This is an original work with original characters, in an original world. I set it as Harry Potter because I would like to receive feedback for my work.

Enjoy the first chapter of Jinx!

Damn you for opening this book.

I wish I could tell you that this was a typical series of unfortunate events before the happy ending.

You all know the cliche. The school's lonely girl finally gets noticed by the bad boy or some brainless school jock; the girl makes the mistake of letting his sweet words persuade her into bed; then - boom. Suddenly she's being hunted by the mean girl and her posse; the bad boy jock struggles with his conscience because he doesn't want to get down from his high horse for an outcast they accidentally knocked up.

So on, and so forth.

But I would give anything to have that story instead.

No, seriously, ladies. If you're reading this and considering having a bit of harmless fun with a guy, double-check to see if he has some secrets. Go through his phone. Stalk his social media. Maybe drive by his house a couple of times during the night and question him a little. I'll tell you now: if your dishes start floating and your dog suddenly finds the nerve to speak to you, drop this guy and do whatever you have to do to get away from him. And if you're already pregnant, congratulations. It's not a boy, and it's not a girl. It's more likely something that's beyond your comprehension.

I know I sound like a sorry excuse for a mother. A cold tramp that doesn't deserve her child. Yet I don't give two shakes of a donkey's behind what I sound like to you or anyone else. I think - no - I know that if you had even a mere inkling of what I'm going through, you wouldn't look at me so harshly right now.

So, I don't need your judgment. Especially not at a time like this. Between high school, a baby on the way, and the entitled filthy rich family breathing down my neck - I certainly don't care to hear how this baby would be better off far away from me. And as sad as it may sound, I agree.

I know the Serpents would never allow it, though.

I'm talking ill about a family that could kill me and make my corpse disappear without a trace. But I only have this nerve because, for some reason, they want this baby more than I do. The Serpents wouldn't risk harming me when I'm pregnant.

Anyway, I know you're just shaking with anticipation to find out what got me into this predicament, even though you don't even know my name. But I don't see how you wouldn't already know the name of Mercy Jinx from all the damn whispering people like to do. Hell, you're probably reading this because you're someone from my school that wants to know more about what happened. Or maybe you pity me because you think I'm some innocent teenager who ruined her life. Close this book if you're just pretending to care. If I misjudged you, I apologize. I'm just not in a good mood right now.

All I can do is warn you not to end up like me.

･ ｡ﾟ: *. .* :ﾟ.

When I was a child, I saw a boy get dragged out of my second-grade classroom by the police.

I remember when they roughly snatched him from the seat two rows back from me and twisted his arms in odd angles, ignoring how he cried and pleaded for them to let him go. It was like they'd forgotten he was human. He was, after all, a little kid that they could've easily snapped in half if they wanted to. In an instant, we went from learning long division to absolute chaos. Our teacher screamed. The children scrambled. And our school principal had calmly stood to the side like all of it had been standard protocol. Then they left, leaving a classroom full of terrified seven-year-olds all alone in silence.

I never saw that boy or the teacher again.

Except, of course, on the news. When all of the parents were called by the school to pick their children up so that the school staff were free to be interrogated. I remember the next few weeks being hell on earth for everyone. Around every corner, inside and out, police were stationed. They'd watched every student that walked by–waiting. Even going as far as to leer at us when we got too close. They'd been all too eager to catch someone stepping out of line.

Then one day, they were gone. People - student and teacher alike - were allowed to breathe again. It seemed that everyone was convinced things were back to normal. Nobody asked where our beloved teacher went. Nobody bothered to find out what happened to the boy. And nobody seemed to care. Nobody, aside from me, was left to wonder until I'd found the nerve to ask somebody.

'Witches', my mother once said the word like it'd had a disgusting taste to it, her snobby nose high in the air. 'Vile, horrid creatures, they are.'

It was the first and last time I'd ever agreed with her.

That day, my mother described to me in great detail what they were–miserable abominations that needed to be taken care of sooner than later. Dangerous, predatory animals that'd kill the second they had the chance. And I listened to every word, appalled that I'd shared such a small space with one for so long. From that moment on, I let my paranoia choose who to let into my circle. I tried so hard to be careful.

