AN:Hello dear readers! I am finally posting my new story and I am very excited to share it with you. After Hearthstone I didn't know if I would be writing anymore klaine fanfic, but it looks like I had at least one more story in me. I will be posting weekly over the weekends until the story is finished. :)

Huge thanks to TheatreVicki for being my beta and my sounding board.

I always love to here from you if you feel like leaving me a comment.

Enjoy!


"Houses have memories. They see, they hear, they remember; but they do not speak. They keep our secrets within their walls." – Anonymous

June 2006 – Bluespruce, Maine

Gray storm clouds gathered heavily in the sky, hiding the sun and muting color. They were the kind of clouds that caused the sky to take on a greenish hue and they made everything feel muffled and somehow suspended in time – as if minutes slowed down, waiting for the rain to burst from the clouds and cover the ground, allowing time to move quickly again. A chill wind from the east, coming off the ocean, intensified the cool feeling of anticipation in the air. Everything waited, the world was in limbo.

On the train platform, a young boy also stood waiting, glancing up at the storm clouds and then back down at his watch. A large black rolling suitcase was set next to him and he readjusted the Skechers backpack on his shoulder as he nervously shifted his weight from one foot to another.

He didn't want to be here.

He didn't want to be here when the rain started. He didn't want to be here as the sky grew darker. He didn't want to be here alone and worrying if he'd been forgotten. He didn't want to be here at all.

He was just wondering if there was any possible way he'd been sent to the wrong train station when an older man with gray hair and a mustache rounded the corner. He was tall and excessively thin and his skin was tan and rough looking like he'd spent years outside unaware of the use of sunscreen.

"Blaine Anderson?" he asked, taking off the wool fisherman's cap he was wearing and smiling at Blaine.

"Yes, yes that's me." Blaine grabbed the handle of his suitcase, happy to know he was at least at the right place.

"Sorry about the wait," the man said, walking towards him and reaching out to take the handle of the suitcase from Blaine, "I've got this. I would have been here sooner but there was a… misunderstanding about which train you were coming in on."

"That's okay," Blaine said, "I haven't been waiting long." In fact, Blaine felt like he'd been waiting forever, but that would be rude to say.

The man gave him another quick smile as if he knew Blaine had been there a while, then he put his cap back on and started walking, Blaine's suitcase rumbling behind him. It had one squeaky wheel which seemed extra loud in the stillness of the air as it was pulled over the wooden slats of the platform.

"I'm Andrew by the way. Not just some random person trying to steal you away or something."

Blaine laughed a little at that, but it was forced. He had been waiting for someone named Andrew, but in all reality he had no idea if this was the right person. He just had to assume that a kidnapper wasn't going to know what name to give him, much less Blaine's own name.

"Your aunt would have come out to meet you with me, but like I said… miscommunication."

Blaine nodded as he trailed behind Andrew, trying hard to keep up with his impressively long strides. "Should have brought the umbrella from the car, it might start raining before we get to the parking lot."

"I don't mind a little rain," Blaine said, glancing up at the dense clouds.

Andrew laughed and looked back at him, "It isn't going to be just a little rain."

As if to emphasize Andrew's point, the air shivered as thunder rolled through the sky causing the iron light features on the side of the train station to rattle. The wind was picking up and Blaine wasn't sure an umbrella would have helped much anyway.

It turned out that they needn't have worried, the train station at the parking lot was small and just right out front. Andrew led Blaine to a metallic red Cadillac straight out of the 1960s, he popped the truck, and with a surprising show of strength, because Blaine hadn't really packed light, swung the suitcase into the back. He closed the trunk and then proceeded to open the back door of the car to Blaine who thanked him and slid inside.

Andrew rounded the car, getting in behind the wheel; he took a second to adjust the mirror and put on his seatbelt and then glanced back at Blaine to make sure he was fastened in before turning over the engine.

He pulled smoothly out of the gravelled parking lot and onto a small two lane road. "So," Andrew spoke up after a moment, "What is a young boy like you going to do in Maine this summer?"

"Visit my aunt," Blaine answered simply.

