By the time I got to college on a scholarship, I knew that most people had extended families, but I was too caught up in my studies to notice or worry too much about it. My mother had always told me her mom died when she was little, and my dad died before I was born. I never thought much of it beyond that.
I was too focused on my goal. I thought money was the only thing that could give me security, so I chased it as hard as I could. Looking back, I wonder if I was running from all these questions I have now… and now I have no choice but to face them.
When I search for my mother, Minette Leslie, I find sparse results. She went to school in a small country town, never had steady employment or paid tax, and the only trail left in her name is welfare receipts, and the time she spent in the hospital giving birth to me. The lack of a paper trail is almost as interesting as finding a large one, so I go back up the chain to research my grandmother.
Barbara Leslie had a similar life to my mother’s. She lived in a small rural town. Only a few mentions of brief employment, welfare receipts—my mother inherited the same house understate housing—and the pregnancy, with a generic name for the father.
I search for both my father and grandfather, but the names are so common that it could literally be anyone. My instincts, and a little touch of my new senses, clue me in that perhaps that’s exactly what these women intended.
Did they not know these men, or did they just lie on the birth certificate?
I trace back to Barbara’s mother, Natalie, and find the same story. There are no records of her mother, but I’m convinced by this time that the pattern is eternal.
If I had a link beyond this, I could trace us back even more. I wonder what country witches come from originally?
I do a little more searching, my talent with numbers the only thing that turns up any results.
No matter how careful someone is, they always leave a money trail. The women of my family obviously survived on cash, and records are few, but I can at least see where they lived and worked.
I try a bit longer to trace the men who could be related to me, but keep running into a solid wall of similar results. Searching by area, town, or business doesn’t help, even though the women lived in small towns.
Sighing, I take a deep breath and pull back, clearing my search results. Finding out about my family has disturbed me, and it didn’t give me any clues about my powers.
I definitely didn’t see my mother display any magic. I know people loved her cooking—our main income was from selling food she made. Pies, cakes, biscuits… I used to think her cooking was pure magic.
Smiling, I close my eyes, remembering the taste of mom’s cookies right after they came out of the oven. I see her in a golden haze of afternoon light, the memory colored by my love.
Did the women of our family run from the men because we’re all witches, and it was the only way to keep their daughters safe?
The question rises in my mind unbidden, something like intuition. I open my eyes, a short breath caught in my throat, and as I come back to reality, my pen and notebook slap down on the table. As I got wound up, I’d somehow lifted them with my powers.
Thank God no one walked in! I have to get a hold of this thing!
I go back out to the little room, looking through the old historical records. As I read the handwritten pages, I begin to get a sense of what has been left out of the reports. We have official records and personal journals, and most of those are written by a woman named Lynette Croft.
We have the houses mostly finished now, and gardens beginning to flourish. I love the sound of the wind here, and the nearby peaks that color the sky. My only desire is to be here forever with my love, to make this place a safe haven for our kind.
I know by “kind,” Lynette means witches, and maybe even shifters. She makes several references to her “love,” but doesn’t name him.
She’s a witch. I know it, I can feel it in her words, but she won’t name her man, either…
I flip through the journals, wanting to get to the end to find out what happened to her, but I barely get through the first one before Trina knocks on the door.
“Hey, are you okay?” she asks. “You didn’t come out for lunch.”
“Oh?” I say, looking up. “What time is it?”
“It’s almost three. Rhys is here with Cassie. He wants to know if you want to get off early and go for ice cream.”
“Yes, of course I would,” I say, shutting the book and getting up. “I can’t believe I lost so much time out here.”
“I’d like to say it’s because you’re a hard worker, but it doesn’t look like it,” Trina laughs. “You’re supposed to be filing these books, and it looks like you’ve made more of a mess.”
“The town’s history is interesting,” I reply. “I just got really caught up in it. I heard you guys talking about witches before. Do we have any books specifically about them?”
Trina nods, pointing at the back wall. “Those are the records of the witch trials. I have to warn you, it’s not a fun read.”
“I’ll approach with caution, then,” I say. “Thank you, Trina.”
