Beautiful Secrets (Cranksepticeye Fanfiction)

~11.27~ Just Your Average American Holiday

After Halloween, it felt like the calm after the storm. We settled into a routine, even though we knew the clock was ticking. I walked to the corner to hide from Anna, Jack picked me up in the hearse, Boo Radley caught up with us in front of the Stop & Steal and followed us to school. With the occasional exception of Winnie Reid, the only member of the Jackson Debate team, which made debating difficult, or Robert Lester Tate, who had won the State Spelling Bee two years in a row, the only person who would even sit with us in the cafeteria was Mark. When we weren't at school eating on the bleachers, or being spied on by Principal Harper, we were holed up in the library rereading the locket papers and hoping Marian might slip up and tell us something. No sign of flirty Siren cousins bearing lollipops and death grips, no unexplained Category 3 storms or ominous black clouds in the sky, not even a weird meal with Macon. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Except for one thing. The most important thing. I was crazy about a guy who actually felt the same way about me. When did that ever happen? The fact that he was a Caster was almost easier to believe than the fact that he existed at all.
I had Jack. He was powerful and he was handsome. Every day was terrifying, and every day was perfect.
Until out of nowhere, the unthinkable happened. Anna invited Jack to Thanksgiving dinner.

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"I don't know why you want to come over for Thanksgiving anyway. It's pretty boring."" I was nervous. Anna was obviously up to something.
Jack smiled, and I relaxed. There was nothing better than when he smiled. It blew me away every time. "I don't think it sounds boring."
"You've never been to Thanksgiving at my house."
"I've never been to Thanksgiving at anyone's house. Casters don't celebrate Thanksgiving. It's a Mortal holiday."
"Are you kidding? No turkey? No pumpkin pie?"
"Nope."
"You didn't eat much today, did you?"
"Not really."
"Then you'll be okay."
I had prepped Jack ahead of time so he wouldn't be surprised when the Sisters wrapped extra biscuits in their dinner napkins and slipped them into their purses. Or when my Aunt Caroline and Marian spent half the night debating the location of the first public library in the U.S. (Charleston) or the proper proportions for the "Charleston green" paint (two parts "Yankee" black and one part "Rebel" yellow). Aunt Caroline was a museum curator in Savannah and she knew as much about period architecture and antiques as my mom had known about Civil War ammunition and battle strategy. Because that's what Jack had to be ready for - Anna, my crazy relatives Marian, and Harlon James thrown in for good measure.
I left out the one detail he actually needed to know. Given how things had been lately,  Thanksgiving probably meant my dad in his pajamas. But that was something I just couldn't explain.
Anna took Thanksgiving really seriously, which meant two things. My dad would finally come out of his study, although technically it was after dark so that wasn't a big exception, and he would eat at the table with us. No Shredded Wheat. That was the absolute minimum Anna would allow. So in honor of my dad's pilgrimage into the world the rest of us inhabited every day, Anna cooked up a storm. Turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, butter beans and creamed corn, sweet potatoes with marshmallows, honey ham and biscuits, pumpkin and lemon meringue pie, which, after my evening in the swamp, I was pretty sure she was making more for Uncle Abner than the rest of us.
I stopped for a second on the porch, remembering how I felt standing on the veranda at Ravenwood the first night I showed up there. Now it was Jack's turn. I glanced over at him as he pushed his hair out of his eyes, and put my hand on his chin.
You ready?
He pulled the cuff of his black shirt away from his neck.
I'm not.
You should be.
I grinned and pushed open the door. "Ready or not." The house smelled like my childhood. Like mashed potatoes and hard work.
"Ethan, is that you?" Anna called from the kitchen.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You have that boy with you? Bring him in here so we can get a good look at him."
The kitchen was sizzling. Anna was standing in front of the stove, in he apron, a wooden spoon in each hand. Aunt Prue was puttering around, sticking her fingers in the mixing bowls on the counter. Aunt Mercy and Aunt Grace were playing Scrabble at the kitchen table; neither one of them seemed to notice that they weren't actually making words.
"Well, don't just stand there. Bring him in here."
