I swallowed my bite slowly before speaking. "I meant to ask yesterday, where'd you get the syrup from?"
Mama wiped her hands on a dish towel. "The market in town," she said. "They always have fresh syrup. It's not that fake stuff from the grocery store."
I hummed in response, poking at my food with my fork. I was still curious about why she attacked me in the dream. Right now, in the soft morning light, she seemed normal, flipping pancakes and pouring juice.
Deciding to test the waters, I spoke. "So… about the trip. Where exactly are we going?"
She turned back to the stove, grabbed another pancake from the skillet, and placed it on a plate.
"I told you to visit family."
I pushed my plate away slightly. "Your family."
She turned toward me, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "Our family."
"I thought you said we were just visiting Rhonda," I drawled. "Who else is there?"
Mama didn't answer right away. She picked up the used pan and carried it to the sink, rinsing it absentmindedly before setting it down. When she finally turned back to me, she was smiling again, but this time, it felt different.
"You'll see when we get there," she said.
"Hmm." Lost in thought, I went back to my breakfast. I kept my tone light so she wouldn't stop answering my questions.
"So," I said, feigning nonchalance as I swirled my fork through a lump of eggs, "are you excited to see Rhonda after all this time?"
I drummed my fingers on the table, keeping my gaze lowered as I gauged her reaction.
Her face lit up immediately. "Yes, I am."
Picking up a napkin, I wiped my fingers. "I'm surprised Rhonda said yes," I said, gulping down some orange juice.
She let out a soft laugh, her voice bubbling with joy. "Of course, she said yes. I knew she loved me."
"Great! Then it won't be awkward," I quipped.
Tilting her head, she hummed, "Oh, it'll probably be awkward. Your father and I burned a few important bridges."
She smiled, scratching the back of her head, as if the memory were nothing more than a minor inconvenience. That caught my attention.
I leaned closer. "Is it because you both served two different spirits?"
Mama paused for several seconds before picking up her mug and taking a slow sip of coffee.
"You know how people get, when they don't understand something, they fear it."
She held my gaze. "I regret nothing."
I kept eating quietly.
"I was young, you know, and didn't want to spend my life locked away inside." She gave me a pointed look. "There's so much to explore. And in our family, Beatrix chooses whoever she wants to be the high priestess, which means they can't go beyond the walls of our home."
"Oh, wow. Like, can't leave the house ever?"
She shrugged. "It's not all bad. Typically, after choosing a new high priestess, the rest of the family continues its luxurious life. In contrast, the newly dedicated priestess gains spiritual powers and tends to the ancestral spirits' needs."
"Before the ceremony could take place, I snuck out and left with Michael, thinking I wouldn't be missed. And I got what I was after."
She smiled, then began wiping down an already clean counter, pacing back and forth.
She chuckled and folded her arms. We laughed.
"Was it dangerous for Papa as well?"
"Oh, him," she said breezily. "Hmm, I don't know. Good question." She shrugged. "I never really asked him."
I frowned at her casualness, but before I could press further, she moved on, absently straightening a napkin that didn't need fixing.
"Oh, I just remembered," she said, turning toward me with a bright smile. "I booked our ferry tickets for this afternoon."
I blinked. "This afternoon?"
She nodded, unbothered. "Mm-hmm. It's an eight-hour trip. We'll need to pack and leave around two-thirty."
My face was blank for several seconds. "You're telling me we're leaving today? As in a few hours from now?"
Placing her hand on her hip, she looked at me. "Stop being dramatic, Tara. We'll have plenty of time to get everything together. Plus, it's summer. Since your schedule is open and you don't have other plans, it shouldn't be a problem."
She turned back to the counter, her tone bright. "Rhonda is picking a new high priestess soon, and she'll be extremely weak after the spirit transmission, so I offered to help. She can't maintain the position much longer."
That's why we're leaving so quickly," she beamed.
"Why not? It can't be that serious."
"It is," she said. "Her body could deteriorate, or she could lose her mind completely."
She finished fidgeting in the kitchen and headed toward the stairs. "I'm going to pack. I'm so excited," she sang.
Conflicted, I sat at the table in silence before getting up and scraping my food into the trash. I gently rinsed the plate, then placed it in the dishwasher. After putting it on the drying rack, I headed upstairs to pack my clothes for the trip.
In my room, I sat down on the creaky bed and pulled the journal from my nightstand. My fingers traced the ridges before I cracked it open, flipping past pages filled with my father's handwriting, until I landed on something that made me pause:
Beatrix is not to be taken lightly. Those who serve her will never truly be free. I've spent years attempting to unravel her web of influence, but I fear it's too deeply ingrained. The only option is to fight, so I'm documenting how to contact and use Ellumiel.
