The rabbit pulled back, trembling, as the painted vines wrapped themselves in an arch around the door, leaving a very definite gap between themselves and the sky-blue door. This was the source of the humming and Bell House wanted me to know it. I’d promised Catherine I wouldn’t go in. It was her private, personal space. But that promise was made before I knew the truth. Lots of people had a craft room, somewhere they could concentrate on their hobbies, sewing, quilting, knitting. I suspected Catherine wasn’t doing much needlework in hers. My hand hovered over the brass doorknob. Why would Bell House guide me to this specific room if I wasn’t supposed to go inside? Shaking my head, I grasped the handle and screamed.
Black flames tore up the door, the wallpaper shredded, a cacophonous roar coming from all the animals and birds that lived within, and right beside me I saw Ashley, a walking pile of ash and bone. The moment I let go of the door handle, it all disappeared, and by my foot, I saw the rabbit with its ears pulled down, shaking as it shuffled away.
Laptop still in my arms, I backed away from Catherine’s craft room, picking up pace until I was out the front door and running, as fast as I could, away from Bell House.
It was busy on the waterfront, it always was. A bunch of big hotels lined the banks of the Savannah River and tourists congregated around the souvenir shops and riverside restaurants with their beautiful water views and, according to every Savannahian I knew, overpriced and overrated food. Busier was better, I decided, huddling up into the smallest possiblebundle on the corner of a bench. I wanted to see people; happy, smiling, laughing people, drinking from paper cups, eating treats and strolling along, their only concern how many free praline samples they could get from River Street Sweets before someone got wise and cut them off.
I hadn’t spent a lot of time this close to the river. Bell House was like a beacon, always pulling me back whenever I drifted too far away, and there was something about the way the light found its way through the trees and the moss that always kept me close to home. The energy here was different, washing my panic and fear away downstream. I liked it. The ocean’s tides pushed and pulled at my magic but the Savannah River flowed in one direction, always driving forward. It was exactly what I needed to help drown the dark memory of the deathly flames.
A black bird with a red and yellow patch on its wing skipped along the ground, flicking its head this way and that, one beady eye fixed on me. It glowed, like the stone I’d found in the ashes of my failed invocation, the one currently hidden in my bedside table alongside Catherine’s silver pin.
‘You must see so much,’ I said as it hopped back and forth. ‘So many things that we all miss.’
It took a few stilted steps towards me, pecking at the air with its sharp little beak.
‘Not much of a talker, are you?’ I smiled.
Strangely enough, it didn’t reply. I anchored my too-long hair behind my ears, the waves falling over my shoulders, way down past my collarbone. When was the last time I got a haircut? Months ago. In another life, that was the kind of thing I’d be doing today, a visit to the salon, maybe a manicure, some new makeup. I’d been dreaming about turning seventeen forever, that’s when I was sure my life would really start. There was so much I was going to do, my dad and I had made somany plans together. But not nearly as many as he’d made without me.
The bird flapped its wings twice, just enough to lift it up onto the bench beside me. It lurched forward and pecked at my laptop, fast and ferocious.
‘Easy!’ I exclaimed as it hopped backwards to glare at me with its dark diamond eyes. ‘I only have one of these and I don’t think you can afford to replace it.’
With what looked suspiciously like a disappointed shake of its head, it took off, flying into the bony branches of a nearby tree, right in front of the paddle-wheel riverboat and its long line of tourists. It continued to glare at me until I opened the laptop.
‘Perfectly normal stuff,’ I mumbled as I tapped in Ashley’s date of birth and opened my dad’s files. ‘A black bird telling me to do my homework.’
Without touching the trackpad, I watched the cursor dance in circles around the screen, flickering over the stacks of folders until it landed on an image file, a close-up photograph of a camellia. I’d looked at it before but hadn’t paid much attention. It was just a flower, pretty enough but nothing special. In the tree, the bird cawed loudly.
‘OK, OK,’ I murmured. ‘I’ll take another look.’
I zoomed in on the camellia. A tiny grey dot appeared, hidden in the shadow of the petals. One click and the cursor blinked. I clicked again, twice in quick succession, and a password box appeared. I tried Ashley’s date of birth but the box shuddered its refusal and a message appeared, one I hadn’t seen before. ‘Password attempt one of three. Three or more incorrect attempts will delete all files.’ I must have tried a hundred different password combinations to get into the laptop and it never locked me out. Nothing else was protected with this level of security. I tapped in my mom’s birthday but it declined againand the warning came back, this time in red. ‘Password attempt two of three.’
There were infinite possibilities, dates of birth, addresses, pets’ names, favourite songs, bands, movies, books, foods, dates of historical events; how was I supposed to guess? I let my hands hover over the laptop then rested my fingers lightly on the keys as I stared out over the water. The sounds of the river, the rustling of the trees and across the way, the soft encouraging caw of a black bird with a red and yellow patch on its wing. The last time I’d been down by the river was with Wyn, right before I spilled chocolate ice cream on Lydia’s dress. I smiled at the memory and the tender sense of calm that came with it. When I looked back at the laptop, my date of birth with the numbers reversed filled the password box.
All I had to do was press enter.
Immediately, hundreds, thousands of new files filled the screen. I’d found my dad’s journals. My breath caught in my throat as I clicked through the dated entries, some were short, some were long, but every single one began the same way.
Dear Angelica.
It wasn’t just a diary. Every day for sixteen years, my dad had written a letter to my mom. A letter about me. I opened a file at random and began to read.
Dear Angelica,
Today we found out Em is allergic to orange face paint. Wish I’d known that before I let Giorgio paint her up like Nemo at the carnival this afternoon. She looked more like a blowfish than clownfish but I sure did feel like a clown. Now she’s OK, I can admit it was kind of funny but I don’t think Em would agree.
‘No, she wouldn’t,’ I muttered, remembering my itchy skin and sobbing on the floor of the pharmacy while my dad tried to figure out how to ask for Benadryl in Italian.
I scrolled back to some older entries, searching anything that might explain why we left Savannah in his own words instead of Ashley’s or Catherine’s.
Dear Angelica,
It’s a big day in the James household, we have officially said goodbye to diapers. Damn good thing too, those things were about to bankrupt me. Why is everything kids need so expensive? To be honest with you, everything in New Zealand is expensive but at least it’s safe. So far, so good, at least. I know we won’t be able to stay here forever but for now, the ocean is enough. There’s no way Catherine could travel all this way to spread her poison. I’m looking at Em right now. How can this tiny person be expected to carry so much on her shoulders? Imagine trying to grow up normal and healthy with someone telling you you’re destined to save the world or end it one day. She’s our daughter, not a prophecy. I haven’t forgotten my promise. I’ll keep her safe, whatever it takes.
Smearing tears across my face, I pressed my lips together to control my crying when strangers started sneaking uncomfortable glances my way. I scrolled forward, searching for something specific. My sixteenth birthday.
Dear Angelica,