"Mmmhmm." Andrew glanced at Blaine quickly in the rearview mirror, "A ten year old kid with only a big old house and Ms. Helen to keep him company all summer? Sounds like fun."

"I'm twelve."

"I'm sure that will help the excitement."

Blaine sighed and looked out the window, he knew they were near the Atlantic Ocean, he could smell the salt in the air but he couldn't see it from here. It didn't help that the sky was growing darker by the minute.

"It wasn't really up to me." Blaine finally conceded. "I wanted to go to Europe with my parents or visit my older brother and… well that didn't work out. I guess my aunt was the only one who wanted me." The last words were quiet, said almost to himself.

"Ah," Andrew answered and Blaine looked up to see him glancing back at him through the rearview mirror again.

"Cooper, my brother, might come and visit me next month."

"That'd be nice," Andrew answered and then the silence between them lengthened.

"And how do you know Aunt Helen?" Blaine asked to fill the stillness.

"I work for her. Groundskeeper, handyman, general Mr. Fixit. There used to be more staff, now it's just me, Millie the cook and a girl from town who comes in once or twice a week to clean the old place. Callaway Place is a huge house, have you seen pictures?"

"No," Blaine shook his head, he'd never been here, he hadn't seen pictures, he didn't even really know his Aunt Helen. Sure he'd met her once or twice when he was a toddler, but he couldn't remember those times. His mother's older, unmarried sister wasn't someone who had been an active part of his life. Until now. He wondered if he was even really welcome in her home or if he'd been pawned off on her against her will.

"Callaway Place used to have a butler and at least two live-in maids, and a footman and several groundskeepers in its prime. It's an old Gothic Revival Victorian. Beautiful, but a lot of it is shut up now, Ms. Helen says she doesn't need all that space to herself; she used to host big parties and events and she would keep the place pristine and open for tours… not so much in the past few years."

"Why not?" Blaine asked, wanting to know anything he could about the woman he was about to spend the next three months with.

"Oh, you know, other things on her mind..." Andrew answered unhelpfully and fell silent again.

No, Blaine didn't know, but apparently Andrew wasn't going to tell him.

It was late afternoon, but the sky had grown so dark it looked much later outside. Then came the first pat, pat of raindrops on the hood of the car. Andrew flipped on the windshield wipers, and it was as if the swollen clouds took that as a sign and finally let loose the heavy rain they'd been holding back. It pelted down from the sky, Blaine couldn't make out any of the landscape they were passing, had no idea what kind of place Bluespruce, Maine was because he couldn't see a lick of it.

Andrew slowed his driving, his headlights cutting a path through the deluge and Blaine just looked out the window at the rain and his reflection in the glass. This was a bad omen for his summer. He just wanted it to be over already.

After maybe forty-five minutes of driving, Andrew took a turn off the main road to a narrow, steep dirt lane. They were winding up a hill when the wheels of the Cadillac started to spin and the car began to roll backwards.

Andrew swore under his breath.

He pushed heavy on the gas pedal, but instead of continuing forward, they slipped down the hill. Blaine could hear the car trying, engine revving, and mud splattered the back window as it was kicked up from under the wheels. They'd managed to stop slipping down the hill, but still weren't going forward.

Andrew swore again, "Damn hill. It's so steep and the rain is washing this road right out from under us."

Blaine gripped his seat a little in worry as he felt the car drifting backwards again.

"It's no use," Andrew curved the car to the right off the road and near the tree line that bordered them. He turned off the car and looked back over his shoulder at Blaine. "We're almost there, but we're going to have to walk the rest of the way in the rain. Ready to get muddy?"

Blaine smiled a little – that almost sounded fun. "Sure."

Andrew opened the glove compartment, "I'm not even bothering with the umbrella, the rain is practically sideways anyway." Instead, he pulled out a large flashlight and passed it back to Blaine. Then he popped the truck and got out of the car.

Blaine followed suit. In the small confines of the vehicle, the rain had seemed bad, but as soon as Blaine stepped out of the car, the wind slammed the door shut and almost knocked him off his feet. The fact that he was standing in about three inches of squelching, slippery mud didn't help.

