. He looked like he’d been working, a fresh sheen of sweat over his forehead. He wore a black leather jacket, something she hadn’t seen him wear before, and it looked partly burnt and slashed in some parts of his sleeves.

“What is it, Dad?” Normally her father would begin to bluster, shout, say something, anything other than what he wasn’t saying now. Rosariel had never seen her father look so solemn, so… sad, as if he was afraid to say what he needed to tell her.

“Rosariel,” he said. “There’s something me and your mother have to tell you. Please, come inside.”

She followed him into the house, confused. Fear crept behind her with each step as she pulled off her shoes and met her parents in the kitchen. The stained pine boards and beams were even darker with age and smoke from the fireplace. Her mother wrung her hands together, her normally loose black hair tied in a ponytail, her tired eyes looking up to Rosariel. The lights weren’t on, only a circle of candles flickering and melting on the dining table.

“Mom, is this some kind of intervention?” Rosariel chuckled nervously, trying to ease her parents.

Her mother smiled, but her smile held no joy, and her eyes were closed. Rosariel realized her mother was crying.

“Mija,” her mother said. “There’s something me and your father haven’t told you or Rosaldo your whole life. It was our choice.”

“We thought by living here, as normal people,” her father said, “we could protect you.”

“What do you guys mean?” Rosariel said, starting to back away. “And what’s with the creepy candles?”

She felt a wall where the open hall was before.

The candles on the table burst and joined into a shower of flames, forming an older man’s writhing face. “Hello, Rosariel,” the fiery face crackled out in a series of sparks. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Arnesto.”

Rosariel screamed.

The face turned to her father. “Aldo, can you please explain to her who I am?”

Her father sighed, while her mother pointed at him and said, “Idiota, por eso nosotros, if we told them sooner. Then we wouldn’t have had to do this in the first place!”

“And then they would’ve been taken even sooner!” her father yelled.

Rosariel paused. “Taken? Was Rosaldo taken?”

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“Yes,” her father said. “Arnesto is a spirit assigned to watch over you and Rosaldo. He possesses this house, which is why you see the walls moving. Right now we’re under attack.”

“Under attack?” Rosariel peered out of a window, looking out to the farm. All she saw was darkness. “I don’t see anything.”

“It’s because you don’t have your Sight yet, mija,” her mother said. “You and your brother inherited our powers. We’re Mancers. We are magicians able to use magic. Real magic.”

“Wait,” Rosariel said. “So Rosaldo isn’t crazy with his visions and everything? That’s pretty fucked up to let him think he is.”

“Rosa! Watch your language,” her father ordered. “We did what we did so that you two would have a chance at a normal life. What we couldn’t have.”

“This family chat is nice and all.” Arnesto, the glowing face of candle flames, coughed out smoke. “But the Exiled are going to go through the circle very soon. You’d better get moving.”

“We’re not leaving,” Rosariel’s mother said.

“No,” her father agreed, “we aren’t. But you are, Rosa. You need to find your brother. He was taken by the Order. Are you wearing your anting-anting?”

Rosariel looked down at her father’s heirloom necklace hidden under her shirt. “Yes, why?”

“The spirits of your grandparents in that amulet will help you find your brother. You must help bring him back. We’ll be here.”

Rosariel looked from her mother to her father. “I’m scared.”

“You’re strong, mija. You always were,” her mother said. “Take the car, go to Toronto. Find out where Rosaldo was last, and bring him back. Come back, and we’ll still be here.”

“You said we’re under attack,” Rosariel faltered. “What do I do?”

“Don’t worry,” her father said, leaving out an open hand. “I’ll help you go back to the car. Whatever you hear, whatever you see, I just want you to keep driving and never stop. You got it?”

Rosariel took her father’s hand, feeling like a little girl again who was carried atop the safety of her father’s shoulders once more.

“Arnesto,” he said, “get ready to open the front door. Rosa, stay behind me. Your mother will protect you.”

“On your word, Aldo,” the face of embers breathed.

“Now,” her father ordered, drawing out a strange, curved knife from the back of his shirt.

The wall blocking the hallway opened, and her father strode out the door. In an instant, a flash of blinding light beamed toward her father.

“Run, Rosa!”

Rosariel closed her eyes while she ran, opened them as her mother guided her in her arms, still running.

She looked back to her father, who was fighting several hooded men who looked like knights from a past age. He whirled round and fought with a speed and strength that wasn’t natural, defying explanation, the knights’ blades glowing with golden light. One of them staggered back, stabbed by her father’s knife. Another knelt, fell, and did not rise again.

Rosariel screamed as the dark form of a giant wolf snarled and leapt toward them.

“Get down!” her mother shouted, pushing her to the ground, pointing at the wolf. A tendril of what looked like purple lightning whipped into the beast, crackling and fizzling out burnt fur and acrid charred flesh. Its head, body, and innards fell apart in half.

Several other wolves, giant shadows, pounced over them. Her mother spun, her whip of burning lightning following her whirlwind. The wolves were cut down, just like the first beast, reduced to smoking gristle and fresh gore.

“Rosa, you have to move,” her mother said, shepherding her to the car. “They won’t follow you. I put wards in the car to keep you hidden. But you have to start driving, now.”

She entered the driver’s seat of the old seventies Barracuda, frantic in starting its engine with the key ignition. Her mother placed a hand on the car’s hood as it roared back to life.

“Go to Toronto, find Rosaldo, and bring him back, mija!” her mother called out as Rosariel revved out of the driveway. The uneven gravel jostled the car’s speeding skid onto the road, flashes of light, screams and shouting coming from her house, the place she’d called home all her life.

Rosariel thrust her foot into the gas pedal, racing the car out of the farm’s view. Tears fell and slipped off her cheeks. She looked at her rearview mirror, saw her face, splattered by the monstrous wolf’s blood. Was she crazy, or she wasn’t crazy, and all this was really happening? Her mother and father were fighting for their lives, and she was leaving them. Was everything they said real?

She had to find out, but first, she had to find her brother.