Wicka

PREFACE

Wicka and subsequent books belonging to “Chronicles of Elizabeth Blake” series are available at Amazon, Kobo and Smashwords.

I guess it started when I was too young to determine age; but, in hindsight, it was always with me. Some call it second sight; some call it instinct. I have finally come to terms with the fact that I am a witch. 

It was never easy to recognize, although the signs were always there. I remember my mother used to say to me that I always seemed to be searching for something without ever really finding it. She never knew. She felt that I was different, but she didn't know why or even how. We had a strange relationship: both wanting to be closer than we knew how to be. 

The witch gene came from my father’s side. His mother, my oma, met an army officer during World War II. She accepted an offer of marriage and emigrated from Holland during a particularly difficult time for people who weren't "conventional" in their religious beliefs. I remember the stories of her birth. She weighed two and a half pounds and wasn’t expected to survive. 

A miracle came in the form of a doctor whom her mother knew. He put her in a roasting pan and placed her above a fire to keep her warm. Generally, witches don’t gravitate towards fire. It is the most commonly known way to kill witches and cleanse the world of their wickedness. 

Witches are born small. The smaller they are when they are born, the stronger they are said to be—assuming they survive. I have yet to meet anyone, witch or human, who weighed less than two and a half pounds at birth and survived. 

This doctor was the head male in the largest, oldest, and most influential coven of witches in the world. Together, he and the rest of the coven were referred to as the Elders.  The doctor’s attendance at my grandmother’s birth was to be both honoured and feared.

Word had spread of my great grandmother’s pregnancy. She was so small you would have never known she was with child. The Elders associated my omas birth with an ancient prophecy, a prophecy that spoke of “one barely born existing to lead.” This was the legend that the Elders feared above all else. They desperately wanted to discover the heir to this particular legend so that they could eliminate any threat to their empire. 

For this reason, oma was constantly under watch—tested by those hopeful that she was, in fact, the heir, and put in danger by the Elders, who feared the same.  

So, at seventeen, to ensure her survival and the survival of her family, she left home, married my grandfather, and secretly settled in a new land. She had four children but only one daughter: Aunt Kerry. The witch gene passes through the females in my family only. That’s why no one else in my family is a witch; it’s just me, my oma, and my aunt. 

I have one brother. We are very close—as close as you can be to someone when you don’t really know who you are. I’ve lived in Ann Arbour, Michigan my entire life. 

The earliest memory I can recall is as simple as wishing upon a star. Both of my parents worked. They worked a lot. I had a nanny, who would occasionally let my brother and I stay up late. One summer night, I snuck out to the porch and sat on the step. I looked at the sky and saw only one star. Out loud, I said, "Star light, star bright, the first star I see tonight. Please have my parents drive around the corner and come home." They did. I chalked it up to coincidence. 

I also remember writing stories when I was young—much too young to be writing stories. I had the most amazing closet that was like a fort. It was a walk-in closet that I could step into. There was a nook beside the shelves where I would sit, behind hanging clothes, and pretend to write things that were very important. I would see things that had happened, or that would happen, and write them down like. My mother would say that I had an amazing imagination, and then she would sign me up for some form of sports team. Somehow, I got the feeling that she was trying to "run" the weird out of me. 

When I was six, a new family moved next door to us. Our families became instant friends—we were the perfect match. Mrs. Hill was a stay-at-home mom while Mr. Hill worked for an export company. They were English but moved here from Greece. They had two daughters: Sasha and Gwyneth. Sasha was ten and would take care of us while our parents socialized. Gwyneth was six. We became best friends. 

Because my parents worked so much, I spent more time at Gwyneth’s house than at my own. Mrs. Hill became like a second mother to my brother and I. She would feed us, bathe us, and take care of us with such love and compassion you would think she had four children instead of two. She and my mother became best friends. In no time, the Hills had become such an integral part of our lives that it was hard to imagine life without them. 

As I got older, Mrs. Hill became more interested in my writing. She was always asking me to tell her stories. She was so supportive. She would listen intently to my every word and then help me tweak my writing to make it more realistic. 

Gwyneth and I shared everything. We were inseparable. When I was seventeen, the Hills had relatives visit them from Greece. They seemed very anxious to meet Gwyneth’s best friend. I guess they had heard a lot about me, so I didn't think anything of it. A week later, Mrs. Hill was in the hospital. The doctors said it was cancer. A week after that, she died. It wasn't until after I found out I was a witch that I discovered the Elders had killed her because she was protecting me. 

You see, as a descendant of my oma and with the legend still outstanding, I was being monitored and tracked by the Elders. This was the job of the Hills. But, neither the Hills nor the Elders had anticipated the bond I had formed with Mrs. Hill. To protect me, she would report back to them that I was showing no remarkable signs of witch hood and that I seemed to have no idea of who I actually was. To this day, I don’t know who reported her to the Elders. Whoever it was knew that Mrs. Hill had been training me, modifying my behaviours to make them less obvious to everyone including myself and my unsuspecting parents. 

But the Elders were not fooled. After all, they were the oldest, most knowledgeable witches in the world. They knew, and they were furious. Her betrayal was considered an act of high treason and punishment was inevitable. Never known for their forgiveness, the Elders cast a spell on Mrs. Hill that infected her organs and brought about her death. 

It was only later that I found out that they had killed her because she didn’t expose me as the powerful witch that I would become. The Elders instructed Mr. Hill to maintain a relationship with my family. The friendship I had forged with Gwyneth might be useful to them someday. Fearing for his daughters’ lives, Mr. Hill obeyed. 

Please follow me on Twitter or like my Facebook page. For more information go to http://christydeveaux.com/. I will be adding one chapter each week, but there many chapters.  If you just can’t wait for next week to find out what happens next, Wicka and subsequent books belonging to “Chronicles of Elizabeth Blake” series are available at Amazon, Kobo and Smashwords.

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