Chapter One: The Abduction

She was riding on a train but the destination was unknown, at least to her. Her mom had been hiding things from her lately, and this was just another example. Zahra looked out the window and watched the scenery move by, ever faster, as they pulled out of the station. Soon, buildings were zipping by, and Zahra stared wide-eyed as everything melded into a blur. It felt like that blur was erasing everything she knew. She felt like crying, but instead, she just sat there blank and breathless, like she was floating in a dream.

            She just wished her mom had shown her the new house before she went out and bought it. Instead, she’d barged into her room one day and announced that they were moving all the way across the country. It wasn’t a negotiation. Very few things with her mother were. Zahra looked over at her mom who was sitting beside her tapping away at the keys on her laptop. She drilled her with a nasty glare, something she hoped she would feel. It worked. Her mom briefly looked up, gave an exasperated little sigh, and went back to her work. Zahra let out a loud huff of hot air and moved to an empty seat across the aisle.

            After they had been on the train for three days, Zahra’s mood went from cloudy to stormy, and now it felt like she was stuck in the mud at the bottom of a dark lake, maybe next to a dead body somebody dumped down there. She pictured herself stuck in the mud in aqueous shadows under a sagging old pier. The body, she decided, should be more like a skeleton, decomposed to the point where fish were swimming through its ribcage.

Okay, so she had a dark imagination, but what else did she have to do but think? She’d already gone through two books and played so many games on her tablet that her eyes stung. She’d had enough, but her mom kept saying things like, “Isn’t this wonderful?” and “Doesn’t it feel good to get away from it all?” When her mom said that last bit, Zahra knew exactly what she was talking about.

Her mother was getting away from a man. If you believed her mom, this man was a snake in human form who’d somehow slithered out from under a rock somewhere. He was the worst kind of person, a no-good, low-life, manipulative, imposter who was incapable of telling the truth. It might not have been a big deal, except the man she was talking about was Zahra’s father. So yes, seeing the look of serenity and relief on her mother’s face hurt. Zahra knew her parents had problems. She knew her dad had done some things that couldn’t be fixed, but he was still her dad.

            The train wasn’t going to turn around though. That just isn’t the nature of trains. Zahra knew all about it. Her mom was like a train when she was serious about doing something. She plowed ahead in one direction, and anybody who was stupid enough to get in the way was going to get crushed like a bug or one of those deer that stands there frozen in the headlights while a car hurtles out of the night. Her mom was a train alright, a big, chuffing, locomotive billowing black smoke and just because Zahra knew better than to get in front of it, it didn’t mean she was happy about the way it was going.

            Okay, she could admit it. It was mostly her mother’s happiness that bugged her. She hadn’t seen her mom this happy in a long time. She kept talking about how wonderful the town they were moving to was. It was small and neat and it had a little brick theater and a beautiful river nearby. It had historic buildings and a covered bridge. It was quaint. Her mom couldn’t stop using that word, quaint— quaint, quaint, quaint.

“It’s so quaint!” her mother exclaimed for about the thousandth time. Zahra stared at her from across the aisle like she was an alien from another planet; not a fun alien that you put on your bike and ride around town with, more like one of those pale slimy things in a big cold spaceship that are always trying to take over the world. That’s pretty much how Zahra felt about her mom at the moment. She had taken over her world. She’d abducted her.

            When the train finally reached its destination, Zahra had to admit, the town looked pretty nice. She was doing her best to be grumpy, but it didn’t help that it was springtime and the sun was shining. Flowers bloomed beneath trees, along sidewalks, and in cute little planter boxes in the yards of freshly painted houses. There were ancient oaks lining the street leading into the main part of the town where two and three-story brick buildings framed a scene that was straight out of an old cowboy movie. It was quaint; there was no doubt about that. Zahra had been born and raised in the city, and this was like nothing she had ever seen.

            “You’re going to love the house it’s so…” but her mom trailed off seeing Zahra’s death glare. “It’s nice,” she said, thrusting a heavy suitcase, a backpack, and a dirty tote bag full of shoes into her daughter’s arms.

            “Where is it?” Zahra asked, dragging the suitcase while trying to adjust the backpack on her shoulders.

