Nightwish (An Echoes of Eternity Novel Book 1) (3 page)

“But I’m not a witch.”

Darius’s expression turned solemn. “Denying it doesn’t make it any less true.”

What did being a witch feel like? I didn’t sense either a physical, mental, or an emotional transformation since I woke up this morning. And how would I get the powers Darius mentioned? Too many questions remained unanswered.

“Neither your grandmother nor I are on the best of terms with your mother.”

I didn’t know how to process having a mother, especially since I would soon meet her. I’d once inquired about her, but Grams’s furious glare terrified me so much that I had nightmares for weeks afterwards. I’d never dared ask about her again. Her existence seemed too impossible to grasp. Would she like me? Hate me? Ignore me? It led to self-consciousness that made me want to consider every possible angle that she might comment on: my body, my clothes, my attitude, my education, my favorite foods…everything. Self-doubt collapsed my shoulders, and the weight got so unwieldy that, I couldn’t process a single thought.

“You’re quiet,” he said.

The comment zapped me back to reality. I tried to push past the idea of meeting my mother, but I needed to get off that topic. “So, are there any other paranormal creatures I should know about?”

“At the moment? No. But soon there might be. It all depends.”

I didn’t like his ominous tone. “Depends on what?”

“On the continued existence of your line.”

I didn’t try to unravel that one. “What about werewolves? Are they real?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, they are.” I chuckled at the absurdity. “My best friend’s a ghost, and last night at a bar, after the Cubs won, I high-fived a female mummy.” I needed to expound on that comment. “I should have persuaded her to wear a headscarf like Muslim women. All those bandages on that poor mummy’s face for thousands of years? She’s going to need one hell of a beauty regimen.”

“You think this is funny?” he asked in monotone.

“No, it’s ridiculous.”

He turned to me and those intense eyes held mine in check. Even though I willed myself to glance elsewhere, I couldn’t even blink. When his pointy fangs came into view, a chill slid down my spine. I may have trusted his words, but I couldn’t trust his actions. I tensed my muscles for an attack.

But more than that, I believed him. About everything. My head ached from the revelations that he’d revealed. I grew silent once more, unable to process another sarcastic remark. I felt like my brain had been placed in a vice, and someone had turned the handle as far as it would go. If Darius attempted to attack me, I didn’t even think I’d respond. I’d just sit there, unable to move, unable to think. That rarely happened. In martial arts, muscle memory allows you to respond without thinking. But how could I defend myself against the supernatural? I felt confused, lost.

Darius’s fangs retracted, and he turned his attention back to the road ahead of us. “Quiet again?”

“Well, you kinda just threw my world into a tailspin, so I think I’m entitled a few minutes to freak out.”

He glanced at the time on the dashboard. “Okay. Three minutes starting…now!”

That remark broke some of my disillusionment. “What happened to that demon in the alley after you vanquished it?”

“He went looking for another body to possess. If he doesn’t find one soon, he’ll be forced to return to hell.”

“And because the demon’s eyes flashed three times while it approached me, it meant that the host had lost the battle. So did the man’s soul get sent back to heaven?”

“Either that or he’s a ghost. I’ve already told you about your mother,” he said, changing the subject. “You also have a sister and a niece.”

Mouth ajar, I just stared at him. It was enough to learn that I had a mother, not to mention a sister…and a niece!

“Your grandmother didn’t want you to have anything to do with them.”

“Why?” Without waiting for an answer, I said, “When I was little, I always wanted to meet my mother.”

“That may be, but you’ll soon wish you hadn’t.”

CHAPTER THREE

After Darius pulled to the curb at DePaul University’s Lincoln Park Campus, I stepped out of the car, and we walked along a sidewalk toward the Quad, where over a dozen trees surrounded various walkways, all of which led to a circular pattern enclosed by manicured bushes. I’d spent the past four years crossing these sidewalks each day. Now that a new world had opened up for me, I looked up at the large buildings I’d once walked past daily and regarded those moments as uninformed and naive.

“What are we doing here?” I asked Darius. Opposite us, a trio of women and a teenager made their way toward us.

“You’ll understand soon enough.”

His conviction, sounding almost like a threat, made my pulse leap. “And what do you want?” A few seconds later, I looked back, only to find that Darius had vanished. I scanned the area, but I didn’t see him anywhere. I found it unnerving that he vanished without a sound.

“It is delightful to see you once again.”

Startled, I swung around and found Grams behind me wearing matching gray Chicago Bears T-shirt and sweatpants, while an orange Bears hat collected her thin, silver hair. Grams extended her arms as a vibrant smile lit her hollow cheeks. “I am overjoyed to have you join us.”

I drew back, surprised by her strange greeting, not to mention that she stood alongside three strangers. “You weren’t at the ceremony,” I said, waiting for an introduction to the others. “What happened?” Following the graduation ceremony, I’d chatted with many friends I’d probably never see again, so we all went out to dinner and snapped photos to one day remind us of past memories. Afterwards, I’d called and texted Grams, but she hadn’t responded. So to now hear her all but disregard my graduation, a ceremony she had looked forward to since I entered college, I was puzzled by her disinterest.