I tried.

The sound of shattering glass brought me back to reality.

"I want her out, out, out!" My mother began to throw anything she could get her hands on; Books. Picture frames. Vases. I knew that it was only a matter of time before she was through with my father. Bless him. He'd tried his best to protect me from her for as long as I could remember. To be a good, doting husband that wanted to make his wife and children happy.

I know he'd always made me happy, but nothing had ever been good enough for that ungrateful whore.

Not my uncles, who'd spent the first half of their lives throwing themselves in the line of fire for their precious little sister. Certainly not the big house that she'd grown up in, where she had the largest room with her own private bathroom attached. Not even my grandparents, who left her with more money than she knew what to do with after they died.

Damn her.

"No," my father's response came out as a bitter sneer. "I don't care what you want."

It took a single heartbeat of silence for my mother to gather words.

"Don't talk to me like that," she warned, her tone low. A shiver traveled down my spine at the danger that edged into it. I couldn't stand the sound of her voice. Run, it always seemed to hint at me despite the cryptic message behind it: Stay, or else.

Not a chance, you shrew.

I shoved three shirts and a pair of leggings into the bag I was packing.

"You know what?" My dad began. "I just can't. . ." He trailed off, sounding almost defeated. Almost. I paused as I heard shuffling and scraping, followed by quick footsteps that I thought were heading towards me. It suddenly got cold. My mother began to shout after him, telling him that he couldn't turn his back on her when she was speaking. At first, I heard a bitter scoff in reply, realizing that it'd been my own.

"Put the damn phone down and be an adult, Tobias. You can do that, can't you?" She questioned in a contradicting tone.

"Can you?" My father shot back immediately. "Last I checked, an adult wouldn't just. . . just kick their daughter to the curb when she's carrying their grandchild."

Her sickening laugh filled the tense silence of the house. My stomach rolled, and my hands began to twitch involuntarily. I'd forgotten how to breathe on my own. All I could do was strain my ears to listen for their footsteps.

Instead, her voice came out lower than it'd ever been: "She's no daughter of mine," I could almost envision her raising her chin defiantly in a way I would've done. "That's all you."

My vision of the stuffed suitcase on my bed began to blur. Nevertheless, my nose went high in the air, and I refused to wipe the tears that started to roll down my cheek. It didn't matter what she thought if I'd already given up on her a long time ago—just like everyone else in the family already had.

What my father said next had been so quiet that I couldn't hear.

I pushed down the anxiety and went to press my ear against the door, wondering if he gave in to her and decided that I'd be sent away to live with a distant relative. One that hadn't seen me since I was a toddler.

Instead, I heard footsteps.

Two sets of them heading up the stairs quickly. Urgently. With a purpose. My chest tightened and I suddenly found myself on the other side of the room fumbling to unlock my phone. The door swung open and my mother charged into the room, father hot on her heels like he had a chance in hell to stop her.

I said the first thing that came to mind when I saw her face: "Get out."

"It's my house," she spat at me. Again, reminding me that I'm merely just a guest. I sneered at her. She narrowed her eyes in turn, then glanced at the bed and scoffed lightly at the neatly folded clothes. "Packing, are you?"

Obviously.

The urge to bite back became too great to ignore. My grip tightened, making my knuckles white from the pressure.

"What gave it away?" I purposefully made my voice sound as sweet as possible. "The suitcase or the empty shelves?"

Father cut in before my mother could comment, throwing me a warning look as he stepped in between us. My gaze shifted back to my mother from behind him. I wouldn't move a muscle. Not until she was gone. Unfortunately, she was just as stubborn as I was. Her feet were stuck to the ground, even as my father snapped at her to leave. All she wanted to do was make things worse.

"Irma, just leave her alone," he didn't spare my mother a glance and his words came out slowly. He proceeded with great caution, as if trying to diffuse a bomb. The tension was suffocating.

