Halfway through my second one, the phone rang.
Mary picked up the cordless receiver and held it to her ear. “Hello? Mary Clements speaking.”
There was a pause and then her face lit up. “Hello, David! How’s Africa?”
I dropped the muffin onto the tabletop.
Dad.
“Oh, how wonderful,” Mary gushed into the phone. “I’ll pass you over to Rose. Take care, dear.”
She handed me the phone.
“Hi!” I exclaimed. I was rather excitable—after all, this was the first time I’d heard from my parents since they’d left for their trip a month ago.
“Hello, Rose,” my father’s voice came through faintly on the poor telephone line. “Happy Birthday!”
“You remembered.”
“Of course we remembered.” He seemed a little disgruntled by my comment. “How are things in Millwood?”
“Great!” I replied.
“Really?” He sounded shocked.
Actually, even I was a little shocked by my over-zealous response. It was odd, but despite the drama and catastrophic bombshells, this had still been the best summer of my life.
“Really,” I assured him.
The telephone line crackled, and his words began to break.
“That’s… other… Africa… but we… again?”
I wrinkled my nose. “What was that? I can’t hear you.”
“Oh, that’s… Must… bad connection. Here’s your mother to speak to you.” He moved away from the mouth piece, but I heard him call to my mother, “Adele, Rose is on the phone.”
Then her eloquent voice drifted into my ear.
“Hello, Rose. Happy Birthday!”
“Thanks. How are you? How’s Africa?”
“Terrific,” she stated. “We’ve got some excellent shots… work with such wonderful… once in a… experience.”
“The connection is really bad.” I jammed the phone closer to my ear.
“Oh dear. We’ll have to call again… better line.”
“When will you be home?” I asked. The plan had been for them to stay in Africa until the end of August, which was only two weeks away. That meant I’d be seeing them in fourteen days—assuming I survived the night, of course.
“We’ve been commissioned… stay out here… longer than planned.”
“How much longer?” It was hard to disguise the sudden frostiness in my tone.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mary and Oscar busy themselves clearing the table, pretending not to listen to my conversation.
“Six months,” my mother replied.
My heart sank. “Six months?”
“Hopefully we’ll… after Christmas.”
“You won’t be back for Christmas?” I spluttered.
“I’m afraid… for Christmas... but… in the new year.”
I sighed. I supposed I should have seen that coming. I’d heard this story one too many times. Even if they had been back for Christmas, they’d swan off somewhere else again within a few months.
“Okay,” I muttered, resigned. “If you have to…”
“Remember, Rose, this is how we’re able… afford… send you to such wonderful schools.”
I pulled a face. I couldn’t care less about the wonderful schools.
“So, what about you… have any news?”
News. Now there was a question.
Tonight a demon will rise, and there’s a pretty good chance that I’ll die at his hand. Oh, and I got a new brooch.
“No news,” I said.
“Oh. Have you made… friends?”
“Yes.”
“Oh!” My mother seemed astounded by this revelation. She’d probably have had an easier time believing me if I’d told her the demon thing. “What’s her name?”
“Oscar.”
“Oh.” There was friction in her voice now. “And where did you meet Oscar?”
Well, he put a spell on my aunt and uncle to trick them into letting him stay at the manor so that he could stop a prophecy that foretells the end of all witches. And me.
“Millwood,” I answered.
“Is he a nice boy?”
Hard to say. He’s a deadly witch.
“Yes.”
She clucked disapprovingly. “I shouldn’t… remind you that your focus… on school… at this stage… life.”
“Okay.”
“Not to mention… boys should not… with school… throw it all down the drain… we’ve worked so hard to… plenty of time for boys… older… Do you understand?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call again.”
“Okay.”
“Send my love to Roger and Mary.”
“I will. And Zack,” I added.
“What? Who?”
“Your only nephew.”
“Oh, yes, of course. The little one.”
“Bye,” I said into the cold, plastic phone.
“Bye…”
And the line went dead.
I SLOUCHED IN A SALMON pink armchair in the conservatory, pensively watching the rain pour down outside. The drops fell like bullets, pattering on the evergreens and slowly turning the garden into boggy, waterlogged slush.
Oscar perched on the edge of the coffee table, twitching restlessly.
“You’re upset, aren’t you?” he said. I could tell he’d wanted to ask that for a while.
“Nope.”
“About your parents?” he deduced.
I shrugged.
He pressed his knuckles together. “Because they’re not coming back?”
“It’s not the end of the world.”
We exchanged a momentarily troubled look, unsettled by my wording.
I sighed and returned my gaze to the garden. The sky churned with a brewing storm. Bulging grey rain clouds hovered over the estate like enemy aircraft.
“Why am I what I am?” I asked distantly.
Oscar scratched his head. “Can you elaborate?”
“Why do I have a witch’s heart? And what have I got to do with Lathiaus?”
“I don’t know.”
I was sick of hearing that. “Does anyone know?”
“I don’t know,” he answered again.
“But there must be a way of finding out. Someone must know.”