To deflect those thoughts, as well as to avoid asking her to break the ice with those beside her, I wondered why she wasn’t wearing her Bears’ headband and wristbands. They were probably beside her Bears’ lamp, under which lay her Bears’ slippers, which lay upon her Bears’ rug. The Chicago Bears were a yearlong love affair for Grams. In her opinion, the off-season didn’t exist: the team played year-round and won every game, existent or non-existent.

I turned and Grams swept me up in a loose hug that lasted approximately two seconds. How odd! Throughout my life, Grams always wrapped her arms around me and squeezed tight, holding me there for at least six or seven seconds before stepping away.

“Yes,” she said, pausing before saying, “the ceremony: please accept my congratulations. But I am afraid that we have more important matters to attend to.”

I examined her eyes to see if she’d accidentally doubled (or tripled) her dosage of high-blood pressure medication. I often left notes around the house because, over the past few weeks, Grams’s Alzheimer’s had taken a turn for the worse. “You’re right: a
demon
attacked me.” I waited for a response, but getting none, I repeated: “Eyes that flicker black? Laughs at broken bones as if I’d tickled him? What do you know about that?”

She offered an amused smile, but she didn’t respond.

In her right mind, Grams wouldn’t have overlooked my feelings so haphazardly, but Alzheimer’s had occurred, robbing Grams of her normal thought process, so despite my frustration I overlooked her disinterest. “Do demons exist? Do you know anything about that?” I only asked because I wanted
her
to explain why she decided not to tell me about their presence.

“Yes.” Grams smiled, as though no further explanation was necessary. “And yes.”

Despite her satisfaction with those answers, I waited for clarification that never came. “So demons exist. Great! Glad we clarified that. What do you know about them?”

“They will go to any lengths to hasten your demise.”

“Why? And how do you know this?”

“Because they have attacked me as well.” Her smile made it obvious that she could expound on her answers, but she pressed her lips together, preventing that from happening.

Her indifference annoyed me. Earlier this past week, upon coming home from the last class of my college career, she hadn’t recognized me and called the police, stating that an intruder had entered her house. With narrowed, distrustful eyes, she’d held a broom, directing me toward the front door as I verbally recalled memories from our past in a shaky tone while tears lined my cheeks. The Grams I knew before this terrible disease attacked her mind and removed her loving, albeit cantankerous personality, would have cursed her poor fortune for a few minutes before accepting her fate and saying,
’God has a plan for me. I just have to trust him.’

Now, Grams’s freaky grin remained plastered in place. “I sense confusion on your part.”

I needed to regain my composure, so I distracted myself by glancing at the words on her sweatshirt,
“Property of the Chicago Bears,”
and decided to delve into inappropriate territory, a realm that Grams would no doubt take great satisfaction in. “Come on, Grams. There are 53 players on the Bears team. I’m all for you being a cougar, but where do you get the energy?”

She stared at me. No, it seemed more like she stared
through
me, as though she knew I stood there, so she recognized my presence, but Grams refused to expend any time or attention on me. I’d hoped that she’d fire back an insult. But no. Nothing. Except a blank stare.

“One day, you shall grow up to be an adult,” she said.

Hadn’t I just hit that milestone today? I looked away, unwilling to speak again, lest sadness creep into my voice. I’d gladly make a deal with the devil to have my
real
Grams back for one more day just so I could tell her how much I’ve loved and appreciated her time, energy, and sacrifice in raising me. But since her Alzheimer’s struck, I found it difficult to accept this stranger as the woman who made me the number one priority in her life.

Grams’s grin widened even more, stretching across pointy cheekbones. She lifted her arm and pointed behind me. “Allow me to make salutations to your mother, as well as your sister and niece.” She clasped her hands. “Oh, what a joyous occasion!”

It seemed like a different person had invaded her body. Her voice no longer sounded brittle, and she moved quicker and with more pep than anytime within the last two years. I considered Darius’s statements about demons inhabiting humans. The idea petrified me, but then an important question popped into my mind: who would want to take over the body of an elderly woman? Granted, she may have magical abilities, but she also sometimes believed she lived during the middle of the twentieth century and daily lost sight of her dentures. Besides, if a demon had possessed her, wouldn’t it have tried to kill me like the creepy dude in the alley?

Therefore, I attributed Grams’s awkward behavior to the Alzheimer’s. She had probably recalled a conversation with a friend from decades ago and now adopted her speech pattern. While this was the oddest behavior she had displayed so far, Grams had become moody, withdrawn, and confused, which made me realize that I should disregard her words as just another symptom of her disease. I turned away from Grams.

And I set my gaze on my mother, a stunning brunette in her late thirties, whose curly dark tresses fell below her shoulders. Her radiant but insincere smile faltered then returned, dropped then lifted, as though someone in the distance controlled it by flicking a switch. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, taking a half-step toward me before stopping and strapping her arms across her chest as though too self-conscious to hug a stranger…who wasn’t really a stranger in the broader sense of the term. It was a deliberate attempt to feign affection that ended up coming off as guarded and distrustful.