"Do you want me to carry my suitcase?" Blaine yelled over the rain.

"Are you kidding? I want to actually make it to the house sometime today and this thing is practically the same size as you!" Andrew walked up to him, not pulling the suitcase behind him through the mud, but having lifted it up to carry on his shoulders. "That was meant to be a jab about the hugeness of the suitcase not your height!" Andrew shouted and smiled.

Blaine rolled his eyes and followed Andrew as he moved forward, letting the flashlight illuminate their way.

The rain was harsh, whipping into them and Baine stumbled a few times, he'd be covered in mud and drenched to the bone by the time they got to shelter. Andrew had been right though, they were almost there, it wasn't long before Blaine looked up to see the silhouette of a large dark house illuminated only by sudden burst of lightning. It looked like something straight out of an old horror movie, pointed arches over the dark windows, towers pointing to the stormy sky, and a covered porch in front that looked like a huge gaping mouth.

Blaine gulped a little, he was too old to be scared of a house, and he wasn't scared really… but with the rain and the darkness and the way the building almost looked like it shifted every time it was illuminated by lightning, he couldn't help it, it was just creepy.

They finally made it up to the door, standing in the relative protection of the covered porch. Andrew let the suitcase down and was about to open the front door when it swung open so fast Blaine let out an audible gasp.

"Andrew!" A woman's voice called, but Blaine couldn't see her from where he was standing. "What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm dropping off the boy Ms. Helen."

"Boy? Just get in here out of the rain."

Andrew entered with the suitcase and Blaine followed him, his backpack feeling twice as heavy now that it was drenched; he was glad Andrew had done the heavy lifting.

Inside, the house was a immediate relief from the harsh weather outside. The front hall was wood paneled, the wood gleaming in the golden light of the lamps on the wall. There was a plush ornate rug on the floor, red with patterns of animals and seascapes across it. As Blaine looked down, he realized he was dripping rain on to it and smearing mud all over.

"Oh my god," he took a step back hitting the closed front door, "I'm so sorry, I'm making a mess."

Blaine heard a chuckle and looked up to see the third person in the room for the first time. She was an older woman; mid-fifties, short, like his mother, like himself - with dark wavy hair pulled back into a low ponytail, just a hint of gray at the temples. She wore green horn-rimmed glasses and smiled at him with the most welcoming smile he could have asked for.

"Oh you poor thing, what has Andrew done to you? I can't even tell if that is my nephew or just some kind of mud monster standing in my house."

"I'm sorry," Blaine repeated.

"Don't apologize for the weather!" She said, throwing her hands up, her arms jingling with the sound of the many bracelets she wore, "I wish it were more welcoming. Andrew," she turned to him. "Why did you decide to roll my nephew around in the mud before you delivered him?"

"The car wouldn't get up that blasted hill. We had to walk."

"What an adventure," she smiled again, and Blaine couldn't help but smile as well, she looked a lot like his mother. An older, more colorful, version of her at least.

"You just take off your shoes here and your jacket and anything else you can, I'll get this all cleaned up, no worries."

Blaine followed her instructions.

"Andrew could you bring his things up to his room for us, then you can meet us in the kitchen.

"What has she made?" Andrew asked eagerly.

"Lemon bars I believe."

Andrew smiled at that and then lifted the suitcase again, making his way to the wide staircase in the middle of the room, his white socks the only thing not muddied on him. Blaine wasn't any better, filthy and wet from head to toe.

His Aunt looked him up and down, "Well Blaine, you've changed so much since I last saw you, from what I can see of you at least." She had a deep voice for a woman and she spoke gently, it was comforting and nothing like his mother. "We'll follow Andrew up so you can see your room and get washed up. Then, I know Millie has made snacks."

"Thank you." Blaine said shivering a little, the house was big and drafty and he was still dripping mud and rainwater on the ground.

The staircase in the hall was wide and wooden, carpeted in a continuation of the red patterned rug in the hall, it was plush and absorbed the sound of their footfalls. Blaine took a look around the old house, it was large and open, the stairway leading to an interior balcony on the second floor. He could still hear the sound of the storm raging outside, but the house had noises too, it creaked against the wind, the windows shook, and the wood paneled walls made a knocking or tapping sound that Blaine didn't understand, but assumed was just part of being an old house.

