The next day was Halloween, and that morning, Toby, Jules and Elina went to school while Christopher went to work. Jimmy, who was checked on by his wife as soon as the sun rose, was still knocked out from a drinking-filled night at the bar with Dell at the old man's request. Dell also was in a deep sleep from his excessive drinking the night before, his hefty body slumped back on the couch in the living room. Annika, however, found it difficult to sleep even after smoking pot, meditating, and most of all being woken up by her drunken father and, as she found out, grandfather. She walked into the kitchen, preparing a bowl of Frosted Flakes before going into the dining room to have her breakfast. Seeing her daughter there, Britta gasped at what she was wearing, which wasn't surprising—men's clothing.

"Morning," Annika said, taking a bite of the crispy, sweet cereal.

Sighing, her mother looked at her daughter's outfit choice, which included a black button-up with a distinct floral pattern ingrained on the fabric, brown bell-bottom pants, and a bright blue bandana tied around her head that made her frizzy hair stand out. Around her neck were several necklaces; Britta could make out only a few of them, including an eye on a hand, a peace symbol, and a brass sun. She looked extremely masculine, and during the girl's childhood, Britta had tried to make her look feminine but to no avail; all the minutes spent trying to braid her extremely wavy strawberry-blonde hair and even having her try makeup once as a preteenager; not only did the girl not look good, but Annika hated it more than anything.

"What are you wearing?" the woman asked.

"Mamma, give me credit," Annika said, pointing at the floral pattern on her shirt. "It's paisley!"

"Oh dear," she muttered.

"It's Halloween," Annika said. "Even if I were intending to wear a costume, I would've worn this anyway, but this is what I normally wear. Hell, you should see the people in New York. I've seen worse."

"I forget the place you left for," her mother said, taking a sip of the tea she had been holding as she took a seat.

"Kingston," Annika said, taking a bite of cereal. "It was nice."

"Ja?"

"Well…you know," she said, getting lost in her train of thought. She changed the subject. "I heard there's someone doing psychic readings in town today. Maybe we should go?" Oh no, what did she get herself into? She wouldn't want to spend time with me, she thought. She had dreaded bringing it up, but she hoped that her mother would lighten up and want to spend quality time with the daughter she hadn't seen in years.

"God forbids such things," Britta said. "He wouldn't want us to know our future."

"Oh, come on mamma, really?" Annika wondered with disbelief. "Why do you have to kill the vibe?"

"Good Christians do not do such things," Britta reminded her. "I'm shocked you would want to."

"I've had one before," the young woman said, shaking her head. "It's not that bad. It was actually for a past life."

"What?"

"You know, like what I was before what I am now," Annika explained. "I think the lady had told me…" She stopped to think for a moment. "She told me that I had my past life in England. I was apparently a poet. Makes sense, though. I write a lot inthis life, even though it's mostly music."

Britta looked at her daughter skeptically—her Christian faith prohibited her from such things, but the way Annika described it, it seemed like it was worth a try. She stood up, taking her teacup to the kitchen. In just a few moments' passing, Annika took her bowl and followed her mother, emptying it out before putting it in the sink. Britta cleaned out each object and dried them off with a towel, and her daughter stood there with hopes that she would agree to it.

"So, mamma? Can we? Dad and…grandpa…they're asleep," she asked.

"I'm not sure," the woman said, drying off her hands and neatening her plain white blouse that had been tucked into her forest green skirt. Her hair had been up in a tight braid that had been twisted to make a bun.

"You never know until you try," Annika said convincingly. "While we're out, my camper needs gas."

Britta reluctantly agreed to accompany Annika to get a reading from the psychic she was talking about; upon stepping into the interior of her camper, she was amazed at how immersed her daughter had been in the hippie subculture—a tie-dye tapestry on the wall, a lava lamp, and just an overall funky ambience going on that extended beyond her fashion choices. The young woman drove to the gas station to fill up on fuel before driving to the center of Barnwell, where a dark green tent was set up in the common.

Upon entering, the two were amazed in their own ways—Annika stared at the dim setting illuminated by candles and the air made sweeter with the smell of sandalwood. A beautiful but mature dark-haired woman sat at a table covered with a black cloth that had three tealight candles lit in a perfect triangle with a quartz point in the very middle. Britta, however, was a bit apprehensive and reluctant. The woman, supposedly the psychic, stood up to reveal her ornate black robes, her dark, curly hair dropping down to her forehead.

"Welcome, do sit," she said kindly, her penetrating hazel eyes looking at the two. Annika and Britta took their seats in the two chairs in front of the table, watching as the beautiful, dark-haired woman sat and adjusted her inverted triangle necklace.

"We're here for a reading," Annika said. "Mostly for my mom, here."

