Dance of the Moons

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

            “We have a guest arriving in two days,” my mother announced at the dinner table.

            My head snapped up in surprise and I dropped my fork, which hit my plate with a clatter before landing loudly on the table. I started coughing as a piece of chicken lodged in my throat.

            “What?” I sputtered as I tried to dislodge the food caught in my throat.

            My mother frowned at me.  “There’s no need to throw your silverware,” she said disapprovingly.

            “You couldn’t have told me before now?  Who is it?” I snapped.

            “His name is Christopher Brown, and I wish you wouldn’t speak to me in that tone.  Your sister never has that problem.”

            My eyes flickered over to my six year old sister, who was quietly playing with the peas on her plate.  I watched her lift up her hand and press it down on the pile of peas.  Her hand glowed for a moment and green mush oozed between her fingers.  She smiled, still quiet.

            I frowned and turned back to my mom. “Why is he coming?  And why is he staying here?”

            “He’s from a coven in England and he’s coming to study under you aunt for the next few months.”

            “Months?”  I exclaim before I could control my surprise.  I took a deep breath before continuing. “But why is he staying at our house?”

            “Because we have a spare room,” my mother said quickly, staring down at her plate.  I knew what room she meant—the small guest room across the hall from my bedroom where witches from afar often rested—but I got a sense that she wasn’t telling me everything; but then, she hardly ever told me anything to begin with.

            I clenched my teeth, trying to reign in my emotions. It never did well to loose one’s temper in front of my mother. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?” I asked in a calm I didn’t feel.

            “Your father and I felt it would be best to wait until all the details had been finalized.”

            I looked over at my dad.  He was staring at his empty glass, appearing to be ignoring the conversation.  I could tell he was rubbing his hands under the table in his lap, a sign of his guilty feelings.  He had probably wanted to tell me before.  I tried to catch his eyes, but he wouldn’t look up.  His forehead became more crinkled under my stare.  I wanted to demand an explanation of my father, but I knew I wouldn’t get one.  My mother always had the upper hand.

            “And you couldn’t think to give me a warning?” I yelled. “You couldn’t find the time to say ‘Oh, by the way, Leila, someone is going to stay across the hall from you for the next few months’?”

            “Watch your mouth,” my mother snapped.  A spark jumped between her fingers, but her icy expression didn’t falter.

            I pushed my chair back and stood straight up. “I’m full,” I lied.  Without a look at my full plate, I turned and walked out of the kitchen, down the hall, and out the front door.

            The cool evening air hit me with a blast.  I shivered.  It was still early spring, temperatures were low.  I took a deep breath and concentrated on warming my exposed arms.  I should have grabbed a coat, but in the heat of the moment I hadn’t thought to.  The air hummed around me and heat licked my skin.  I continued walking, pulling the warm pocket of air with me.