His aunt didn't say anything as they followed Andrew down a long hall lined with old paintings and lamps set in the wall. Several of the paintings were portraits that made Blaine's spine tingle as the eyes seemed to watch him move down the hallway.

Andrew stopped in front of a thick wooden door that was partially open; he pressed it open the rest of the way with his foot and it creaked inward. Blaine followed his aunt in, the room was a good size –though not as big as his bedroom back home, not as modern either, but that wasn't a huge surprise. The wall the door was set in was wood paneled like the rest of the house he'd seen so far, but the other three walls were covered in wall paper, if it was actual vintage paper or a reproduction he couldn't tell, but it fit the house, a deep blue floral rococo design with bouquets of red and gold roses. It was busy and ornate and Blaine thought it probably made the room seem smaller than it was.

There was a wide window with a window seat on the opposite wall, rain pounding against it, a fireplace to his left with a huge old mirror hanging over it. That was a real antique, he could tell by the way the glass was fogged around the edges. To his right, headboard pressed flat against the wall, was a huge four post canopy bed bookended by nightstands.

The only other furniture in the room was an old wardrobe, and a polished oak secretary's desk and chair.

The whole place looked as if he'd walked back in time at least a hundred years, but it was clean and cozy and Blaine tried not to be disappointed that this is where he'd be spending his summer months.

"Home sweet home," his aunt announced.

He turned to look at her, her hands were on her hips and she was smiling kindly at him. "I can't imagine this is how you wanted to spend your summer."

"No… it's… it's great."

"Yes, every teenage boys dream," she said dryly, but her soft smile remained, "You can see the seaside from that window though," she said nodding, "When it isn't raining like this at least. And I'm sure you'll spend plenty of time at the beach. And you have free reign of the house, though most of the rooms here on the second floor are dusty and unused. My bedroom, the kitchen, parlor and dining room are downstairs. There is a third story as well, but I have it shut off, just because there is too much to clean and keep up with as it is. No one person needs this kind of space."

Blaine nodded, he was tired from his flight and the subsequent train trip and trek through the rain and mud, and he was still chilled to the bone.

"Your washroom is the room to the right of this one. Feel free to shower or bathe or whatever you want and then meet me downstairs in the kitchen?"

"Yes ma'am." Blaine said and she nodded briskly and left the room, Andrew had already made his way out, no doubt in the search of lemon bars.

Blaine let his backpack fall to the ground, his shoulders slumping, the hike from the car to the house had been a sudden rush of energy, but that had faded now and all he could think of was the long boring summer in front of him. There was a knock on the door and then his aunt slipped her head in again.

"I forgot to say that I'm glad you're here Blaine. It is so very nice to see you and I'm excited to have family around." Her smile was sweet and sincere as she quickly popped out of the room again. Blaine had to smile as well, the first genuine smile since his parents had put him on a plane early that morning. At least someone seemed to want him around.

It rained for days. Aunt Helen said it was unseasonable to have this much rain. June and July were the rainy months, but nothing like this. It meant that Blaine was stuck inside away from the beach, and after only four days, he was already getting bored of Maine.

Aunt Helen was kind, a little flighty, she seemed to forget he was there from time to time, but she wasn't bad company. He saw Andrew around occasionally and Mille was a wonderful cook, the lemon bars she'd made the first day he was here had all but melted in his mouth.

Still, even though his aunt tried to engage him in conversation during meals and was a very pleasant person, she seemed to be always busy in her room doing who knew what, and Blaine was left to his own devices.

He started exploring the old house. He'd only gotten one good look at it from the outside during a brief lull in the rain; the first two stories were painted red while the top floor was a mossy green. The front of the house was bookended with turrets on each side, it had pointed arches over the third story windows and was covered in ornate trim work. It was a sight to behold, intimidating and regal, but not nearly as spine-chilling as it had been in the rain and the lightning.