I tried not to blink during the stand-off. Mother didn't, either. She just crossed her arms and raised a challenging brow, growing confident in the way I held my breath. Was I sweating? Breathe, I told myself. She isn't worth it.

But the apprehension made me sick. I tore my eyes from her, hating myself more in that moment than I ever did before. I didn't have to look up at her to know that she was smirking down at me.

"Call someone to get you," mother told me sharply. Her heels began to click slowly towards the door. "I don't care where you go, but you can't stay here."

Then the door slammed, followed by the sound of a couple picture frames falling to the ground and shattering upon impact.

･ ｡ﾟ: *. .* :ﾟ.

The car ride with my brother had been silent. I looked ahead at the roads, watching as he turned his blinker on and swerved left to avoid a closed off road. For the most part, I grew up with him. Though, he'd mostly stayed in his room and out of our mother's way. I didn't blame him. For all the years that he spent silently getting by in that house, even if it meant hardly ever speaking to me.

I supposed he thought of making up for lost time now, by coming to my rescue and fending off our mother like a house fire when he arrived to get me. The look on her face was one I'd never forget. That of surprise and perplexity, like she hadn't expected me to call him of all people that I could've. Nevertheless, it looked like a slap in the face when he'd walked through the front door.

I was surprised he came, too.

After all, I made just as much 'effort' as he had to reconcile after he left four years ago. In my defense, my phone was frequently checked by mother. For a number of reasons. Many of which involve her fretting over whether or not I spoke bad about her to other people. For a moment, I thought back to when I'd had enough and put a password on my phone. Mother demanded the code, I refused, so she'd smashed it to pieces to teach me a lesson.

My lip curled upon the horrid memory. Never again.

I shifted my attention back to him. Like any sister, I hated many things about my older brother. His smoking - to which mother hated as well, his all-knowing attitude, and the way he carried himself as a man of very few words. What I couldn't stand most, however, was his cryptic expressions. Whether or not he was indifferent, angry, or somewhere in between was beyond me. One glance at his face was a mystery to be solved in itself.

I tried to search for an ounce of courage, damning my recent display of cowardice.

"Henry," even my voice came out smaller than I'd intended. At first, I questioned if he'd heard me. I called his name again only to get nothing in return. He refused to look at me. Not even so much as the smallest indication that I had his attention. I masked my hurt with a slight sneer.

I felt alone with nothing but my thoughts. One could only imagine what my brother must have thought of me. Whore. Strumpet. Hussy. There was more to come in the very near future, I was sure of it. Winter break would be over soon and I'd be back at my desk before I could blink, holding my stomach and trying not to vomit on my work. . .

No, I'd like to keep my pride. The rage that'd built within me broke my composure. He would say something to me, whether he liked it or not. "Henry!"

I kept my voice firm, my leg beginning to bounce anxiously. At this point, I'd rather even the smallest of insults than nothing at all.

"Mercy," he gritted out my name, feigning the passionate tone that I'd had. Though, there was a nasty undertone that made me shrink slightly in my seat. It made me think of all the times that I'd recently decided to turn the other cheek. To instead let this unexplained new fear that rose to make a fool of me.

I squeezed my bouncing leg, pressing my lips together tightly and clenching my teeth to retrain the words from escaping my mouth. Then, I decided that my bitterness wasn't at fault.

"Excuse me, dearest big brother of mine," the venom dripped in my tone. "One would think it quite rude to ignore guests, wouldn't you agree?"

He didn't give the courtesy of recognition at first. Then, much to my shock and glory, he looked at me from the corner of his eye. It wasn't in a kind manner like I'd hoped for, but it was much more than I expected I'd get. My fingers went to the small bow tie on my pajama pants, waiting for him to speak.

"One would also think that if there were three people in the car. . ." He paused as he went to change lanes. "That the two would be able to talk amongst themselves."

I was quick to understand the jab and instinctively put a hand to my stomach, shooting him an icy stare. Desperately, I tried to search my subconscious for a rebuttal. When I couldn't, I tried to relax my body instead. I told myself that I wasn't at that house anymore. With her. I didn't even want to mention her. All I wanted was to move on with my life and pretend that the previous chapter of it never happened.

