Eliza
I got out of bed Sunday morning as soon as I heard my father leaving for church, but I’d already been awake for hours. I kept thinking about my conversation with Mr. Dalca, and picturing Ivan as a little blond boy in a private school uniform, sitting forlornly by a window, waiting to see parents who never came. It broke my heart, mostly because I could relate. I’d always had my father but losing my mother so young had scarred me. Celeste had compounded those scars with her callousness. I’d grown used to those old wounds. They didn’t bother me anymore. But, every once in a while, I remembered what it felt like to be lonely. To be unwanted. Hearing about Ivan’s childhood stirred up all those old emotions.
Putting on a satin robe and running my fingers through my hair, I went downstairs to get a cup of coffee. My father always made enough for me and left it on the counter with a small note. Today it read, “Try to get some rest. You’ve been working too hard. Love you, Pops.” I smiled. He always signed his notes the same way. That was the difference between my childhood and Ivan’s. Even though I couldn’t remember my mother, and even though my father and I disagreed on religion, politics, sports, books, gardening, and even the weather, I never doubted that he loved me. His love was an unconditional thing, but something I never took for granted. Well, not after I met Celeste, at least.
Staring out the window into our garden, I remembered the day she’d come to stay with us. I’d been so excited. I’d planned to call her “Mommy.” She shot that down immediately.
“It’s Celeste,” she said, giving me a tight-lipped smile that didn’t meet her eyes.
Things got worse between us when my sister was born, not that any of it was Amanda’s fault. Celeste was a terrible mother to her only child, too. In her own way, she loved her daughter, but she’d never loved me. Not even a little.
The day they divorced was honestly the happiest day of my life. Or it would have been, if not for the loss of my sister. When Celeste took her, I screamed and tried to hold onto her. Amanda cried. I cried. Celeste was furious. My father was devastated. He pulled me gently into his arms and whispered into my hair that everything would be okay. He said he’d get Amanda back. He promised I wouldn’t be alone.
He lied.
It wasn’t his fault. He tried everything in his power but never got full custody. Celeste faked it well in court, and the judges always felt sympathy for her. My father was lucky he got weekends and summers.
In retrospect, Celeste wasn’t smart or kind or exceptionally pretty. The only nice thing about her, in fact, was her voice. People seemed almost mesmerized by it, to the point that it sometimes got weird.
Amanda’s voice was weird, too. Even more beautiful than her mother’s, it was powerful and compelling, and often dangerous. We’d learned about it the hard way.
Once, a family friend asked Amanda to sing at her father’s funeral. Twelve of the mourners had to be carried out on stretchers. They’d been overcome by grief, but not until my sister started singing.
“Maybe you shouldn’t sing at funerals,” said my father right after it happened, an odd look in his eyes.
Then there was the wedding when Amanda sang during the mass. In the middle of the song, a groomsman pushed the groom aside and tried to kiss the bride. Two other groomsmen, the ring bearer, and one bridesmaid jumped into the melee. They tore the bride’s veil, and scared her to death, but after it happened, they had no recollection of the event. Police concluded someone must have put something in the champagne the bridal party shared right before the ceremony, but that didn’t explain why the ring bearer had tried to passionately kiss the bride, his older cousin, Jane. He was eight, and he hadn’t had any champagne.
“No more weddings,” said my father on the way back home. Amanda agreed, with a frightened nod.
I was a witch. I knew magic when I saw it, but whatever magic played a part in Amanda’s singing was something I didn’t recognize. It felt ancient, and whenever she sang, she nearly thrummed with power. I’d experienced it on a small scale with Celeste, but in Amanda it seemed exponentially stronger.
Thinking of other things that thrummed with power, I decided to check on the Dragon Rouge. I grabbed the key from my father’s office, and headed downstairs, coffee in hand. Opening the big wooden door that led to the vault, I silently chastised myself for not bringing my cell phone with me. Rule number one of entering the family vault: Never go down if you’re home all alone. Rule number two: Always make sure someone else knows you’re there. I’d broken both of those rules but decided no harm would come of it. Worst case scenario, if I got stuck in the vault for some reason, my father would notice the missing key, and he’d know exactly where to find me.