As grand as Callaway Place seemed on the outside, it belied how vast it was on the inside. Blaine wasn't surprised his aunt had the third floor shut off, the first two stories were more than enough as it was. Blaine spent the rainy days systematically going from room to room, the house groaning and creaking always sending a chill up his back. The walls seemed to tap sometimes, but that was just the way with old houses and he told himself he'd get used to it.

The second floor was mostly unused bedrooms, but he found a study with bookshelves of old medical books— in the back of his mind he remembered that some Great Great Uncle or Grandfather or something had been a doctor. He spent a little time flipping through a book so timeworn its pages were yellow and it had that slightly floral scent that old books sometimes exude. He chuckled to himself when he came to a chapter detailing how a person's personality could be determined by the shape of their head.

He also found a sewing room that his Aunt must actually use sometimes, because though it had an old iron foot-pedal sewing machine, there was a new electric Singer as well. There was a creepy bedroom Blaine didn't spent much time in that appeared to be decorated for a little girl, a little girl in the 1800s, rosy floral wallpaper and porcelain dolls on a shelf. Each room was like walking into a miniature museum, some more updated than others. He could see why people used to tour Callaway Place.

Still, even with the fascination of the old house, the hours spent reading the books he brought from home, and playing his Nintendo DS, he still longed to go outside, be in the sun, actually remember that it was summer.

If only he could be in France with his parents or in California with Cooper.

He never complained to his aunt, though; it wasn't her fault that his brother was too busy trying to "make it big" and that his parents had him at such a late age that now they just wanted to travel like a retired couple without the complications of a twelve year old weighing them down.

All in all, at least he enjoyed his aunt; she would shift from vibrant and verbose to quiet and studious on a dime, but he could tell she wanted him to have a good summer here. She asked questions about home and kept telling him how much he would love the beach once it finally stopped raining. She said she'd take him to town too; there was a vintage style candy shop he might like.

One evening, they were in the downstairs parlor—another room in the house that was busily wallpapered, with a gold diamond paper on the walls and matching mint green paper across the ceiling, polished wood trim around the top edges of the ceiling that matched the oak floor. Blaine was playing Yoshi's Island for the millionth time, his aunt across from him in a big plush reading chair.

The wind whistled over the house and rain pelted the windows; Blaine liked these evenings spent with his aunt, just sitting and sharing space with her helped ward of the loneliness that he knew three months of his forced summer isolation was going to bring.

"You must be bored out of your mind," his aunt said suddenly and Blaine looked up from his game, wondering if she could read minds.

"It has to stop raining eventually," Blaine offered with a smile.

"There is a family that comes to stay at a beach house nearby every summer, they have a daughter your age, maybe you two can spend some time together. I'm afraid I'm not good company for the young these days, my mind is too consumed with my studies."

"Studies?" Blaine asked, putting down his game to give his aunt his full concentration.

She waved her hand at him, "Oh I've been compiling a history of Bluespruce, and our family's part in it. You know there have been Callaways here since 1790?"

"I didn't know that," Blaine said conversationally.

"Yes, the Reverend William Callaway was the first of us here. His son, Henry, had this house built in 1823, a gift for his new bride. There have been numerous add-ons and improvements since of course. I, for one, am very grateful for the indoor plumbing." She winked at him, "Have you seen much of the house?"

"I've enjoyed the little bit of exploring I've done," Blaine answered, "that medical library upstairs is interesting."

"Oh you are too polite, I'm sure an old house like this has little interest for you." She leaned forward, slipping off her horn-rimmed glasses and letting them hang by the chain around her neck. Her eyes sparkled, "I could tell you some stories. In all the research I've done over the years, I've become a little obsessed with Saffron Callaway. Your Great Great Great Great Great Grandmother, the woman this house was built for. She was remarkable. There is a portrait of her at the end of the south hallway on the second floor."

Blaine nodded along, enjoying the obvious excitement in his aunt's eyes.

"What made her so remarkable?" Blaine was actually interested in the history of the house, despite the fact that his aunt was right, most twelve year old boys wouldn't care. But Blaine had always been curious and studious, he was like his aunt in that way.