“You too,” I said almost inaudibly, unable to look into her eyes. But now that I’d had a few seconds to contemplate her existence, I didn’t trust that my mother had suddenly come forth of her own volition. I could tell that she monitored me from the corner of her eye, giving the impression that she didn’t trust me…for reasons I couldn’t understand. If anything,
I
should feel distrustful. After all, she’d disowned me, and now she’d appeared after the most momentous occasion of my life. It ticked me off.

So I thought I’d press the issue, since I figured that I’d earned that much: “What are you doing here?”

“My name is Delphine.” My mother steepled her hands and placed her fingertips against her lips. “I’m so proud of you. You’re the first in our line to earn a degree.”

Proud
? If she were proud, she would have made her existence known…years ago! Her praise felt hollow and meaningless. I resented it. And I resented her. But rather than get upset at her, I misplaced my anxiety by striking out at Grams: “What the hell is going on?”

She notched an objectionable eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“You can beg all you want,” I said, “but I won’t apologize. You never told me about my mother, and now…she just shows up? I think I deserve an answer.” Ordinarily, I wouldn’t have reacted so strongly, but she’d lied and now seemed to play that off as unimportant: again, very uncharacteristic of her.

“Oh, dear!” Grams said. “It appears that I exercised poor judgment.” She snapped her mouth shut, unwilling to offer anything more.

Incredulous, I stared at her, anger jutting through my veins. “It
appears
? That isn’t just an accident…like you forgot to take out the garbage.” It occurred to me that I was skirting a touchy subject (her Alzheimer’s), but Grams avoided the subject my entire life. “We’re talking about my mother…
your
daughter! And you’re saying that not telling me was ‘poor judgment’?”

“Indeed.” She looked distant, unapologetic.

Disgusted, I stared at her and waited for an explanation…that never came. I decided to try a tactic that had worked of late: getting off the subject, only to return to it a short time later. I considered it the equivalent of a computer reboot. “It’s still kind of chilly for early May. Where did your Bears’ gloves and scarf go? Some Bears’ boots would look really classy. And hey, I bet I could get a great set of Bears’ earrings and necklaces around this time of season. Guess I’ve already picked out your Christmas gifts.”

Grams offered a plastered-on smile. “Are you feeling ill, my darling?”

Darling
? She’d never called me that. Depending on her mood, she’d always had a nickname for me, which usually began with the first five letters of my name. When she was calm, she often called me Serenity. When happy, she referred to me as Serendipity. I now withdrew from her, first because Grams would have met my sarcasm and raised it a notch. Second, she would have tossed in a curse word before using a term like ‘darling.’

“Have you been stricken with an ailment?” she asked, grinning as wide as a jack-o-lantern.

Then a different female voice entered the conversation: “She has a college degree. Big whoop! Let’s all celebrate that she learned a bunch of stuff that’s useless where it matters: the real world.”

I redirected my gaze to the person speaking, only to find that she looked…exactly like me! Shocked, I ignored her disrespectful remark and checked out every detail of my identical twin. Her pouty lips were more seductive, and her dark eyes were captivating and impossible to read. But why stop there? Unlike my pink blouse under a velvet cashmere sweater and jeans, a combo that did a fantastic job of diverting attention away from breasts that were too small, my sister wore a tight, black leather vest over a red tank-top that accentuated…I stopped comparing us, fearing that it would only result in the burden of poor self-esteem. No matter how well martial arts had toned my body, my sister looked fitter and sexier. I wanted to hate her, but I was too fascinated and freaked out that I had an identical twin to let fury resonate inside me.

“Hi,” I said to her, embarrassed that my tone came out sounding like the croak of a frog.

“Hey,” she said with a disinterested nod. “I’m Alexis.”

Where I aimed for calm and collected, Alexis looked aloof and quadrupled my coolness factor. She reminded me of the popular girls in high school who never turned an eye upon those below their social status.

She turned to her mother. “Remind me not to look in the mirror again.” Her eyebrows arched and her cheeks puckered as she stared into my eyes. She gave a frustrated shake of the head as she focused on me. It made me feel like an insect trapped under a microscope. Based on Alexis’s reaction, she hadn’t appeared any more intrigued by my existence than if I’d never been born. Still upset but also a little disappointed, I had no time to prepare for the onslaught of these emotions. On one hand, I felt incredibly overwhelmed that someone almost replicated my DNA. On the other, I felt unprepared and insecure to see that my mirror image made me look like a spinster.

I broke eye contact, but I felt the need to dissolve the tension between us. “You all right there, Alexis?” I asked, trying to dilute some of my apprehension. “You look like Superman trying to shoot lasers from his eyes.”

She ignored my sarcasm and glanced at the blond thirteen-year-old girl beside her. “Celestina, go meet your Aunt Serena.” My niece examined me with great concentration, as though studying my image because she feared that she’d never see it again. Despite her age, she looked wise enough to deliberate before uttering her thoughts, whereas at that age (and even now), I tended to speak first and then often regret that I hadn’t filtered my thought process. I admired that about my niece.