My features went cool. I hadn't realized they'd been so tense until I had. My body remained stiff, though.

"Henry, please," I pleaded, the sight of him becoming too much for me. I turned my attention to my feet and curled my toes into my forest green slippers. "I need. . ."

I trailed off slowly, whispering to what felt like nobody as I surrendered any hope I had of him speaking to me. Just like when I was a little girl and I'd knock on his door when mother was at work. When I'd beg him to play with me. To say more than just two words to me so that I knew he had an ounce of care for me. How, I wondered, would I truly know who cared for me? I refused to acknowledge how pitiful I must have seemed to him.

Then he spoke all too quickly.

"Who's the father?" Henry asked suddenly. My stomach turned the same way it did whenever I was forced to think of him. My expression fell from anxiety into that of disgust.

"How cute," I began curtly. "That you think he'll be involved."

My brother's eyebrows raised at this. As I studied his reaction to that, I noticed that he had a look to him that pointed to all signs of curiosity. The absolute need to pry. At least, I assumed so. Bracing myself, I held my head up and dared him to ask with my eyes. He didn't seem the least bit as intimidated as I'd wanted him to be.

I'd rather him go back to not speaking.

"Won't be involved?" He echoed as if he expected me to change my mind. "Are you sure?"

My eyes narrowed.

"As sure as you were when you left the house and didn't take me with you."

The words seemed to tumble out of my mouth before I could catch them. I was met with a brief silence before he continued, eager to not change the subject like I tried to do.

A calculating look came about his face. "Let me guess," his voice went deeper. "Dead beat, one-night-stand at a party, left when you told him?"

I scoffed, offended that he'd assume I'd stoop so low. He stopped at a red light. A group of people holding large signs began to cross the street, small children trailing after them. Unlike the majority of adults, they looked scared. One child, I noticed, was tugging on a man's pant leg begging to turn back.

I stared at him a little longer than I should've before forcing myself to speak again.

"Parties are for delinquents," I reminded, crossing my arms and leaning away from him. "Not that it's any of your business how it happened."

He mumbled something under his breath about me sounding like our mother. I seethed, but chose to ignore it. Even if it bothered me more than I wanted to admit.

I couldn't wrap my head around why I cared what he thought. Aside from occasional text messages we'd hardly spoken in years, ever since he left. The memory of that day had been blurry. I'd been locked in my room, away from the fighting I heard coming from downstairs. It reminded me a lot of tonight.

Henry cursed, bringing me back.

He was driving slowly through a large crowd of people that'd gathered around West Pembrooke High-School, raising signs high above their heads and screaming obscenities at the police officers attempting to hold them back from touching school grounds. My eyes darted to the big green van that was parked to the right of the building entrance, door open and a camera crew filing out with haste.

I craned my neck to try and get a look at one of the signs, with no avail.

"Such a lost cause," Henry said, scanning the large mass of people with a look that I'd thought was disapproval at first. At second glance, he looked as though he were mourning the death of a loved one.

"What's happening to my school?" I demanded to know. "What's a lost cause?"

I waited for him to answer me, but he didn't. He chose in that moment to put all of his focus on trying to navigate us out of the line of fire. My fear and curiosity pushed aside any anger I had at being ignored again. My attention was once again drawn back to the riot. The child I'd seen walking earlier and tugging on the man's clothes was now sobbing, warily watching the scene with more fear than I'd seen from someone so small.

I could make out very few voices amongst the ear splitting mixture of shouting voices.

"FREE IGNIS MONTEROWE!"

"WITCHES ARE HUMAN, TOO!"

"YOU HAVE NO PROOF!"

Realization kicked in almost immediately. I was quick to roll up the windows and shrink in my seat just in time for someone to have thrown their drink at the windshield wipers. I would've been thrown forward from how hard my brother hit the breaks had it not been for my seatbelt. That, and Henry's outstretched hand that flew to protect me from any impact.

"Professor Monterowe isn't a witch," I spat the word as if it'd left a bad taste in my mouth. Henry's expression hardened, as did his voice.