"What made her remarkable?" Aunt Helen grinned at him, her soft brown eyes that normally reminded him so much of his mother took on an almost frenetic gleam, "Saffron Callaway was a witch." Her mouth curved around the word like she could taste it on her tongue.

The wind howled and thunder crashed outside, adding weight to his aunt's eager declaration.

Blaine's heart hammered against his chest, the house seemed colder as soon as the word had been spoken, "A witch?" Blaine repeated slowly, "An actual witch? What does that even mean?"

Helen shrugged her shoulders, "The Callaways were a very pious and respected family back in the day, but Saffron was made of different stock – she was described as wild and worldly, and it was an open secret that she practiced witchcraft, especially towards the end of her short life. The family pretended not to know."

"Right…" Blaine said, thinking about the portraits he'd seen upstairs and wondering if he'd seen one of Saffron – the family witch.

"Learning about her has made me very interested in the study of magic." Aunt Helen continued, "Over the years, the women in our family have dabbled you know."

"Dabble?" Blaine repeated. "In magic?" The only other female Callaway Blaine knew was his mother and he couldn't picture his prim, high-class mother having anything to do with supposed magic. "Not real magic." Blaine said, trying to keep up with the sharp curve this conversation had taken.

"Oh yes. I mean, I'm not proficient by any means, I've only been studying for a few years, but I can perform some simple magic. I feel that even just the study of it has awoken some of the magic stored in this old house."

Oh god, his aunt was a crazy person.

Blaine stared at her in disbelief—he was about to spend the next three months with a crazy person.

She laughed and for a moment Blaine felt relieved, he didn't really know his aunt that well, but maybe this was just a demonstration of an odd sense of humor.

"You don't believe me."

"Well... I…" Blaine closed his mouth, he'd been taught to respect his elders and he was trying very hard not to tell his mother's older sister that she sounded insane.

"I mean it, I found some old books up on the third floor a few years back that deal with practical magic and I've been working on it. I'll never be as good as Saffron was, I don't have the natural talent. But believe me Blaine there is magic in this house."

Lightning struck the air somewhere very close, the house tremored and the lights flickered and then buzzed before coming back on. The timing was obviously just a coincidence, but still it made the hairs on the back of Blaine's neck rise.

"A witch." Blaine said yet again, "And the house has magic?"

"Yes," Helen smiled, picking up her book again, "Haven't you heard it? The tapping?"

"The…" Blaine swallowed, feeling nervous, he was ready for his aunt to admit she was just pulling his leg, this house was creepy enough on its own.

"Listen," she whispered.

Blaine listened, mostly he heard the wind outside, but between rumbles of thunder, he did hear something. He'd heard it before, that patter that wasn't the rain on the windows. A patter from inside the house, that Blaine had just attributed to the creaking and groaning of an old building.

"You do hear it." Helen said, putting her book down on a nearby side table.

"What... what is that?"

"The mirrors," she answered and Blaine's eyes swung to the long gilded mirror that hung on the wall across from him.

"What?"

"It's a link to the other side."

"Other side?"

"The land of the dead."

Blaine felt his spine tingle. He didn't believe in that kind of thing. Still, he stared at the mirror for a while; it did seem to make noise. He got up from his seat, leaving his Nintendo DS behind; he walked to the old mirror, knowing his aunt's eyes were watching his every move. The tapping stopped as he got nearer, and really it probably was just the old house creaking. He stood silent for a moment, looking at his own hazy reflection in the mirror's blackened glass.

"Tap, tap, tap," his aunt said cheerfully, not noticing Blaine jump as she picked up her book once again.

The mirror remained silent.

Blaine lay in bed that night, bedspread up to his chin, and the rain was still strong outside even though Andrew had mentioned that it looked like they were going to start getting some sunshine the next day. Blaine felt gloomy, in his mind it would just keep raining all summer, and even if Cooper found the time to visit, they would just have to sit inside doing puzzles or something and then Cooper would get bored and go back to California.

Blaine turned over on his side, trying to push away those dreary thoughts; he attempted to fall asleep thinking about how nice the beach would be once the sun finally did come out, but his attention was continually drawn across the room to the large old mirror that hung over his fireplace.