Oscar stared down at his hands. “Well…”
“Well?” I prompted.
“There are ways…” he trailed off.
I sat up straighter in my seat. “Ways for you to find out?”
“Ways for you to find out,” he amended.
My breath caught. “How?”
Oscar glanced to the closed conservatory door. We were alone.
“There is a spell,” he confessed.
I regarded him carefully, watching his gaze as it darted between me and the door. “What kind of spell?”
“I… I think there’s a Retracing spell.”
“Retracing spell?” I echoed.
Weird. I was chatting about spells now. Very weird.
“It’s like regression,” he explained. “It shows you your roots. How it all began, that type of thing.”
“Sounds good,” I mused.
Oscar rubbed his hand over his face. “No. Not necessarily. I’ve never done it before, and it’s heavy magic. Besides, I’m not sure how safe it would be for a human.”
I pretended not to hear that last part.
“Could we try?”
“I don’t do magic unless I’m sure of its consequences,” he flatly rejected the idea.
“But, people—witches—have done it before?” I argued. “Isn’t it worth a try if it means the chance of piecing together the puzzle?”
“Witches have done it before, yes. But I haven’t. I don’t know what it entails…” He winced. “I don’t know why I mentioned it in the first place.”
“Can’t we just try—”
“Forget I said anything,” he cut me off. “It’s not safe. It’s…” He shook his head.
“Forget I said anything.”
Yeah, right, I thought, folding my arms across my chest.
“Do you really need to know?” he asked wearily. “Can’t you just accept that you are who you are?”
No, I thought.
Oscar stood up and walked over to the window. “It’s really raining,” he stated.
Not-so-subtle subject change.
“Yes,” I grumbled. “I’ve noticed.”
“How about a walk?” he suggested.
I looked up at him and frowned. “Now? Out there?”
He flashed me a charming smile. “Sure. Why not?”
I laughed. “You’re crazy.”
“Maybe,” Oscar smirked. “Are you?”
He crossed the room and ducked out through the side door.
For a moment, I contemplated leaving him to it, letting him be crazy all on his own. But my hesitation was short lived. I hopped to my feet and set off after him. I ran out into the rain, cringing as the cold drops splashed onto my skin. I covered my head with my hands, but the downpour drenched my hair and streamed over my face.
“Oscar!” I cried. “We’re getting soaked!”
“I know,” he exclaimed. “Isn’t it exhilarating?” He stretched out his arms and turned his face up to the sky, like a fallen angel spreading its wings.
I shrieked as the water washed over me. In a way, it was exhilarating. Or liberating, at least. I had no inhibitions or reservations—I was simply there. Out in the epitome of wild nature with Oscar, freeing our untamed souls and allowing them to play together. It was the truest form of happiness.
I extended my arms, just as Oscar had done, and twirled around until I felt dizzy. When I stopped, I collapsed onto the soggy ground and sank into the mud without a care in the world.
Oscar jogged over to me. He crouched before me, his shirt soaked through and clinging to his skin.
“I got you a present,” he said, biting his lip to suppress a grin.
I sat up. “You did?”
Oscar held up his index finger, signalling for me to wait. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, cream-coloured box.
“It’s just something,” he said, sliding the box into my hand. “I liked it. I don’t know… You might not.”
I opened the lid. Inside were two halves of a silver heart, nestled amidst a bed of red silk.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathed. I lifted one of the pieces and held it as though it were the most precious object I’d ever touched.
“There was supposed to be a chain with it… It was supposed to be a necklace…”
I shook my head, water spilling from my hair. “It’s perfect just the way it is.”
Oscar’s mouth curved into a smile. “You like it?”
“I love it.” I examined the piece in my hand. “This is my half,” I decided, holding it up to the murky sky.
He nodded.
I passed it to him. “You keep my half.”
He gestured to the remaining piece in the box. “And you keep mine.”
I reached up and pulled him down to the muddy ground, and we lay, giggling like children… until the shadows of two tall figures darkened our light.
The Valeros were here.
“Oscar,” Marco snapped. He towered above us, intimidating and dominant.
We sat upright, startled by the intrusion on our private moment.
Marco gripped the handle of a striped umbrella, while Caicus loitered on the outskirts of its shelter, kicking light-heartedly at the pooling rainwater.
Where my focus rested on Marco, Oscar’s immediately went to Caicus. He grinned and splashed water at his friend, and the game rapidly escalated until they were on the verge of an all-out water fight.
Marco swiftly put his foot down.
“Oscar,” he barked. “Caicus and I have reached a decision on how best to remove the humans.”
“Remove the humans?” I echoed, squinting through the misted rain.
Marco peered down his nose at me. “Get them out of the house,” he elaborated.
Oh.
Marco went on, “Caicus will persuade them to stay at a hotel for the evening, on the pretence of permitting us to throw a birthday party for Rose.”
“They’ll never agree to that,” I objected.
But, of course, I’d forgotten who I was dealing with.
“They’ll agree to anything Caicus asks of them,” Marco retorted condescendingly.
Oscar licked his lips. “That seems satisfactory.”
