B007Q4JDEM EBOK (4 page)

“Okay,
” I gave in and took a bite. It was even better than I had imagined. I tried to fight the urge to eat the entire slice, but it was impossible. It was quite possibly the greatest food I had ever tasted. “Are you a chef?”

He laughed; the sound was musical, beautiful...I wanted to hear it again. “No, but I will have to let the baker at Budwell's Bakery know you appreciate his work.”

“I still don't understand how you had a piece of cake identical to the one I
wanted just lying around
,
” I said, wiping my mouth of chocolaty residue.

He shrugged. “I told you...purely coincidental.”

“
Right..
.” I said as we walked into the wide, open living room. He
la
y
out on the end of the sectional, and I sat on the opposite side. Part of me wouldn't have minded being closer to him, but I felt distance was safest at this point. I contemplated what could possibly happen at midnight, how it would change anything, and
how
this boy
could be
involved in anyway.

“How long have you lived here, Salem?” I asked out of the blue.

“A few years,” h
e replied, putting his hands behind his head. He looked comfortable, serene.
Strands of black hair fell across his eyes, shrouding them from my view.

“Did you just enroll in school recently?”

He
didn't respond right away. “No,” h
e answered simply.

“Were you
going to
a different one before?”

“Yes,
” Just as simply.

I glanced at my watch again: 8:13.

“Tell me
about yourself,
” I said as I watched the second hand on my watch tick slowly by.

“I don't have much to tell you right n
ow,” he said in a strange voice, “t
hat will have to wait until the right time.”

“Midnight, right?” I laughed, but I wasn't amused.

“P
erhaps,
” h
e lifted his head to look at me,
“I'm not sure what I can tell you, to be honest. It isn't entirely for me to decide.”

“I don't
know
what you mean.”

“It will be
easier to explain come midnight,” h
e assured me, but I was doubtful.

“Do you not own a TV?” I asked, growing bored.

“No. I have no use for one.”

“What?” I laughed. “Everyone watches
TV
, or at least movies!”

“Do they?” h
e asked thoughtfully as he rested his head once more.

I sat and watched him lying there perfectly still, as time slowly crept by. I was tired – no, exhausted – and longed to return to that familiar place I reluctantly left this morning. This day had twisted in such a
way
that I never could have imagined. Mom was gone; I still couldn't grasp that fact. I had a house in my name. Jason wanted to throw a party, and I made the wretched mistake of agreeing! Then, I meet this bizarre, yet fascinating
boy
...and ended up here. How did things turn out this way? I should have woken up in the morning, found mom at her usual spot at the table, left for school, had an ordinary day, gone home
, watched TV
and gone to bed.

“So,” I sa
id, interrupting the silence, “s
eeing as you don't spend your free time watching TV like
a normal person
, what do you do?”

“I do plenty of things. A lot of my time is spent reading, hiking, listening to music, pondering our existence...”

“You do have a
pretty big collection of books I see
,
” I commented, eying the shelves of books. “What are your favorites?”

I could see a faint smile spread across his lips as he contemplated my question. “Hmm...I suppose that might include some of Charles Dickens' literature, as well as Poe's masterpieces.
The Picture of Dorian
Gray
and I must admit I have a soft spot for
Romeo and Juliet
.”

Without scarce realization, I felt myself smile. He shared interest in some of my favorite
reads
, but that shouldn't surprise me – considering he appeared to have tastes beyond his years, shown not only in his book collection but his choice of
clothing
as well. “Thos
e are some of my favorites, too,
” I replied, “Are you
in the drama club at school
?”

He glanced toward me and arched a brow, “While I enjoy the occasional play, I cannot picture myself upon a stage. Why do you ask?”

“You dress a lot differently than most kids our age.”

“Our age,” h
e mused, laughing t
o himself at some unspoken joke,
“I suppose I just have finer taste in clothing than the typical teenager.”

“What about music? Do you play the piano?” I felt somewhat stupid asking, considering he did possess the very instrument.

“Occasionally, although I dare say I am not nearly as exquisite a pianist as you are.”

My cheeks reddened, “I'm not that good, really.”

“I disagree. You
have exceptional talent, Alexis,” he smiled again, “y
ou should put that to use, perhaps make a future out of it.”

“Me? On stage?” I laughed at the thought. “There is no way I could get on stage in front of a crowd and play. I
barely
have the nerve to play at school in front of the music teacher. I just can't see myself doing that.” I frowned.

“You never know, someday that might change.”

“I wish I could
look at it like that as easily as you can
,
” I sighed. “
Do you mind if I check out your book collection
?”

“
Be my guest
.”

