The Magic of Shadows

Prologue

Helaine Bryant, 11 yrs old

The sound of a glass shattering as it hit the tiled floor of Catherine Vaughn's kitchen fractured the stillness of the summer night air. Frogs quit croaking and owls stilled in their hunt for mice—it was as if the world momentarily stood still, waiting with bated breath for the explosion that was sure to come.

"Helaine!" My name echoed through the hallways, sending a wave of nervousness straight to my stomach. My breath didn't want to leave my chest and I desperately wished I could hide, that she'd forget about me if only she couldn't see my face, but years of experience had me climbing out from under my blankets and setting aside the worn copy of The Secret Garden I'd been rereading for the dozenth time. It was always worse if I hid.

My wrists twisted in circles as I padded towards my door, willing the magic threatening to build in my veins to stay where it was. Out in the hallway, the sounds of commentators talking on the baseball game my Uncle Daniel was watching reached my ears. No other sounds permeated the air, and it made my head swim with nerves. My aunt always played music as she cleaned, no matter what my uncle was watching on TV.

If there wasn't music on, that meant she was intending to focus on me.

Slowly, I crept down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as I could. Uncle Daniel didn't like it when I reminded him that I was here. His wife yelling at me was one thing, but children were meant to be seen and not heard. When I first came here, I tried to use my magic to muffle any noise that I made, but that had only made him angrier. The only thing they hated more than having me in this house was the electric purple sparks that coursed from my fingers. A reminder of what I was and what they despised.

When I reached the kitchen, my aunt's back was to me and I quickly flitted my eyes across the space, trying to find what I could have possibly done wrong now. I had washed, dried, and put away the dishes from dinner. The floor was clean beyond the broken glass, the groceries were put away. If I waited too long, though, she'd think I was stalling.

Keeping my eyes down so she doesn't have to see them, so she doesn't have to be reminded of what I am, I announce my presence. "Aunt Catherine, did you need me?"

She whips around faster than a bullet from a gun and I flinch. "You useless piece of shit, look what you did!" She points to a mess of broken glass on the floor. "You're supposed to clean all of the dishes, not just the ones you want to!"

I look closer at the mess. It looks like one of the tumblers Uncle Daniel drinks whiskey from. He'd still been using it when I was cleaning up earlier, but Aunt Catherine wouldn't care. Excuses only made things worse. "I'm sorry, Aunt Catherine. I'll clean it up."

Her angry eyes turn livid and she grabs the timer off the counter before launching it at me, barely missing my head. "You stupid little brat, if you had just cleaned it up earlier, we wouldn't be having this conversation! Your parents spoiled you; you can't just break rules and then expect to not get punished."

"I'm sorry, Aunt Catherine. I'll do better next time."

The next object hurled at me is a plastic bottle of olive oil. It can't shatter, but when the force of impact against the wall knocks the cap off it leaves oil leaking down the paint and all over the floor. "Come here," she snarls, and I try to, I really do. It's always worse when I don't do what she says as soon as she says it, but I can't make my legs move. It's like they're frozen to the ground.

"You disobedient little—" She grabs at the knife block, pulling out a chef's knife that Uncle Daniel spends time meticulously sharpening at least once a month. I cry out as it leaves her fist, throwing my hands up to cover my face as I cower.