"I see, miss," she said; wow, she actually knows I'm a girl, the young woman thought. "My name is Phoebe. I specialize in many fields of divination and I have a wide range of gifts that help me seek the answers for people," the woman said, glancing at Britta. "You definitely seem skeptical."

"I am nervous," Britta replied, her fair, ageless skin getting flushed.

"There is no need. I am about as honest as you can possibly get, and I will not do anything to scare you," Phoebe said. "I am capable of seeing into not only the future, but the past and present. If for some reason your reading is not to your liking, I will not charge you."

"So you do past lives and stuff?" Annika asked.

"Yes, but I also have postcognition," Phoebe said with a warm smile. "I can see into the past of a client, and even further back. I have read for people asking who their ancestors were, or if they were orphaned while young, I would tell them who their parents were."

"Yeah, mamma," the young woman said. "Why don't you do that?"

"You don't want to see my past," Britta advised, remembering how it stuck to her brain like leeches to blood; even she didn't want to see her own past.

The psychic held out her hand over the flame, her dark eyes fixed on Britta's bright green ones as she mentally swayed the woman to hand her one of her delicate, small hands. Once she did, Phoebe could see everything, sensing her energy as a tear rolled down her cheek—this woman had a heartbreaking past.

"Five lost children," the woman muttered, looking down at Britta's hand and tracing a long nail across her palm softly. She shook her head, sniffing and wiping her own tears of empathy away. "One was forced...terminated…oh, you poor woman."

"Ja," Britta replied, a tear forming in her eye—how did she know all of this?

"They all would have been daughters had they lived," Phoebe pointed out. "It is for the best that they were not born. Your hereditary gift would be abused by them. Terribly…terrible use of the power."

"How do you…know?" Britta asked incredulously.

"You are giving off an energy, madam," the psychic said politely. "You are a very powerful woman. You are extraordinarily gifted. You could lift off this quartz point in the center of the table right now. It was because of this that you were exploited by one who pretended to be a mother figure. You were a young woman."

"I was," Britta replied, listening and giving her full attention to the psychic's mindblowing accuracy.

"Your power was passed down to you," Phoebe continued. "From mother to daughter, for generations, since…"

"My mother…she never had—"

"She did, indeed," Phoebe contradicted. "How do you think she finished her stitchery so quickly? How do you think every piece of work she did came out beautifully?"

"A seamstress! That's right,mamma, you said that about mormor," Annika remembered.

Britta gasped, digging into her early childhood memories from when her biological parents were alive in her birthplace of Gotland. Frida, her mother, had been known in Visby for being a talented seamstress aside from being the wife of a farmer. Phoebe looked into the Swede's eyes, trying to read deeper into them.

"She had a power of the mind," she said softly, still holding Britta's hand; the woman closed her eyes, seeing into the woman's subconscious memory. "I can see her now…you remember…you remember seeing her…she held the embroidery wheel…the needle moved all by itself…stitching every design to perfection. It was so efficiently done that…it was the most beautiful needlework anyone had ever seen." Now she remembered—Britta had only been three at the time, but somehow it escaped her memory like paper blowing in the wind.

"But my father," she wondered. "Did he know?"

"No," Phoebe replied. "Your mother hid her powers from everyone but you. She…had a fear of her power…she wanted to be a good Christian without her powers, and wanted the same for you even though she could do nothing to rid herself or you of the hereditary powers you possess." She paused for a moment. "You see, your hereditary powers go way back, and I mean centuries. Interested to know more?"

Britta had no choice but to agree, and even Annika was dumbfounded. However, there was one thing she wanted to know in particular; why hadn't she inherited any powers? Britta looked at the woman, nodding as Phoebe took the other hand and set them on either side of the candle arrangement on the table.

"Birka," she began. "The beginning of the last millennium, and I see it was the years 1099 to 1134. Birka was a Northern settlement, but it is no longer there." Britta remembered the location being mentioned during her schooling in Sweden; it was a Viking settlement, she remembered.

"Birka?" Annika asked.

"Yes. Central Sweden," Phoebe said.

"Funny you say that," the young woman said.

"You had an ancestor here," the psychic continued. "The first ancestor in your line of extraordinary talents. Her name…." She closed her eyes, getting a vision. "Geirdís Idunnsdotter. She was known as the 'daughter of Idunn', Norse goddess of youth. That would make sense for you, my dear. You are ageless." Britta smiled, looking at the psychic.

"T-Thank you," she said shyly.

"Geirdís has long, raven black hair with a streak of gray, and she was very tall in stature. She always wore a bear's fur over her brown tunic and apron. She was married off at age thirteen, and bore her husband three daughters. However, only one of these daughters lived," Phoebe described. "She was a seeress. She was a very wise woman who healed the sick, casted runes and performed spells for people."

"Witchcraft," Britta muttered under her breath. Now she could see why she was called a witch—somehow, it carried on for centuries up until the point where she entered the world, and possibly when her daughter Elina was born.