I turned the page. At the bottom, a single line was scribbled hastily in the margins.
She will try to return.
My fingers curled around the edges of the journal as my thoughts outpaced the information. Would Beatrix return? I didn't get it.
I snapped the journal shut, pressing the worn leather cover against my chest as I stared out the window. I forced myself to breathe slowly and steadily. Relax. Don't force the pieces together.
Closing my eyes, I let my mind go blank. With a slow exhale, my imagination took over, letting the world outside fade. An image unfurled in my mind: a vast chateau rising from twelve acres of rolling land, its towering facade casting long shadows in the evening light. Beside it, a wheat farm stretched toward the horizon. Golden stalks swayed in the wind. Beyond the field, nestled close to the earth, stood a cluster of small homes where the servants lived.
As I walked through the courtyard, Papa and Mama greeted me at the door. They led me into the living room, where people were laughing on the couch and cuddling up, watching TV. Papa was entertaining the guests with one of his wild stories. It warmed my heart to see him again.
After several minutes of watching the TV, I meandered toward the kitchen doorway. A woman was standing in the kitchen.
"Hi."
She smiled, glanced at me, then resumed washing dishes.
I stepped through the threshold and asked, "How do you know my mom and dad?" I gestured behind me.
As I moved closer, I felt the familiar force that had protected me in the last dream. She likely sensed it, too.
Turning toward me, she sneered. "I think it's time you left. You aren't one of mine."
"Huh?"
Right on cue, the protective shield slammed into me, pushing me back into the hallway.
Wanting peace, I raised my hands and pivoted. "Okay, well, never mind. I'll just go back to the living room with my parents. Sorry to be a bother," I called over my shoulder as I scurried down the hall.
Her voice rang out sharply. "Since you don't understand, I'll have to show you."
I looked back just in time to see her raise her hand and ball it into a fist.
Suddenly, I couldn't breathe. I tried to take a deep breath, but panic settled into my bones. Choking, I rushed into the living room. I turned to my parents for help, and, to my horror, Mama was mirroring the gesture of the woman in the kitchen, while Papa was slumped over.
I stumbled toward the door and fumbled with the knob. My vision blurred as the door finally opened. As my feet hit the ground outside the house, I lurched forward, out of my daydream. My hands flew to my neck, and I relished the fact that it had only been a dream, though it felt real.
"What the hell?" I whispered.
I scanned my room. Nothing had changed. My body was still facing the window.
You aren't mine.
The phrase stuck in my mind. Dazed, I picked up the journal from my lap and thumbed through it. I'd seen a passage about dreams earlier, but had blown past it. Several moments of skimming passed before I finally found the scribbled note:
Spirits inhabit dreams and places where the veil is thin. I blinked down at the page. My fingers trembled as they traced the words.
Maybe he'd seen her too.
"Knock, knock."
Mama's voice sang from the other side of the door. I quickly shoved the journal under my pillow and crossed the room to open it.
"You almost ready?" she asked, looking past me into my room.
"Uh." I swiveled around, surveying the cluttered bed and unopened bags. "Not exactly," I chuckled.
"What have you been doing?" she asked, pushing past me into the room and opening the closet door without waiting for an answer.
"Just thinking. Staring out the window," I muttered.
Her hand paused on one of my dresses before she gave a soft laugh, pulling it from the hanger.
"Thinking you don't want to go?"
"No, just thinking," I said, stepping forward to help her.
"How about I tell you the story of how your dad and I left, while we pack?" she offered, almost whimsically.
"Huh? Why would you do that? Especially now?" I asked.
"You're not curious anymore? You used to always ask me about it."
She gave me a pointed look. "Which makes you susceptible to accepting answers from anyone. So, before you go chasing answers from the wrong people, let me tell you how it happened."
Her voice took on an animated tone, and despite the heaviness in my chest, I nodded.
"Okay."
"It all started one morning when I woke up to a loud shot in the corridors. Ahh!" She reenacted the moment dramatically.
I sat up, rubbed my eyes, and hurriedly threw on my robe.
"What's going on?" I yelled, bursting into the corridor.
But no one was around.
Confused and overwhelmed, I rushed to the windows at the end of the long hallway, but the courtyard was eerily still and empty.
I tried to figure out where everyone was and what had caused that terrifying scream.
Tightening the belt of my robe, I stomped down the corridor, convincing myself it had to be just a bad dream.
But when I turned the corner, I found a small group of people whispering nervously.