Cool air brushed against my skin as I entered the code Familia Ante Omnia. Family Over All. I whispered the words, almost like a prayer, and stepped inside.
Putting my coffee cup on the table in the middle of the vault, I opened the drawer containing the Dragon Rouge. It looked so harmless sitting there. I took it out, running my finger over the intricate wooden carvings on the box, wondering who’d crafted it, knowing the hands that created it belonged to someone who had died centuries ago.
Decorated with a beautiful painting of a red dragon, fire spewed from the dragon’s mouth. The words Dragon Rouge were written in fine gold leaf across the top. Mr. Dalca had given me a key, with careful instructions not to open it, but I wanted to open it. I wanted to see what lay hidden inside.
The box opened with a soft click, and inside, nestled on a bed of black velvet, rested a giant blood-colored stone. Lumpy and strange, it looked like a ruby, but I’d never seen one so big. The shape reminded me of something very familiar.
“It’s a dragon.”
My father would have loved it, but he wouldn’t have understood the significance of it. He would have seen it simply as a pretty bauble, something to acquire and admire. He could not understand the power and darkness contained in its depths.
The stone glowed in the dim light of the basement room, almost as if lit from within. I heard the seductive voice once again, an insistent whisper. Touch me. Hold me. Use me.
An image of Ivan appeared in my mind. This belonged to his family. In a way, it was a part of him. Even though I’d been tasked with keeping him away from it, I felt close to him by being close to the stone, which was why I reached into the box and took it out, cradling it in my hands.
“So beautiful.”
The ruby glowed with an odd, pulsating light, almost like a beating heart. I held it against my chest, sighing at the power. The magic.
I didn’t want to put it back, trapping it here way underground. I wanted to bring it upstairs and show it to everyone. Wait. No. I couldn’t let anyone else see it. It was mine. It belonged to me now.
Yes, I am yours. I’ve been waiting for you, Eliza.
Ivan didn’t deserve to have it, and neither did Gabriel. I would not send it back to Romania to sit in some dusty old museum. No way.
With a smile curving on my lips, I imagined what I could do with it. Win all my cases. Silence the voices of dissent in my coven. Make Ivan perform the Great Rite…whether he wanted to or not.
Hold on. Was that what I wanted? I couldn’t remember. All I could think about was the stone’s pulsating beauty, so bright it cast a red light on my hands, almost like blood.
“Eliza. What are you doing down here?”
My father stood in the doorway, still in his church clothes, a perplexed frown on his face.
I turned away from him, trying to hide the ruby. “Nothing. I had to check on something. I thought you were going to church.”
He moved closer. “I went to church, sweetheart. And I had lunch with Aunt Gertie. I’ve been gone for hours. Are you okay?”
I let out a brittle laugh. “I’m fine. Go back upstairs. I’ll be right there.”
Use me. Make him go away. Make him stop.
He put his hands on my shoulders. “Something is wrong. You need to tell me what’s going on.”
I shook my head, scared he might take the stone away from me. Scared he might not. A voice in my head yelled at me to put it back in the box, but the whispers coming from the Dragon Rouge were so much louder, and more compelling.
“Can you hear it, too?” I asked, shooting a glance over my shoulder at my dad. “It’s talking to me. It knows my name. It belongs to me.”
My father murmured something that sounded like a prayer, but I couldn’t focus on his words. I could only focus on the stone. The beautiful, perfect stone.
He wrapped his arms around me, holding me close. “Let go of it, my little dragon. It’s hurting you.”
My little dragon? He hadn’t called me that in years.
“You have to let go, Eliza. Your sister will be here soon. She needs you. I need you. Please let go.”
He had his hands on the ruby, and part of me wanted to fight him for it. How dare he touch it? It was mine.
But he said the words again, the ones that broke through the hazy red fog. “I need you, Eliza. Please.”
Using all the strength I could muster, I released my hold on the ruby and let him take it. The result was almost painful, like he’d torn a part of me away. I curled up on the floor, covering my ears with my hands, trying to drown out the stone’s whisper, but it didn’t come from the outside. The voice came from inside me.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t stop anything. I was out of control.
My father put the ruby back into the box and shut it, locking it with the old key Mr. Dalca had given me. Once he did that, I could breathe again as the voice quieted. It still called to me, but it was muffled. Contained within the box. Unable to control me any longer.