Every muscle in my body tensed. There was no way to predict what Anna, or the Sisters, were going to say. I still had no idea why Anna had insisted I invite Jack in the first place.
Jack stepped forward. "It's nice to finally meet you."
Anna looked Jack up and down, wiping her hands on her apron. "So you're the one keepin' my boy so busy. Postman was right. Pretty as a picture." I wondered if Carlton Eaton had mentioned that on their ride to Wader's Creek.
Jack blushed. "Thank you."
"Heard you've shaken things up at school." Aunt Grace smiled. "A good thing too. I don't know what they're teachin' you kids over there."
Aunt Mercy put down her tiles, one at a time. I-T-C-H-I-N.
Aunt Grace leaned closer to the board squinting. "Mercy Lynne, you're cheatin' again! What kinda word is that? Use it in a sentence."
"I'm itchin' ta have some a that white cake."
"That's not how you spell it." At least one of them could spell. Aunt Grace pulled one of the tiles off the board. "There's no T in itchin'." Or not.
You weren't exaggerating.
I told you.
"Is that Ethan I hear?" Aunt Caroline walked into the kitchen just in time, her arms open wide. "Come on over here and give your Aunt a hug." It always caught me off guard for a second, just how much she looked like my mother. The same long brown hair, always pulled back, the same dark brown eyes. But my mom had always preferred bare feet and jeans, while Aunt Caroline was more of a Southern Belle in sundresses and little sweaters. I think my aunt like to see the expression on people's faces when they found out she was curator of the Savannah History Museum and not some aging debutante.
"How are things up North?" Aunt Caroline always referred to Anston as "up North" since it was north of Savannah.
"All right. Did you bring me some pralines?"
"Don't I always?"
I took Jack's hand, pulling him toward us. "Jack, this is my Aunt Caroline and my great-aunts, Prudence, Mercy, and Grace."
"It's a pleasure to meet you all." Jack reached out his hand, but my Aunt Caroline pulled her in for a hug instead.
The front door slammed.
"Happy Thanksgiving." Marian came in carrying a casserole dish and a pie plate stacked on top of one another. "What did I miss?"
"Squirrels." Aunt Prue shuffled over hand looped her arm through Marian's. "What do you know about 'em?"
"All right, every one a you, clear on outta my kitchen. I need some space to work my magic, and Mercy Statham, I see you eating my Red Hots." Aunt Mercy stopped crunching for a second. Jack looked over at me, trying not to smile.
I could call Kitchen.
Trust me, Anna doesn't need any help when it comes to cooking. She's got some magic of her own.
Everyone crowded into the living room. Aunt Caroline and Aunt Prue were discussing how to grow persimmons on a sun porch and Aunt Grace and Aunt Mercy were still fighting over how to spell "itchin'," while Marian refereed. It was enough to make anyone crazy, but when I saw Jack wedged between the Sisters, he looked happy, even content.
This is nice.
Are you kidding?
Was this his idea of a family holiday? Casseroles and Scrabble and old ladies bickering? I wasn't sure, but I knew this was about as far from the Gathering as you could get.
At least no one is trying to kill anyone.
Give them about fifteen minutes, Jack.
I caught Anna's eye through the kitchen door way, but it wasn't me she was looking at. It was Jack.
She was definitely up to something.
Thanksgiving dinner unfolded as it had every year. Except nothing was the same. My father was in pajamas, my mom's chair was empty, and I was holding hands with a Caster guy under the table. For a second, it was overwhelming - feeling happy and sad at the same time - as if they were tied together somehow. But I only had a second think about it; we had barely said "amen" before the Sisters started swiping biscuits, and Anna was spooning heaping mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy on our plates, and Aunt Caroline started with the small talk.
I knew what was going on. If there was enough work, enough talk, enough pie, maybe nobody would notice the empty chair. There wasn't enough pie in the world for that, even in Anna's kitchen.
Either way, Aunt Caroline was determined to keep me talking. "Ethan, do you need to borrow anything for the reenactment? I've got some remarkably authentic-looking shell jackets in the attic."