The mirrors are a link to the other side, the land of the dead. His aunt had said. Not even thoughts of Cooper or the beach could get that horrifying thought out of his head.

Blaine looked at the mirror and he stared hard at it across the room, his apprehension growing, not able to even close his eyes – until he heard it.

Tap, tap, tap.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and quickly pulled the covers over his head.
_

Andrew had been right about the weather, the next afternoon found the sun finally peeking its head out from behind clouds and Blaine ran down the wide front staircase, almost tripping over his feet in his haste. "Aunt Helen! Aunt Helen!" He called as he reached for the front door, "I'm going to go down to the beach!"

His aunt had emerged from the parlor, a thick leather-bound book in her hands, "Wait a minute!"

Blaine's heart sunk; now that it was finally sunny was she really going to make him stay inside?

"Millie packed you some snacks," she smiled and nodded back to the kitchen, "And there's a pail on the counter if you want to bring it along and go beach combing, the water is still probably too cold to really swim, but there are still lots of things to do.

Blaine smiled and ran past her towards the kitchen before quickly turning around and surprising his aunt with a tight hug, "Thank you!" and then he was off again, hearing Helen laughing behind him.

Millie had made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and put it along with an orange, a water bottle and two gingersnap cookies in a brown paper bag for him. He thanked her, grabbed the pail his aunt had mentioned, and headed off to the beach. Blaine hurried over a hill behind the house and stood on top, getting his first, clear-skied view of the Atlantic Ocean. He smiled and let the salty air waft though his curls.

The beach here wasn't like the beach he knew from California visiting Cooper. It was rockier, and had rolling dunes speckled with beach grass. It was gorgeous and Blaine's pent up anxiety flowed out of him, washed away with the rolling waves. Blaine felt a warm tug in his chest, realizing that he was actually going to have some fun this summer after all.

He left his lunch bag and pail on the ground and ran down the hill, laughing and kicking of his shoes so that he could splash ankle-deep into the water. His aunt had been right, it was cold, but after the time spent cooped up in that creepy old house he didn't even care.

He spent hours combing the beach collecting seashells and sea glass. He found a tidal pool filled with a crab and a few starfish, and he spent a moment tossing the starfish back into the ocean, afraid they'd dry out and die without his help. He gave the crab a wide berth, though, it's one big yellow claw looking menacing.

The sun grew high in the sky as Blaine ran along the beach, his skin soaking up the rays. Once the sun started dipping, Blaine sat down with sand between his toes and took out the sandwich, orange, and cookies. He thought he could probably spend all summer doing exactly what he'd done today and he'd never grow tired of it… it would only be better if he had someone who could pass the time with him. There had to be other kids his age in Bluespruce. Maybe he'd meet some and strike up a friendship.

When it started getting dark and a little chilly, Blaine made his way back to Callaway Place, pail full of treasures, and his nose freckled by the sun. He was tired and a little sunburned and ravenously hungry, but he was happy. Maybe Maine wasn't so bad after all.

His Aunt greeted him at the door as if she'd been waiting for him; he followed her into the kitchen, they never ate in the formal dining room, and let out an audible "mmmm" when he smelled an amazing scent in the air.

"Millie made clam chowder and we have sourdough bread." Aunt Helen said, "That is if you're hungry."

"I'm always hungry," Blaine answered without thinking and Aunt Helen laughed.

"Growing boys."

He ate dinner with his aunt, it was delicious, and there was key-lime pie for dessert. Afterwards, they both retired to the living room, his aunt reading some old book again, taking notes as she went along on a separate pad of paper, and Blaine curled up in his favorite chair to re-read Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix for the fourth time.

"You know, I wondered if you'd like to see that portrait," his aunt spoke up out of the blue.

"Portrait?"

"Of Saffron Callaway. Upstairs?"

"Oh," Blaine looked down to remember what page he was on, "Sure." Blaine had thankfully forgotten all about his witchy great great great something grandmother while enjoying the beach today. He unconsciously glanced up at the mirror on the wall listening for tapping. He didn't hear anything from it.