I watched him closely as I rose from my seat. I
walked
across the plush rug and over to the bookshelf. To my relief, I found
The Raven
amongst the wide variety
, but that didn’t surprise me at all
. I plopped myself down in the armchair, switched on the light and
began to read
.
Before I knew it, I unintentionally dozed off.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.”
[- Edgar Allan Poe]

“Nevermore,
” I heard a silky voice whisper into my ear. A wisp of cool breath tickled against my neck and I jumped. My eyes burned from exhaustion, and my heart was thumping hard in my chest.

“It wasn't all a drea
m, then,” I said, somewhat disappointed but at the same time a little relieved.

Salem simply smiled at me, “It's midnight.”

“It is?” I looked at my watch to be sure. “It is! I must have dozed off while reading...what happens now?”

“Your mot
her didn't just leave on a whim,” h
e said grimly, and quite suddenly.

I stared at him groggily. “You know my
mom
?”

“I met her once before,” h
e said, “You might say I am familiar with her boyfriend. She left this letter with me, to give to you on your birthday.”

“How did you know where to find me?”

“She told me where you would be, just read the letter.”

I tore the letter open, my heart racing once more. How much agony was I going to have to endure before this was all over? I read down the letter, slowly taking in each word -

'Alexis, September 9th, 2012

Happy birthday, sweetie. I know the circumstances are a little different than you might have anticipated, but trust me – things are only going to get better. Paul was the one that insisted I leave – perhaps not quite in this manner, but nevertheless you shouldn’t put the blame entirely on me. You can beat him up for that when you see him again.

I left a present for you with Salem, whom I hope has been kind enough to explain the situation with you more than this letter can. While having a house of your own with no expenses might seem like the perfect eighteenth birthday present, that was more of a gift to
me
than it
was to you. I hope you like it and can find some use for it.

Visit Paul as soon as you can. You will understand even more clearly when you do.

Love a
lways,

Mom'

Before I could ask, Salem passed me a
present
. This led me to believe he had read the letter, but I ignored that thought. I ripped the bright pink wrapping paper away, revealing a simple cardboard box. It wasn't taped, but the flaps had been folded so it wouldn't open. I popped up the flaps to reveal a black, leather bound book. When I opened it, the pages were blank. I looked at Salem, as if he might have an answer for me.

“What is it?” h
e leaned over to have a peek.

“Is this some sort of diary?” I laughed. Mom should have known by now that I had no interest in a diary. I had never written in one before, why would I start now?

“I suppose it must be,” h
e looked a little shocked, as if he was expecting something entirely different. “Whatever it is, your mom wanted you to have it a
nd that's all that is important,” h
e smiled.

“Please tell me this isn't what I waited four hours for.”

“It isn't,” h
e glanced away from me, his eyes turned toward the vast window behind the sectional. “Now that you are eighteen, your mother
thinks you can handle the truth,” h
e sighed heavily. “I don't know why I was the one left with this task.”

“The truth about what?” I demanded.

“
Your heritage, your real family,” h
e glanced up at me, “I know this is all very sudden, and it is going to be confusing and hurtful, but I need you to listen. Janet isn't your real mother, Alexis. Nor is Desmond your father.”

I nearly laughed, but stopped myself when I noticed how serious Salem was. “Of course they are my parents! I have been with them all my life!”

He smiled warmly and took my hand, leading me to the sofa. I sat down hesitantly beside him. “Paul is your real father.”

“As in my Uncle Paul?” I shook my head and laughed. “That's not possible.
Is this some sort of birthday prank?
”

“Think about it, Alexis.”

And I did. I thought hard, picturing Desmond and Janet in my mind. I looked nothing at all like them. My father was dark-skinned, lanky and there was no resemblance between him and me. My mother and I may have shared the same dark brunette hair and light complexion, but everything else about us was different. My head was spinning, this was too much.

“Relax,
” Salem whispered, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder. “It is going to take some adjusting to, but in time it will all make sense. I promise.”

“Why has Paul been keeping this from me?” I wanted to cry, to scream, to escape. This was all too much in one day.

“He had to
wait. It wasn't safe until now,
” Salem's blue eyes were serious again. “Have you ever read about the Salem Witch Trials?”

Why was he suddenly changing the subject? I nodded slowly, recalling reading about it in middle school.

“Remember how I told you my name was a bit contradictory?”

“Yeah, sure,
” I remembered it more than I wanted to admit.

“My mother
was an ancestor to Alice Young,” he spoke quietly, “s
he was the first witch to be executed during the Trials. Do you understand how this is contradictory?”

“Yes...” I muttered. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“The world isn't as
simple as it might seem, Alexis,” h
e stared out the window behind us. The water rippled elegantly, the bright moonlight
reflected
upon the lake's surface. “Coincidences simply aren't coincidental.”

The cake. The cake wasn't coincidental? On came the spinning again. “What are you trying to tell me, Salem?” I gasped, trying to breathe.

“Calm down,” he whispered, “t
he witches in Massachusetts were
real
witches.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Ar
e you trying to tell me that you’re
a witch?”