Cursed Waters

12

I've decided to start publishing parts of this! I know my other story, thicker than water, isn't completed yet, but I've already finished writing all the parts for that, and I'm currently on chapter 20 of this story, so I think I'll have a better time keeping caught up. Sorry it's taken so long, guys! xoxo, lamestuff

The inside of Miss Tully's home was either just as bad, or even creepier, than the exterior of her house.

On the outside, the paint was peeling, the front door was warped and the roof seemed to sag sadly. When Millie started up the steps, Brandon had to reach out a hand to steady her as the wood dipped and groaned beneath her feet. As if that wasn't enough to make Millie wish she were home, in bed and swaddled in her blankets, the mold on the window and the wooden boards sticking up all over the porch were enough to make her stomach roll.

"Go ahead," Brandon said, standing slightly behind her. "The house doesn't bite."

Millie shot him a dark look as she eased herself across the porch, careful not to step too heavily anywhere. The structure rumbled beneath her and she quickened her pace to the doorway, Brandon right behind her.

As Millie passed through the door, his hand hovering behind her back like he thought she might tip over, she tried to suppress her surprised gasp.

On the inside, it was pristine. Glimmering wooden floors stretched out before her, and the open plan allowed her to see small glimpses of every room: the kitchen, clean and bright yellow; the living room, all dark mahogany and heavy drapes and book shelves and the dining room, with a long oak table set with three places.

"Um," Millie said, clearing her throat. "Your home is very nice, Miss Tully."

"It's a glamour," the old lady informed her as she bustled down the hallway, from the kitchen and into the living room, holding onto a silver tray.

"What is?" Millie asked, her eyes still sweeping the house. It was more put-together than her own home.

"The outside," Miss Tully said, looking up at her. "It's a glamour. You see what you want to see — something dirty and awful. It doesn't really look like that. Or maybe it does. I've long ago stopped seeing what's beneath the magic."

"Millie doesn't know anything about magic," Brandon said, almost sternly, and looked down at Millie. "Sorry, Miss Tully assumes that everyone in the universe has as intense a magical knowledge as she does."

"I do not," the old woman snapped, flustered, as she regarded Brandon and Millie, still hovering in the doorway. "The girl is cursed. One would assume she knows about magic, at least a little. Brandon, how rude can you be? Let the girl sit down. It's like you were raised by wolves."

Millie jumped at the sudden topic change — and Brandon's hand on her spine, urging her into the living room — but quickly complied with Miss Tully's demands. She settled on the edge of the worn brown leather couch, on the very outskirts of the room, crossing her legs. She put her bag in her lap and had to fight the urge to wrap her arms around it and curl up in the fetal position.

She wasn't normally this gooey. If anything, Millie was used to feeling a lack of emotions in heightened situations. But Miss Tully's house, this "glamour" and what Brandon had said on the porch was all making her queasy, and she found that she could feel panic and fear thrumming through her veins.

"I told Brandon not to be so ominous when he talked to you," Miss Tully said, reaching toward the silver tray on the living room table to grab a cup of tea. "I really do hate the idea of us witches acting all better-than-thou, because we aren't. We are just more attuned with nature. Tea, dear?"