Dance of the Moons

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

            “Stand up straight,” my mother snapped a moment before I felt my spine forcefully snap in place.  My back had been forced as straight as a rod, and with it my chest had been unwillingly thrust upward, more strained against my violet blouse than usual.  I wanted to slouch, but I didn’t dare.

            My mother pointed at a coat hanging on a peg on the wall.  The coat moved a bit, dust and dirt falling to the ground, before relaxing into a pressed, neat line of material.  The dust and dirt that had fallen off of it was compressed into a small cube.  My mom flicked her finger, and the cube went flying into the kitchen, where I knew it would find its place in the trash.

            I took a small breath, afraid of making any more noise than I had to.  I had rarely seen my mom this stressed, and past experience told me to shut up and do as she says.  Emphasis on the ‘shut up.’  Even my father stood straight and did as she said, not once talking back.

            “Get your thumb out of your mouth!” she yelled at my younger sister.  Marissa’s thumb was whipped out of her mouth with a pop and pulled to her side.  Her eyes were wide, and she looked like she was going to start crying.  I quickly grabbed her hand, trying to calm her.  Marissa had never been on the receiving end of my mother’s temper—well, not since she could remember at least.

            She clutched my hand, her wet thumb sticking to my skin.  With anyone else I would have been repulsed, but with my little sister, I let anything go.  She held my hand with all the force she had and sunk closer to me, sliding along my leg.  She grabbed the khaki material around my mid-thigh and pulled herself closer.  I let go of her hand and she wrapped it around my leg, using me as a shield.

            I could tell my mom was going to rip her off me, but she was saved by a knock on the door.  I stiffened, painfully aware of how unnaturally straight my spine was.  My mom shot me a dark look and I felt my face forcefully rip into a smile as the door opened. 

There stood Christopher Brown.  He had blond hair cut short and spiked gently at the top of his head.  His eyes were so dark they looked black, a startling contrast to his light skin.  He wore a tan overcoat down to his knees, where his legs were covered by grey pants until his shiny black boots.  His aura was dark and unreadable.  Most surprising, however, was that he looked to be in his early twenties instead of the late fifties I had imagined him to be.  He stepped inside the house.

“Hello,” he greeted cheerfully in a British accent as he looked around the entryway.  His eyes slid over my parents and then fell on me.  He smiled.  I shivered.

“Welcome, Mr. Brown, to our house,” my mom replied, sounding slightly out of breath. “I hope the journey over here wasn’t bad.”

He shook his head, still smiling. “It was quite an adventure.  I came by transportation.”

Only a witch would realize he meant a transportation spell; to an outsider, it would have sounded like a generalization.  I had a moment of picturing him in a glowing light that I knew came and went with any transportation spell.

“Well, come in,” my mom ushered to the young witch. “Leila, take his coat,” she added as the door closed on its own.

I started to take a step forward, but Marissa held tightly to my leg, her eyes still glued on Mr. Brown.  I patted her head and she looked up at me.  I nodded my head in reassurance and she let go of my leg.  I looked back up to see Mr. Brown staring at me.

“You are good with children,” he remarked.

I held out my hand for his coat. “Just my sister,” I replied quietly, looking at his coat instead of his face.  He held it out for me and I grabbed it before walking over and hanging it from the wall.