“Morning!” a woman calls from across the street, her voice carrying easily in the crisp air.
I blink, caught off guard by the friendly familiarity, before waving back automatically. “Good morning!”
She beams as though that simple exchange has already established something between us. “I’m Countess Monroe, your neighbor. So nice to finally meet you, Keisha!”
I wave again, stunned by the fact that she knows my name without introduction. Apparently, I’m headline news in this small community. This level of immediate recognition is going to take some serious getting used to.
My phone rings and the song blaring from the side pocket of my satchel lets me know exactly who it is.
With a smile I reach into my bag and answer it with as much enthusiasm as I can muster.
“Hey Momma, before you ask, I am here. I didn’t encounter any trouble. No, I haven’t seen Aunt Lenora yet and this place is like an acid trip.”
“Oh, thank the stars, Keisha. I’ve been worried. I told your dad if we hadn’t heard from you soon. I was calling off our trip to Europe,” she says, blowing out a relieved breath.
I scoff, pulling my phone away from my face. They’ve waited years to take this trip, and I’ll be damned if it’s put on hold for me.
“Ma, all is well here. In fact, I’m walking the mean street of Ruby Springs as we speak.” I joke.
She laughs, “Mean streets. Girl please. There’s nothing mean about that town. Well, maybe my sister’s scowl, but I digress. Okay, well, I want to avoid your ‘I’m a grown woman’ speech, so please, if you need me, call.”
“Enjoy your trip, Momma. You and Dad deserve this. I don’t want to hear from you until after Christmas. Buy me presents.” I say, feeling a bit choked up about all the sacrifices they’ve made for me.
“Okay baby. Well, I’ll try. I’ll be thinking of you. Love you, Ki,” she says with forced cheer.
“Go have fun. Love you both.” I reply as the end of street comes into view. She repeats her goodbyes a few more times as my dad shouts his in the background. I end the call and slide my phone back into my bag.
The Ruby Spring comes into view as I round a gentle bend in the sidewalk, and up close it absolutely steals my breath. The water runs a deep, luminous red that catches the morning sun like liquid garnets or dark wine. It moves lazily between carefully maintained stone embankments, steady and confident, with none of the rushed urgency of city waterways.
Drawn by curiosity and something deeper I can’t quite name, I drift closer and rest my hands on the cool wrought-iron railing, looking down into the sparkling, impossible depths.
The river stops. Like someone snapped their fingers and commanded the current to halt, the flowing water suddenly flattening into a mirror-perfect surface.
I blink once, twice, and push off the railing in disbelief, my heart starts to race.
“I didn’t just break the spring,” I whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever delicate magic is at work.
I glance around frantically, ready to call for help or defend myself against accusations of supernatural vandalism, but no one else reacts. An elderly man in a cardigan continues walking his small terrier. Two kids argue good-naturedly, backpacks bouncing as they head toward what must be the local school. A woman exits what appears to be a bakery, carefully balancing a white paper bag.
I seem to be the only one who’s noticed that the town’s mystical centerpiece has decided to defy physics.
I turn back to the spring, and it remains perfectly still.
“Okay,” I murmur carefully, as if addressing a particularly temperamental pet, “if you are responding to me, that is both flattering and deeply unsettling.”
I take one cautious step to the right, ready to make a strategic retreat, when the water resumes its movement, but it flows in the same direction as my movement, mirroring my path like a liquid shadow.
Yep, I’m definitely not freaking out about an enchanted river subtly adjusting its current to mirror my movement. Nope, this is completely fine and normal. Nothing to see here, just a woman having a casual supernatural experience before her second cup of coffee.
I freeze mid-step, and you guessed it. The river stops right along with me, as if we’re dancing partners responding to the same silent music.
My heart beats steadily, but there’s something else now, a faint warming in my chest, the ghost of a sensation I’ve felt my entire life but never quite captured. For a moment, I wonder if this is what it feels like when magic actually works, when the power that’s supposed to run in my bloodline finally decides to acknowledge my existence.
I look around again, trying not to panic while simultaneously hoping no one else has noticed me engaged in some kind of mystical dialogue with the town’s most important landmark.
I step backward slowly and blow out a calming breath, watching the water like it might suddenly surge over the banks.
The current returns to its normal pattern as if nothing happened, flowing away from me in its regular schedule, just another lazy Friday morning in magical Massachusetts.