"Don't remind me." I'd almost forgotten I had to dress up as a Confederate soldier for the Reenactment of the Battle of Honey Hill if I wanted to pass history this year. Every February, there was a Civil War reenactment in Anston; it was the only reason tourists ever showed up here.
Jack reached for a biscuit. "I don't really understand why the reenactment is such a big deal. It seems like a lot of work to re-create a battle that happened over a hundred years ago, considering we can just read about it in our history books."
Uh-oh.
Aunt Prue gasped; that was blasphemy as far as she was concerned. "They should burn that school a yours ta the ground! They're not teachin' any kind a his'try over there. You can't learn 'bout the War for Southern Independence in any textbook. You have ta see it for yourself, and every one a you kids should, because the same country that fought together in the American Revolution for independence, turned clear against itself in the War."
Ethan, say something. Change the subject.
Too late. She's going to break into the "Star Spangled Banner" any second now.
Marian split a biscuit and filled it with ham. "Miss Statham is right. The Civil War turned this country against itself, oftentimes brother against brother. It was a tragic chapter in American history. Over half a million men died, although more of them died form sickness than battle."
"A tragic chapter, that's what it was." Aunt Prue nodded.
"Now don't get all worked up, Prudence Jane." Aunt Grace patted her sister's arm.
Aunt Prue swatted her hand away. "Don't tell me when I'm worked up. I'm just tryin' ta make sure they know the pig's head from it's tail. I'm the only one doin' any teachin'. That school should be payin' me."
I should have warned you not to get them started.
Now you tell me.
Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean any disrespect. I've just never known anyone who was so knowledgeable about the War."
Nice one. If by knowledgeable you mean obsessed.
"Now don't feel bad, sweetheart. Prudence Jane just gets her britches in a twist every now and again." Aunt Grace elbowed Aunt Prue.
That's why we put whiskey in he tea.
"It's all that peanut brittle Carlton brought by." Aunt Prue looked at Jack apologetically. "I have a hard time with too much sugar."
A hard time staying away from it.
My dad coughed and absentmindedly pushed his mashed potatoes around his plate. Jack saw an opportunity to change the subject. "So Ethan says you're a writer, Mr. Nestor. What kind of books do you write?"
My dad looked up at him, but didn't say anything. He probably didn't even realize Jack was talking to him.
"Mitchell's workin' on a new book. It's a big one. Maybe the most important one he's ever written. And Mitchell's written a mess of books. How many is it now, Mitchell?" Anna asked, like she was talking to a child. She knew how many books my dad had published.
"Thirteen," He mumbled.
Jack wasn't discouraged by my dad's frightening social skills, even though I was. I looked at him, hair uncombed, black circles under his eyes. When had it gotten this bad?
Jack pressed on. "What's your book about?"
My dad came to life, animated for the first time this evening. "It's a love story. It's really been a journey, this book. The great American novel. Some might say The Sound and the Fury of my career, but I can't really talk about the plot. Not really. Not at this point. Not when I'm so close . . . to . . . " He was rambling. Then he just stopped talking, like someone had flipped a switch in his back. He stared at my mom's empty chair as he drifted away.
Anna looked anxious. Aunt Caroline tried to distract everyone from what was quickly becoming the most embarrassing night of my life. "Jack, where did you say you moved here from?"
But I couldn't hear his answer. I couldn't hear anything. Instead, all I could see was everything moving in slow motion. Blurring, expanding and contracting, like the way heat waves look as they move through the air.
Then-
The room was frozen, except it wasn't. I was frozen. My father was frozen, His eyes were narrow, his lips rounded to form sounds that hadn't had a chance to escape his lips. Sill staring at the plateful of mashed potatoes, untouched. The Sisters, Aunt Caroline, and Marian were like statues. Even the air was perfectly still. The pendulum of the grandfather clock had stopped in mid-swing.
Ethan? Are you all right?
I tried to answer him, but I couldn't. When Ridley had me in her death grip, I had been sure I was going to freeze to death. Now I was frozen, except I wasn't cold and I wasn't dead.
"Did I do this?" Jack asked aloud.