"You're still on those beliefs, are you?"

"Aren't you?"

Henry said nothing, as usual. I took it as a green light to continue.

"They're abominations, Henry," my lips pursed, poking around for some reaction from him. I refused to believe that he was on the side of those things. He was smarter than that, I knew. "They belong with the devil. Sick, vile creatures."

"They're human like you, Mercy," he snapped at me. I was surprised to detect more emotion from him than I had seen this entire car ride - and my life. Even if it happened to be frustration directed at me. "They're born like this. It's not something they can just change."

"It is if they start to normalize their lines."

Henry shook his head as if it'd been the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard.

"By what, reproducing with normal people like you say?" He offered sarcastically. Then he sneered. "But then you'd call the person that married them just as bad as a witch."

I pressed my lips together tightly and said nothing. The anger began to simmer and all I could do was sit in it. Much to my dismay, he continued.

"If you're going to be prejudiced, at least don't have double standards."

And Henry left it at that.

I turned away from him, reflecting on what just occurred. The image of the sweet, harmless old man that could hardly lift a stack of papers came to mind. Surely, a gentle human such as Professor Monterowe couldn't be one of those awful animals. If that were so then he would appear younger, perhaps. Make himself physically stronger than he was to improve his work ethic. No - he'd never given any indication that something was wrong with him. I turned my nose up at the mere thought of such accusations.

What would they do to him behind bars if he was charged with witchcraft?

The thought caused an uncomfortably small cold to travel through my spine, causing me to twitch. I couldn't bear the thought of it. Professor Monterowe was far too frail to handle it.

The car picked up speed and I adjusted my posture to that of more sophistication. Upon seeing clear roads ahead, I released a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding in.

Then sucked it back in when I happened to see the sign that boldly informed me that we were leaving the city.

"We're leaving West Pembrooke?" My accusing tone was sharp enough to cut Henry. "You never told me you moved out of the city."

"You never bothered to ask," he shrugged. If he thought that I would just allow him to move me to a whole other district, he was mistaken. I had a reputation here that I wasn't ready to give up. Henry knew that, hence why he could feel me looking at him. I hoped it burned, since he took his sweet time to reassure me. "Stop looking at me like that, it's not like I'm taking you out of California."

"Then where are we going?" I asked, flaring my nostrils. "Because I'm not switching schools. West Pembrooke High happens to be the wealthiest, largest, and most prestigious high-school in America, as a matter of fact and I'm not just about to let you -"

"You're still going to school here," said Henry with a roll of his eyes. "It's only a thirty minute drive."

I thought of every other city that surrounded West Pembrooke, including Santa Barbara. Not many cities would be so close to such a large and populated city, but I could still think of few.

Once again, I asked him where he was taking me. For the first time, he gave me a direct answer.

"Solvang," he'd told me, despite my horror.

･ ｡ﾟ: *. .* :ﾟ.

The city of Solvang looked as though it were stuck in time. Like it'd never gone past the year 1772. It was nothing like West Pembrooke, where there were tall buildings and strictly symmetrical neighborhoods. Here, the shops and streets were lit up with multicolored fairy lights. People roamed about casually, talking with such happiness to them that I grew jealous.

"Don't these people sleep?" I questioned Henry, examining how all the people seemed more alive at night than other cities did in the day time. When I looked back at my brother, he had a small smile across his face.

"Most people are nocturnal here."

I reluctantly tore my gaze away from my brother, looking forward to the apartment buildings that approached. I could hardly even see inside of the complex from the large white gates. The only thing I could make out was a grey shingled roof and a deep purple color.

Henry lowered his window and stuck his head out, stretching his arm as far as he could to press the button that he accidentally parked far away from. I expected a buzz, but instead an optimistic medieval tune played through the small wooden speaker.

"Name?" Asked the gentle voice of a woman.

"Mrs. Eden, It's Henry," my brother told her. His monotone told me he'd been over this many times with her. Much to my amusement, the lady replied just as I imagined she would.

"Henry?"