He got up and followed his aunt out of the room and up the carpeted stairs; she pointed out several portraits on the way down the hall, most of the names not really meaning anything to him. They reached the end of the south hallway where they came up to a door Blaine had only ever seen closed.

"Where does that go?"

Aunt Helen glanced at it quickly, "Oh to the third floor, but this is what we came for." She motioned to the wall where a very large painting hung.

Blaine let out a small gasp, surprised he'd never noticed it before. It was a portrait of a young, beautiful blonde woman. She was sitting straight-backed in a winged chair, her hands folded in her lap. There was a soft smile on her ruby red lips and her glinting curls were piled on her head, some of them loose and framing her lovely face.

Her eyes were a golden brown and as Blaine looked at them, they seemed to pierce straight through him as if she knew he was there. The painting was large enough that she was almost life sized and it was in good condition – besides the fairly colonial style of it, it almost looked brand new, and was painted in such detail Blaine had to lean forward to see the brush strokes and convince himself it wasn't actually a photograph.

After a moment's inspection, Blaine finally spoke, "She doesn't look like a witch."

His aunt laughed, "What did you expect? Warts and a pointed hat?"

"I don't know, just something that made her look… different. I guess." He looked from his aunt back to the painting. Saffron Callaway was uncommonly beautiful, but otherwise didn't seem magical in any way.

"I think there is something there, if you really look at the eyes." Helen answered.

Blaine leaned forward, again staring at the golden eyes in the picture, the more he looked at them, the more unnerved he became. The artist had uncannily painted the singular shade of brown and gold that Blaine's own eyes were. He didn't see eyes that color very often. No one in his family had that same shade of russet eyes, but apparently he had genes that could be dated back to the 1800s. He looked at Safron Callaway's eyes and then–

Blaine let out a little shout of fear and quickly leaped back from the portrait, his heart pounding against his chest. What had he just seen?

"What's wrong?" His aunt asked, concerned.

"She blinked."

Aunt Helen looked from Blaine to the picture and back again. "Blinked?"

Blaine could feel his cheeks heating up, "I mean it seemed… It must have been a trick of the light."

His aunt gave him a long contemplative look. Blaine jumped again, but didn't shout this time as he heard that same familiar tapping sound he so closely associated with Callaway Place coming from behind him.

He spun around to see a mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Why were there so many mirrors in this weird old house? As he looked at the mirror, he noticed Saffron Callaway's portrait was reflected from behind him out of the old filmy glass. The glass continued to tap almost like it was crackling… or like something was behind it trying to get out.

Blaine gulped.

"Tap, tap, tap," Aunt Helen said, lifting her hand and placing her palm on the glass until the noise stopped. Then, she curved a finger and tapped against the glass deliberately three times with her nail.

Blaine held his breath as he heard a returning tap, tap, tap seemingly coming from the mirror itself.

"I… I think I want to go back to my book," Blaine said, his throat dry.

Helen looked down at him as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Oh okay, I'll see you tomorrow then." She turned back to the mirror, her hand still spread on the glass and Saffron Callaway gazing eerily over her shoulder.

Blaine didn't wait a moment longer, he turned on his heel and rushed down the stairs, wanting to put as much distance between him and Saffron Callaway as possible .

Later that night, Blaine was lying in bed unable to sleep. The mirror in his room looking bigger and darker than ever.

He couldn't take it anymore, the mirror was silent, but glaring at him.

Blaine got up out of bed, walked directly to the desk and pulled the chair out, legs scraping against the floor until he was able to arrange it in front of the fireplace. Then, he went back to the bed, grabbed an extra blanket and brought it with him as he stood on the chair, leaned over the mantel and tucked the blanket around the top of the mirror covering it up. Only then, could he crawl back beneath his sheets and slowly fall asleep.


A soft breeze rumbled through the house, starting in the third floor and making its way down the south hallway and sweeping its way to where Blaine slept. It circled his room, lifting papers from the desk and ruffling the sleeping boy's dark curls. A sigh emitted from the mirror in the room, muffled under the blanket that covered it, while Blaine slept on.