After placing it in the drawer, my father crouched next to me, murmuring soothing words as he held me close. It reminded me of how he’d treated me when I’d had nightmares when I was small. This was definitely a nightmare. I’d never encountered anything like it.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks. “Thanks, Pops,” I said, as he helped me to my feet. “I’m sorry—”
He shushed me, his arms still around me. “Don’t apologize. What happened? What was that thing?”
I leaned against him. I hadn’t needed his support in a long time, but I needed it now.
“It’s something evil, dark, and more powerful than I expected. I assumed I could control it, but I couldn’t. Not even close. It’s dangerous. I need to keep this thing away from Ivan. It could destroy him. It nearly destroyed me.”
“Ivan?”
I bit my lip. “It’s a long story.”
He sighed. “You can tell me all about it later. The most important thing is that you don’t need to worry anymore. I’ll keep you safe.”
My father had no magic. He had no real power. But when he said those words, I believed him. He would keep me safe. He always had.
“I know you will,” I said, giving him a wobbly smile. My body felt drained, like I’d had the flu. I needed to call my coven immediately. And I wanted to yell at Mr. Dalca, too, even though he’d warned me about it. He told me not to open it, but I hadn’t listened. Even though I respected its power, my ego made me think I was stronger than the stone. I was such a fool. And I would never let Ivan come close to it. It was a monster, and it would destroy him. I was twice as powerful as Ivan, and it had nearly destroyed me. If my father hadn’t come to get me, I would be in serious trouble.
We went upstairs. My father made a fresh pot of coffee, and insisted I sit at the island in the kitchen with him and eat a giant donut. He bought those donuts every Sunday after church from a shop called Oram’s. It had been our weekly ritual ever since I was a little girl. Lately, I’d refused to partake, partly because I didn’t want the extra calories, and partly because I didn’t want to feel the silent disapproval coming off my father because I hadn’t gone to church with him. Again.
In all honesty, I had nothing against church. It wasn’t my thing, but it made him happy. I got resentful when he tried to push me, or guilt me, into going with him. But he wasn’t doing it now. He watched me eat with a worried expression on his face.
“You’re still pale. Maybe we should go to the hospital.”
“I’m okay now,” I said, wanting to reassure him. “I swear. But I wouldn’t have been okay if you hadn’t helped me. Thank you.”
He poured himself a cup of coffee, put a donut on his plate, and sat across from me. “Talk,” he said. “Tell me all about the evil thing you’ve been hiding in our basement. And who is Ivan?”
Over the course of several donuts, I explained the entire situation to him. I didn’t mention the Great Rite, or the crazy monkey sex we’d had in my room, but I told him just about everything else.
He listened, nodding where appropriate, and pouring more coffee when necessary. When I finally finished, licking the sugar from my fingertips, he let out a long sigh.
“This is quite the pickle, isn’t it?”
I shook my head. “It’s all under control now. I have the whole situation completely under control.”
He covered my hand with his. “No, you don’t, sweetness.” His eyes, the same violet color as mine, remained concerned. “And you don’t have to always have everything under control. It’s okay to be weak sometimes. It’s okay to ask for help.”
“But I don’t need it. I’ll never go near the Dragon Rouge again. I’ll put up a protection spell, and a strengthening spell for myself. That should take care of things for the time being. When Mr. Dalca says it’s safe to ship it back to Romania, I’ll give it to him. It’ll be fine.”
“You keep saying it’ll be fine, but neither of us believes that.” He took a long sip of coffee. “I have an idea, but you aren’t going to like it. You should put up any spells you can, but we could also talk to Father Bob about it.”
“Why?”
He leaned closer. “I don’t know much about magic, and I know nothing about ancient curses, but we can both agree it’s evil. Demonic, even. Would it hurt to cover all the bases?”
“I guess not,” I said. The thought of going anywhere near the stone terrified me. “But I can’t be around it again. I’m afraid there could be consequences.”
“I know. You have nothing to worry about, pumpkin. I’ll take care of everything.”
“You?”
“Yes, me,” he said, getting to his feet. “After all, you said non-magical people aren’t affected by it. I’m the least magical person you know. It comes in useful for something, right?”