"Yes, Henry," my brother snarled. "Don't do this, you know who I am." I felt a bit of pity for him. He'd be in bed by now if it hadn't been for me.

"I don't know a Henry Jinx!"

Henry paused, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. He turned his head up, questioned to the heavens above why he was being punished this way, then managed to compose himself enough to go back and forth with her.

Eventually, the gates opened and my brother sped past, muttering something about the old bat changing her mind. I became overwhelmed with the colors of the buildings. In the snap of a finger, the children that were playing ball on the grass froze in place and kept their wary eyes on the car. One of them shoved a stick in their back pocket and gestured for the others to follow him.

Then they disappeared

Henry pulled in front of the only single story that I could see. On the door was a silver plaque labeled 'Residence Office'. My legs began to bounce impatiently and I looked to Henry just in time to see him unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Stay here, I won't be long," he reassured me, seeing my expression tighten.

"I doubt Mrs. Eden will keep you long," I replied cheekily. Then, he was gone.

It was the first time I was truly alone. Truly safe. I had my mind all to myself and the room that I needed to breathe properly.

My hand trembled its way to my semi-flat stomach. Three months along and yet, it seemed that my days were numbered. My fear wouldn't be pushed down for long. I felt like a bomb.

I spent the next few minutes letting the reality sink in before my brother came back, his poker face looking flushed. When I'd asked what happened, he shook his head and began to drive away.

"You know, you could have used your part of the inheritance to buy a house," I commented above the loud barking, looking over the spacious apartment. The walls were painted an awful pastel yellow that proved to be too bright for my eyes. The white couches didn't help, and the matching coffee table only made it worse. I began to question if Henry ever had a girlfriend before. "Or a condo in London."

He ignored me, making his way to what I assumed was his bedroom. I stepped back when he opened the door, releasing a large German Shepherd that immediately came my way. I lost any sophistication I had and let out a series of squeals with my hands positioned in front of me. Henry then whistled, drawing the canine back to him with the strangest sense of obedience that I'd ever seen from a dog. My brother looked at me, daring to crack a smile at me for the second time that night.

I straightened my posture.

"Still afraid of animals?" His hands moved gently through its fur. When I nodded stiffly, he continued. "Nosewise won't hurt anyone."

The name threw me off guard. I then concluded that Henry, in fact, never had a girlfriend.

"Doesn't he need a collar?" The shepherd's eyes hardened on me when I said this, a little too expressively for me, and Henry looked almost equally offended.

"No," he replied. I quirked an eyebrow for him to elaborate. He just vaguely added: "He doesn't need it."

I had no choice but to believe him. Henry stood, making a gesture for Nosewise not to move as he tossed a couple of blankets on the couch from the nearby bin.

"Get some sleep," he gestured to the bedroom door. "I have to wake up early tomorrow."

My feet didn't move.

"You don't want to sleep in your room?"

He didn't answer. Just shooed me away like a fly and moved to lay on his stomach as he murmured for me to just not touch his things. Still, I was reluctant and chose to press further.

"What do you have to do tomorrow?" I pried him.

Silence. He must have thought me a fool. I knew he was only pretending to sleep. Nosewise watched me carefully from my brother's side. My nose wrinkled at him.

"What are you looking at, pest?"

He made no indication that he acknowledged me. Something about him told me I was wrong, though.

･ ｡ﾟ: *. .* :ﾟ.

Henry left me all alone in the apartment. I woke up earlier than he had, and saw him go off to work. He thought it wise to leave the damn dog to 'protect' me.

What a joke.

I spent the time reading, occasionally looking out of the living room bay window and imagining Mother pulling in to take me away. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't even do so much as entertain the thought of her, but the anxiety gnawed at me with each passing hour. My mind reflected on the times mother would tell me to pack my things. To leave and never come back. It was much similar to how she did so last night, though she'd had a previous habit of confiscating my phone so I'd be unable to call anyone to get me.

I swallowed thickly, my expression clouding.

Henry wouldn't let that happen to me, I'd told myself confidentially. Mother was far too regal to step foot in this city. I could already picture the disappointment she'd have at her son abandoning everything he'd been taught in childhood to live like a low class citizen.

