I’d been abandoned at birth. Found beneath a black willow tree on the banks of a babbling brook. Lucky for me it had been July, and there’d been a huge town picnic going on nearby. I’d been found almost immediately, or I’d have been dead.
I’d often wondered why the State of Wisconsin hadn’t named me Brook instead of Willow, though I guess Brook Black is a bit of a tongue twister.
“Your hair was red.” Mary leaned in close. “Your eyes were greenish-brown.”
Mary might seem good today, but she was still talking crazy instead of truth. Even if I’d dyed my hair from red to blond, which I hadn’t, I didn’t think I could change greenish-brown eyes to blue, unless I wore super expensive contact lenses. As I didn’t have enough money for new shoes, and putting anything near—never mind in—my eyes wigged me out, that hadn’t happened either.
“You have me confused with someone else,” I said. “That’s okay. Happens to everyone.”
Mary shook her head. But she didn’t argue any more than that. The silence that descended went on so long, I nearly went back to my book.
“I know what you are.”
I hadn’t shared what I was with anyone, though I guess it wasn’t a secret that I was here for the same reason Mary was.
“What am I?” I asked.
Might as well get the truth out in the open, although murderer was a bit harsh. The man hadn’t actually died.
No thanks to me.
“A witch,” Mary answered.
I laughed, but when her eyes narrowed I stopped. I’d been in here long enough, with people like her, to know better.
“Why would you say that?” Had I done something to her without realizing it? Or did she just think that I had?
“Because I’m one, too.”
“When you say witch, you mean…?” I’d been thinking “bitch” but— Mary cackled like the Wicked Witch of the West.
Maybe not.
That interpretation made more sense. If Mary thought she was a witch, it followed that she’d think I was as well. Which meant everyone in here was a card-carrying broomstick rider—at least according to Mary.
“You see things,” she continued, “then they happen.”
Since becoming a resident of this facility, I’d told no one of what I saw when I looked into the water. I’d stopped insisting that those incidents would occur. I wanted to get out of here while I was still young. So how did Mary know about my visions?
“I don’t understand what you mean,” I lied.
There wasn’t much that could be done about what was wrong with me. No amount of medication made the visions stop. Talking about them with my shrink certainly hadn’t. Pretending I didn’t have them was my only option, and I was getting better at it.
“You know any spells?” Mary lifted a bottle of water to her lips and sipped. The sun sparkled in it like a beacon. Images danced.
I closed my eyes, turned my head. “No.”
“We’ll have to find some.”
“Find spells? How? Where?” I should have asked, Why? My first mistake.
The sound of water splashing onto the floor made my eyes snap open. Second mistake.
The puddle on the ground at my feet reflected the ceiling tiles and the fluorescent lights for just an instant before I saw something that should not, could not, be reflected there.
A room with books, books, more books. I recognized the library here at the facility even before I saw myself at the center—green scrubs, blue shirt, bare feet. I was alone. On the floor lay a volume. The title: Book of Shadows.
I seemed to be searching for something, or maybe someone. I appeared frantic—pale, scared, trembling. What had I done this time?
Then a face appeared in the water, blotting out both me and the library. A man slightly older than me. Longish dark hair, scruffy beard. I’d seen him many times before. He was important, but I didn’t know why. He would keep me safe; he would save me. But I didn’t know from what.
“Ladies.” The mouth in the vision formed the word; those lips curved.
Strange. It was almost as if—
I lifted my gaze. He stood in front of us. Had I conjured him from my vision in the water?
I snorted. Conjured. Right. Mary’s witch talk was invading my head.
“Something funny?” he asked.
I reached out, my fingers trembling as they had in the vision, and he took my hand with a gentle smile. A spark flared where we touched, and I tried to pull away, but he held on, though his smile faded to a frown. From the zap of electricity? Or my odd behavior?
This could not be him. He wasn’t real. Even though he felt very much so.
I got to my feet, lifting my free hand toward his face. He was so tall I had to stretch. In my dreams of him I’d known he was big, strong. How else would he protect me from … whatever it was that he would?
He stilled, gaze on mine, but he didn’t stop me from touching him. I pushed aside his tangled hair. The tiny golden hoop in his ear made my eyes sting.
“It really is you,” I whispered.
Then I fainted.
*