“Then we are agreed,” Marco solicited.
Oscar nodded his head.
“Caicus,” Marco said, disrupting his game of raindrop catching, “go now. Do your duty. Make sure they’re out of the house by nine o’clock this evening. The ritual will begin at precisely eleven.”
Caicus nodded once, then jogged away like an obedient puppy, and Marco stalked back to the house.
I looked anxiously at Oscar. “Ritual?”
He snaked his arm around me, but said nothing.
BY SEVEN O’CLOCK THAT EVENING, I was showered and getting ready for my customary birthday meal. I rummaged through my limited clothing options in the hope of finding something to wear.
It was no surprise to hear that Mary and Roger had approved the fake birthday party, and had compliantly agreed to stay at a hotel for the night. Not before my birthday meal, though.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. Time was slipping away right before my eyes.
A bolt of fear surged through me, and I reminded myself for what felt like the thousandth time that everything would be okay. Oscar wouldn’t allow anything to go wrong. I was safe with him.
Taking a deep breath, I resumed rummaging through the pile of clothes strewn over my bed. Yuck. I hated them all.
Back to the wardrobe. I riffled through the hangers.
No… No… No… Absolutely no.
Defeated, I dropped cross-legged onto the floor. And it was a good thing I did, because I caught sight of a pink shopping bag stuffed into the bottom corner of the wardrobe.
The dress! How could I have forgotten about that dress? Especially after making Oscar jump off a cliff to retrieve it.
I hauled the bag out from its hiding place and emptied the contents onto the carpet. The dress had gained some creases from its confinement, but it was still just as stunning as I remembered: a rich mulberry colour, delicate fabric, and a long flowing skirt.
I wasn’t entirely convinced that I had the confidence to wear it, but I was definitely in the mood for a dress rehearsal.
I wriggled into it and pulled up the zipper.
Okay. Mirror time.
It was probably fortunate that my mirror was the size of a melon, because as a self-confessed non-dress wearer I didn’t think I was ready for the full-length view. That said, my cantaloupe-sized view was kind of pleasing.
I crouched, and knelt, and stood on tiptoes until I saw more-or-less the whole outfit.
I flipped my hair and let it tumble over my shoulders. Then, I paraded around my tiny bedroom, strutting my stuff down the world’s best imaginary catwalk.
I had all the confidence and coolness known to mankind.
And then someone knocked on my bedroom door.
No longer cool, I virtually pole vaulted over my bed and dived for my discarded bath towel. Scrambling around like a frantic maniac, I shrouded myself in the towel.
“Are you all right in there?” Oscar called from the other side of the door.
I guess my belly-flop landing had caused quite a thud.
“I’m fine,” I shouted back, hastily clambering to my feet and patting down my dishevelled tresses. “Everything’s fine!”
“Can I come in?” his muffled voice returned to me.
I sat on the end of my bed and tugged the towel down until it covered as much of the dress as possible.
“Okay,” I beckoned.
The door opened and Oscar poked his head in. He greeted me with a familiar boyis
h grin. “Nice towel.”
“What?” I said, feeling my cheeks flush. “I can wear a towel if I want.” I tugged at it again and flattened it over my knees.
Oscar’s eyebrow cocked. “Yes, I would never suggest otherwise. I think it’s a very nice towel.”
“It is,” I said, sounding more petulant than I would have liked.
“Uh… right,” he stammered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” He paused and his brow furrowed. “Are you mad at me?”
I sighed submissively. “No. I’m wearing a dress,” I confessed.
“Yes. I can see that. It’s very stylish. Unique.”
“No, not the towel. The dress is underneath.”
“Oh. Okay. Can I see?” He edged further into the room, letting the door fall shut behind him.
I fiddled with a thread on the towel. “I’m not sure yet. I’m feeling a little self-conscious.”
“But… it’s me.”
Exactly! I thought.
“Why would you feel self-conscious around me?” he asked, clearly mystified by the notion.
“Because you’re so confident and gorgeous.” I laughed in good nature. “And I’m just the girl in the bath towel.”
Oscar suppressed a grin. “You’re not the girl in the bath towel; you’re Rose. And I’m Oscar.” He sat down beside me on the bed. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re confident and gorgeous, and so much more.”
I leant my head on his shoulder. In response he draped his arm around me.
“Do you not like the dress?” he asked.
“No. The opposite. It’s the dress my aunt bought me in Hutton Ridge. You know, the dress.”
“Oh, that dress! Well, then, you have to wear it,” he declared animatedly.
I gazed up at him.
“Show me, show me,” he teased, tugging at the edge of the towel.
“If I show you, will you promise not to laugh?”
He rolled his eyes.
“Just promise,” I repeated.
He crossed his heart with his forefinger.
I stood up and tossed the towel onto the bed.
No laughter. That was a good sign.
“What do you think?” I ventured timidly.
He let out a long breath. “It’s…”
“What?” I could feel the colour rushing to my cheeks again.
“Beautiful,” he finished. “Really, really beautiful.” He smiled unassumingly.