I'd always wondered what'd pushed Henry over the edge.

Beside me, Nosewise's ears perked. Seconds later, the front door opened followed by the sound of loud rapid footsteps. I thought it'd been my brother coming home from a surprisingly short shift, but Instead a tall guy with black curly hair came into view. Quickly, I stood ready to defend myself by any means necessary. He looked absolutely irate when he saw me.

"You," he glowered. "Must be Mercy."

My eyes never left his. The dog seemed to greet him like an old friend, encouraging me to lower my guard a tad.

"And you must be trespassing," I sneered, sizing him up. He then looked defeated.

"Where's Henry?"

His tone was demanding. The level of audacity that came from this boy caused an anger great enough to push the fear aside. "Is that how you speak to a lady such as myself?" I flung back, raising my chin. My posture straightened immediately and he seemed to look at me as though I were joking.

Then he laughed, the nerve of him.

"Right, a lady," he replied tartly. "Where's your brother?"

The boy took my silence as an invitation to make himself comfortable. He pulled out a chair from the dining room table and sat, all while staring at me like I'd committed a crime somehow. I began to feel uneasy, watching as he slowly traced the carvings of the wooden table with his index finger.

Henry's whereabouts were something I was wondering about myself. It was nearing three, after all.

I lowered myself back onto the couch, rather gingerly, and forced myself to look away. He had no shame, I'd concluded then. His eyes hadn't left me once since he'd stepped through the door. My expression to fall into that of stone. He wanted to get a rise out of me, I concluded to myself.

And when he couldn't get one, he spoke.

"So, boy or girl?' He invasively asked. I leaned back and folded my hands in my lap, glowering at him.

"Forgive me for changing the subject," I pointed out, rather sarcastically. "But you know my name and didn't even bother to give yours." How he knew of my predicament was beyond my realm of knowledge. Somehow, I chalked it up to my brother blabbing my business. For a man who hardly talked, he was unable to keep his mouth shut.

The trespasser hummed, his suspicious smolder drifting to a crumpled newspaper that lay carelessly discarded on the table. He picked it up and turned it over, as if the first sentence were truly engaging.

"Call me Morris."

My lips stretched into a counterfeit smile.

"I have a few ideas of what to call you instead, if you're open to constructive criticism," I bit out. He lowered the newspaper slightly and furrowed his brows pointedly in my direction.

After that, we remained silent until Henry decided to grace us with his presence an hour later. When he saw Morris, he somehow looked more exhausted than he did a second ago.

Morris slid from his seat and tossed the paper aside.

"We need to -"

"To talk," Henry cut him off, casting me a wary look and setting his work bag on the table. He made a gesture with his hand towards the end of the hallway. "Outside, Morris."

The confusion in Morris' face couldn't be overlooked. He knew something that I didn't. My brother as well. I had my suspicions, though. It didn't take all the pieces of the puzzle for me to interpret the big picture: I wasn't supposed to be here.

Suddenly, I felt out of place again. The apartment, the complex, or Solvang all together - I couldn't tell. Something felt off, though. Something that couldn't be blamed on morning sickness.

My eyes turned to the door and I thought I could strain my ears to listen if I muted the television. They were talking of me, I could feel it. I pushed myself from the couch and tried to think of feathers when I crept near the front door. Morris' voice was loud.

"She may be your sister," he'd said, rather coldly. Upon the clear mention of me I inched closer to press my ear against the door. "But you told me yourself that she's prejudiced. Your parents, too."

The label stung me and I recoiled a bit, screwing my face strangely.

"She's two years younger than you," my brother spoke up to defend me, though I could sense it was half heartedly. "She has time to get past it, as you did."

Their voices somehow became distant. I could hear my blood pounding in my ears and suddenly, there was a ringing that came from nowhere. Then, I could hear nothing else but my thoughts. At first, the vacancy of my mind was empty, processing, and numb. But It'd felt as though a cold hand had seized the fractures of my heart and I was left struggling for my balance.