Only Anna could answer. "Cast a Time Bind? You? About as likely as this turkey hatchin' a gator." She snorted. "No, you didn't do this, child. This is bigger than you. The Greats figured it was time we had ourselves a talk. Nobody can hear us now."
Except me. I can hear you.
But the words didn't' come out. I could hear them talking, but I couldn't make a sound.
Anna looked up at the ceiling, "Thank you, Aunt Delilah. Appreciate the help." She walked over to the buffet and cut a piece of pumpkin pie. She put it on a fancy china plate and laid the plate in the center of the table. "Now I'm gonna leave this piece for you and the Greats, and you be sure to remember I did."
"What's going on? What did you do to them?"
"Didn't do anything to them. Just bought us some time, I reckon."
"Are you a Caster?"
"No, I'm just a Seer. I see what needs to be seen, and what no one else can see, or wants to."
"Did you stop time?" Casters could do that, stop time. Jack had told me. But only incredibly powerful ones.
"I didn't do a thing. I only asked the Greats for some assistance and Aunt Delilah obliged."
Jack looked confused, or frightened. "Who are the Greats?"
"The Greats are my family from the Otherworld. They give me some help every now and again, and they're not alone. They've got others with them." Anna leaned across the table, looking Jack in the eye. "Why aren't you wearing the bracelet."
"What?"
"Didn't Melchizedek give it to you? I told him you needed to wear it."
"He gave it to me, but I took it off."
"Now why would you go and do a thing like that?"
"We figured out it was blocking the visions."
"It was blocking something all right. Until you stopped wearing it."
"What was it blocking."
Anna reached out and took Jack's hand in her own, turning it over to reveal his palm. "I didn't want to be the one to tell you this, child. But Melchizedek, your family, they aren't gonna tell you, not one a them. And you need to be told. You need to be prepared."
"Prepared for what?"
Anna looked at the ceiling, mumbling under her breath. "She's coming, child. She's coming for you, and she's a force to be reckoned with. As Dark as night."
"Who? Who's coming for me?"
"I wish they'd told you themselves. I didn't want to be the one. But the Greats, they say somebody has to tell you before it's too late."
"Tell me what? Who's coming, Anna?"
Anna pulled a small pouch that was dangling from a leather cord around her neck out of her shirt and clutched it, lowering her voice like she was afraid someone might hear her. "Sarafine. The Dark One."
"Who's Sarafine?"
Anna hesitated, clutching the pouch even tighter.
"Your mamma."
"I don't understand. My parents died when I was a child, and my mother's name was Sara, I've seen it on my family tree."
"Your daddy died, that's the truth, but you mamma's alive as sure as I'm standing here. And you know the thing about family trees down South, they're never quite as right as they claim to be."
The color drained from Jack's face. I strained to reach out and take his hand, but only my finger trembled. I was powerless. I couldn't do anything but watch as he tumbled into a dark place, alone. Just like in the dreams. "And she's Dark?"
"She's the Darkest Caster living today."
"Why didn't my uncle tell me? Or my gramma? They said she was dead. Why would they lie to me?"
"There's the truth and then there's the truth. They aren't likely the same thing. I reckon they were trying to protect you. They still think they can. But the Greats, they're not so sure. I didn't want to be the one to tell you, but Melchizedek's a stubborn one."
"Why are you trying to help me? I thought - I thought you didn't like me."
"Doesn't have anything to do with liking or not liking. She's coming for you, and you don't need any distractions." Anna raised an eyebrow. "And I don't want anything to happen to my boy. This is bigger than you, bigger than the both a you."
"What's bigger than both of us?"
"All of it. You and Ethan just aren't meant to be."
Jack looked confused. Anna was talking riddles again. "What do you mean?"
Anna jerked around as if someone behind her had tapped her on the shoulder. "What'd you say, Aunt Delilah?" Anna turned to Jack. "We don't have much time left."
The pendulum on the clock began to move almost imperceptibly. The room began to come back to life. My dad's eyes started to blink slowly, so that it took seconds for his lashes to brush his cheeks.
"You put that bracelet back on. You need all the help you can get."
Time snapped back into place-