"What's going on? I heard screaming," I asked.
"Good morning, Maiden Milaya," a man in the circle replied. "We didn't expect you to be up so early. Don't worry, we're handling the issue."
"No need for formality; the High Priestess isn't here. Just tell me what happened," I insisted.
A small, unrecognizable man, his face etched with worry, spoke up, recounting how one of the servants had left for town that morning, only to return later, badly beaten.
Panicked, I asked, "What did the High Priestess say?"
With a blank expression, he answered, "We've received no instructions. Last we heard, she's speaking with the goddess right now."
At that moment, a knot formed in my stomach. Michael. I knew he was angry, but I hadn't expected such drastic measures.
Without waiting for more details, I rushed toward the heart of the chateau. My mind raced with thoughts of what Michael might have done and the consequences. As I approached the sacred chamber, I saw the door standing slightly ajar.
Pushing gently, it opened to reveal her, deep in conversation. Her eyes, sharp and penetrating, met mine, and a knowing smile played on her lips.
"Milaya," she greeted, her voice serene but laced with an undercurrent of awareness. "What brings you to the sacred chamber with such urgency?"
I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself.
"News has reached me of an uprising in the town."
"Yes, I am aware of the unrest," she said calmly. "The goddess works in various ways, Milaya. Sometimes, challenges arise to test our faith and devotion."
She cut her eyes at me.
I hesitated. "I believe it's more than a simple test. The people are angry, and their grievances cannot be ignored."
She tilted her head, her eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and calculation.
"Milaya, your compassion is commendable. But guard against temporal illusions. The goddess's plan will not always align with the desires of the mortal heart. It is her will over ours. The will of Beatrix will always prevail. We must ensure it."
I left the chamber feeling defeated, making my way into the temple courtyard. The gates stood ajar, a silent invitation. A breeze stirred the air, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers and the distant sounds of civil unrest. Shouts and murmurs filled the air.
I donned my cloak and kept my head down, only glancing at the faces of the townspeople as they hurried through the streets, preparing to storm the temple on the hill.
Michael's house stood bathed in sunlight, something I wanted to avoid. With a soft knock on his door, he emerged, his eyes reflecting the uncertainty of what we planned to do. We waited until we were under the shadow of night to leave.
Back then, the local pub was where the townspeople gathered, which meant the streets would be empty. With a few hiccups, we navigated the narrow alleys, avoiding the prying eyes of any stragglers. Soon, we found ourselves at the edge of the shore, where a small boat bobbed gently in the moonlit water.
Michael cast a reassuring glance my way as we boarded.
As we sailed away, the only home I'd ever known grew smaller on the horizon. I couldn't help but glance back, a twinge of guilt mixing with the thrill of liberation.
"And now I'm going back."
Mama's voice softened as she continued folding and packing. Silence stretched until I felt the smallest curve form on my face.
"Definitely going to be an awkward reunion," I murmured.
We both laughed.
"Don't worry, Tara. I'll be the one doing all the butt-kissing," she giggled. "Now, come on. We still have to finish packing, so we don't miss that ferry."
I helped, stuffing shoes into the side pockets, tucking socks into corners. I slowed, running my hands over a folded shirt, my fingers tracing invisible patterns as the thoughts in my head grew louder. My gaze drifted toward the hallway, toward his room. Oblivious to my wandering mind, Mama nudged me with a stack of folded clothes.
"Here, put these in."
I took them absentmindedly and stuffed them into the suitcase before glancing at her.
"Mama… when you left the island, did Dad take anything special with him?"
She paused mid-reach for another dress.
"Besides that journal, he was always scribbling in?"
She pondered for a moment, saying nothing, then her expression flickered.
"I don't think so."
She turned back to my closet, her tone light, as if brushing the thought away. We folded the last of my clothes in silence, the soft rustle of fabric filling the space between us. I reached for a pair of shoes, stuffing them into the side pocket of my suitcase, while Mama zipped up another bag.
"Go grab your toiletries," she said, slinging a smaller bag over her shoulder. "I'll take this one down."
I hesitated for half a second, then nodded.
"Okay."
As she did that, I rummaged through my bottom drawer and pulled out a tote bag. Quickly, I moved the journal from beneath my pillows and slipped it into the bag along with my toiletries and blanket.
From downstairs, Mama's voice floated up, "Tara! Let's go!"
I slung the tote over my shoulder, casting one last glance at my childhood room. The glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling sent me off with a soft glow, like we were finally leaving the time machine.
"Coming!" I called, gripping the strap of my bag.