"She was able to see the future crystal clear, travel to all the nine realms, heal the sick or wounded with just a touch…she had your power of…manipulating things with the mind. Her strongest power…controlling ice," Phoebe described.

"Nine realms?" Britta asked. "But there are only two; heaven and Earth."

"My dear, in your ancestor's beliefs, there were nine worlds to travel to; Asgard, Valhalla, Helheim, Jotunheim…several more," the psychic said. "However, not many sought after her by the end of her life. The King of Sweden…he adopted the new religion…and he…targeted people of the heathen path. So Geirdís…was put to death."

"Oh, that's terrible," Annika said softly.

"It is terrible. Many people died, but fortunately, her only surviving daughter fled Birka and never returned. She hid further north in the east," Phoebe said. "Which brings me to my next vision of a powerful woman in your line."

"How many were there?" Britta asked.

"Too many to count," Phoebe said, gripping her small hands tighter as she took a breath and got another vision. "I am now receiving a vision…the year 1675…her name was Ingibjorg Nasbjornsdotter. Her hair was the color of virgin snow, her eyes a smoldering blue, and her skin a healthy tone of milk and honey. She resided in Torsåker, where her ancestor, the daughter of Geirdís, fled." Both Britta and Annika listened to the psychic, absorbing what she had to say like a sponge.

"Like the women before her, this woman was indeed powerful. In the year 1675 in this Swedish hamlet, a witch hunt was occurring. Ingibjorg, your ancestor, was targeted. I can see…" She closed her eyes for a moment before continuing to speak. "A young boy, son of a clergyman, had seen her…levitating over a body of water. She was singing; her voice was so hauntingly beautiful, it would seduce men. I see…she wore nothing but…her corset and…under-chemise of her clothing. Her crimpy hair was loose, and the boy had seen her. He ran back to the village and alerted his father. 'She's a witch,' he told him." Britta continued to listen, shocked at her lineage.

"She was taken to jail. They found stones with…rune symbols…on them while stripping her of belongings. While in jail, they tortured her. She was deprived of food and water. Eventually she confessed to being a witch; the pressure was so intense she would have wanted to die anyway," Phoebe explained, the visions coming clearly in her head. "She was to be burnt at stake."

"Then?" Britta asked, engrossed in what she was telling her.

"She eluded death," Phoebe said. "She had not only the power of manipulating things with the mind, but she could change her appearance; a shapeshifter, if you will. Just before she was about to burn, she changed her form into that of a young girl and escaped the village of Torsåker. She met a seafarer named…Sven Persson…he helped her escape, and was dumbfounded to learn that the little girl was actually Ingibjorg in disguise. He was captivated by her beauty…they sailed to Gotland together."

"Did they wed?" Britta asked.

"Oh yes, he took her as his wife," Phoebe smiled.

"My question is this, lady," Annika asked. "I was born a girl, I get mistaken for a guy all the time. Why wasn't I born with powers? My little sister has them, not me."

Phoebe took a look at the young woman; it was quite obvious to her what the reason was, but she let go of Britta's hands to hold one of Annika's, feeling a rush of pure masculine energy through her. The woman tilted her head to the side, looking at Annika's flat chest and broad shoulders—she had her answer.

"You are not really a woman," she said.

"You're only saying to annoy me," Annika sneered. "How do I know you weren't lying to—"

"Go to the doctor if you do not believe me," Phoebe instructed calmly. "I sense…you were only considered female because it is external. There is nothing inside." Annika was struck silent, but then Britta looked into the psychic's eyes once again.

"You have another daughter, and I know she has the power, too," Phoebe said.

"You're saying that because I said it," Annika said, rolling her eyes.

"True, but I know she has the power of fire," Phoebe said, "which youdidn't tell me." She was right, again.

"Yes," Britta said, looking into the dark eyes of the psychic.

"Be careful of her. I can see you've been guiding her to control her powers, yet too much control can hurt her," Phoebe stated. "However, the power of fire can be very, very dangerous. She has other powers; she is perhaps the most powerful in your line to date, or at least the most powerful in a few centuries. She can take a life, but also restore it. She has the potential of Geirdís, if she so chooses to see it."

"We are a good Christian family," Britta stated, objecting to any possibility that Elina would return to her Nordic pagan roots.

"It is really up to the girl to decide," Phoebe said.

"Like I decided to be atheist," Annika stated.

"Right."

Annika paid the psychic, who was nice enough to give them a half-off discount because Britta's personal past had torn at her heartstrings. They stood up from the comfortable seats, feeling a familiar energy coursing through them both, but the voice of Phoebe stopped them from leaving for a split second.

"There is a change coming," she told them both cryptically. Britta looked at her strangely for a moment, her eyes narrowing as her pupils got smaller. With that, they left.