The Ultimate Rothschild

Chapter 1: Present (Demi)

This house is too big.

That's what I always thought. It's just me and Dad living here in a two-story house that could easily house six, eight if you count the trundle and the Ikea bed in Jax's old room. Why did Jax need so many beds in one room? The trundle was pretty small, too. Er, it still is. No one really sleeps in it anymore. It's child-sized. It would more easily house seven people and one child.

It usually gets lonely living in such a big house when it's just you and your dad, especially if your dad is a magician who makes it a point to tote his magic with him wherever he went.

Yes, legit magic.

Apparently, he went to some magic school founded by his ancestors as a teenager. He mentions it all the time, but I could never remember the exact name. Visor something. Why would magicians need visors? I guess it's some in-joke between magicians. It isn't like I'll be going to the Visor place. If I studied magic, I'd probably end up like my dad, and looking at my dad who's leaning in the door, I decided becoming like my dad would ruin my chances of getting friends in college.

Wait. Dad's leaning in the doorway?

"Hey, Demi," he says. His ginger-red hair is just as messy as mine is right now, and he's holding a cup of coffee, even though it's 1 pm. "You coming down or not?"

I guess I should zoom out on what exactly is going on. I'm in my bedroom, lying face-down on my bed after sleeping in all morning. School just finished last week, and I need this.

"Coming down for what?"

"The announcement." Dad beams.

I roll over. "What announcement?"

"From the Visaar. It's June 16, 2019. Remember what happened 30 years ago?"

Oh, dear. Dad never passes up an opportunity to mention this. "On June 16, 1989, you were selected to attend the Visaar?"

"Good! You remember!" Dad lifts his hand, pulling me up out of my bed. "Now, get up! The announcement should be going live in five minutes."

"What announcement?!" I ask again, aggravated by this sudden removal from my bed.

"You mean you haven't figured it out?" Dad yanks me into his arms. "They're announcing this generation's Sinclair representatives!"

Ah, yes. The Sinclair representatives. Dad told me the story time and time again. Once every 30 years, the Visor chooses one descendant from each of the witches who founded the school and pretty much forces them to attend. That's how Dad started going to the Visor, and I pray to God that this isn't how I'm going to get started. (I say I pray to God, even though Dad says there is no God, "only the astral spirits." Who's to say there aren't astral spirits, either?)

Dad leads me down to the stairs and into the study, not even giving me a chance to change into some real clothes or brush my hair. I wouldn't be surprised if he levitated me to the study. He drops me in the seat in front of the computer, just about. Then he pulls a chair up to the computer. I look at the computer screen. There's a YouTube video pulled up. It says "The Announcement-2019 (The Visaar)."

"This magical announcement is coming through YouTube?" I ask. "I thought they were magicians or something."

"Just because they're magicians doesn't mean they can't use the Internet," Dad tells me. "It's not like in Harry Potter where they use nothing but quill pens and owls."

Another one of my dad's insufferable habits: he won't hesitate to tell people Harry Potter isn't real. He didn't want me reading it as a kid not because it was demonic like the other moms in this tiny Christian neighborhood. He didn't want me reading it because it "wasn't accurate."