One word came to mind, echoing in the void of my subconscious: witches.

The door opened and hit me. I stood, my hand rubbing the aching part of my arm as I looked between them and took a few steps back, putting as much distance as I could between us.

"Witch," I whispered the word, my eyes resting on Morris a little longer than I'd wanted to. He said nothing, clasped a disgusting hand on my brother's shoulder, and took his leave. He had not a care in the world that he'd left a vast amount of damage behind him, as his kind tended to do.

My voice betrayed me when I tried to speak. To ask him what he'd been thinking, to lock the door so Morris couldn't come back in, or to scream at him to take me anywhere but here.

But I had no place to go. Nowhere besides the snake's den that I felt as though I'd been lured into.

Henry put his hands on my shoulders.

"Mercy, we'll talk about this later," he tried to reason with me and began to guide me towards the bedroom. I felt too weak to fight back.

"No," I closed my hopes in hopes it would all go away. "I want - I need -"

But he would hear none of it. I was pushed onto the bed, where he patiently stood in front of me and watched as I set my never-ending gaze onto the floor.

I spoke the word again, this time a little more firmly: "Witch."

Henry sat beside me. The walls began to make me sick. As I pressed my hand to my mouth to keep what I thought was vomit in, I blamed it on anything, everything, and anyone I could. My mother, Morris, Henry, the walls, the sheets - even the air I struggled to breathe in.

Henry had the small bin in front of me quickly, but nothing came out.

"Mercy, you don't want to go back to mother," he spoke slowly. "Do you?" he was trying that scare tactic - the same one mother used when she'd ask if I wanted to stay at my paternal grandmother's house as some sort of punishment to straighten me out. I remember how I never wanted to go back after being made to spend a week there.

I set the bucket down and tried to keep my hands from twitching.

"What. . ." I started, but paused when I tried to gather the right way to put my words. "What is this place?"

Henry spoke too quickly.

"Boleyn Ridge," he'd told me. "It's the name of the complex."

Boleyn. It sounded so familiar to me. Where have I heard that name before?

"And it's a complex for witches, Henry, witches," My head began to hurt. My tone came out scratchy, like I haven't had a sip of water in days. "I'll . . . I'll be dead before summer, I'll. . ." I pressed my forehead into my hands and squeezed my eyes shut. Henry was in my ear, begging me to calm down for my sake as well as the baby's. At the reminder, I willed myself to breathe more evenly.

Henry stood, closing the bedroom door as if I'd leave before I gave him the chance to hear him out. He was lucky my legs felt like they were made of wet sand.

"Stop it," he told me, rather plainly. "You're being ignorant."

His words meant nothing. I could've gone to the police and sold them all out for a new silver necklace and a sparkling recommendation letter to Royal Holloway of London. I could've sworn I'd seen a middle-aged lady levitating her groceries from her car earlier. It hadn't been a dream or a hallucination like I'd thought.

"Keep defending those slats," I'd finally told him, snarling. My eyes began to feel misty. I took the corner of the bed sheets to wipe them. "As if you're one of them."

His expression went cold. There was a brief moment when I thought back to the silent dinners in our house growing up, when mother would rave in a similar way that I'd done. Henry spent his years nodding his head, until one day he couldn't handle hearing that slur any longer. I recalled when he spoke up quietly from behind the plate of food he'd hardly touched.

"Don't use that word," he warned me, just as he did to my mother so many years ago. The difference was, I couldn't - I wouldn't - ever harm him. Not like she'd done, even if my anger gave me a fairly vivid picture of mother grabbing him by his hair and screaming in his ear until he apologized for speaking out of term.

I tried to squeeze my eyes shut to block out the colorful mental illustrations. Again, I questioned why the way he judged my integrity twisted the knife he left in my back; when he'd left me alone with her to come here.

"Leave me alone," I shifted my body onto the bed and put my hands over my ears in hopes of blocking out the miserable world. "And damn. . . damn you for bringing me here."

Henry didn't argue with me. I could hear his heavy footsteps heading out of the room followed by the door closing softly behind him.