            “Oh, it’s just a few blocks over on the other side of town.”

            “We have to walk there,” Zahra groaned, “with all this stuff?”

            “I don’t think they have taxis in this town,” her mom said. “Isn’t that just…uh…interesting?”

            Zahra had given up on glaring. She glowered down at the sidewalk as they trudged on in silence.

            It was uncommonly hot for that time of year. The buzzing of insects combined with the steady hum of power tools as people set about trimming their hedges and mowing their lawns. Zahra began to sweat. She yanked her suitcase up and over a curb. This wasn’t just a light sweat. This was pig sweat. This was pit-dripping sweat, and it was soaking through her shirt.

“There it is,” her mom called, gesturing with a free hand ahead of them. Zahra looked up to where her mom was pointing and plopped down right there on the sidewalk. Of course, their new house had to be on top of a giant hill. Maybe it wasn’t that huge, but right now it seemed like Mt., freaking, Everest or maybe the Matterhorn. Those were the only mountains Zahra really knew about and they were big. People died all the time climbing mountains like that. It was a fact. “I’m not gonna make it,” she puffed. “I’m gonna die.”

“Stop being a drama queen!” her mom snarled. She had that look on her face. If her mom was a train, she was about ready to fly off the tracks. All she needed was a slight pebble on the rails and she was going to derail. She would start bellowing, like she always did, and Zahra would be forced to bellow back because Zahra was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a pushover, and then that nice old man trimming his rose bushes in his yard about fifteen feet away would have to witness the whole spectacle, so Zahra did everything in her power to cram down the rage building inside her.

            They sat on a low wall at the edge of the old man’s yard in the dappled shade of a budding crabapple tree. Zahra fanned herself with a magazine she’d bought at the train station. The old man was giving them a curious look. He tucked his pruners under his arm and slowly took off his gloves. He sauntered over, as old men do, with cautious ease as he avoided uneven bumps in the lawn. He looked at their suitcases before regarding them with restrained amusement in his hazel gray eyes.

            “You aren’t from around here,” he said.

            “Nope,” Zahra’s mom replied, sizing up the old man. She wasn’t the type to volunteer information.

            “Then you must be Harriet Petrowski.” The old man pulled a pair of glasses from his breast pocket and put them on to get a better look. “That’s an interesting name for a…well…a…”

            “A Black person,” Zahra’s mom finished for him.

            “Um…yes,” the old man said, a little color coming into his cheeks. “Sorry I…well, it must be your husband’s name,” he said, looking at Zahra who was much lighter than her mother and obviously mixed.

            Zahra gulped in a little air. This conversation was quickly getting out of hand.

            “You got it, Sherlock,” her mom snapped.

            “Well,” the old man said, seemingly amused for no reason Zahra could think of, “shouldn’t he be the one carrying all that luggage?”

            “He won’t be joining us,” Zahra’s mom said. Her tone implied she may have ordered his recent execution. “Anyway, how did you know my name?”

            “Home sales are a matter of public record.” The old man shrugged. “And it’s a small town. Everybody knows your name.”

Zahra looked at her mom. She didn’t seem pleased by this bit of information.

“Tell you what,” the old man chirped brightly, “I would be honored to give you ladies a ride the rest of the way.” He did a little bow that Zahra had never seen before. Nobody in her old neighborhood would be caught dead doing it, that was for sure.

            “We are quite capable, thank you,” Zahra’s mom said.

            “Mo-om!” Zahra wailed. She gave her mom a real glare this time, the best she had; we’re talking nuclear in intensity.

Harriet Petrowski remained quiet as she stared directly into her daughter’s dark eyes. “Fine,” she finally said.

“I’m Harold,” the old man informed them, after he’d gone into his house and came out again with a set of keys, “Harold Newton.”

            “Thank you, Harold,” Zahra’s mom said. “My name is Harriet, Harriet Petrowski, but it seems like you know that already. I’m sorry about earlier. To tell you the truth, I don’t make a habit of trusting strangers, especially men.”

            “Well, good thing I’m only half the man I used to be,” Harold chuckled. Despite this claim, he had no trouble loading their luggage into the back of his immaculate old Buick. Harold drove slowly, pointing at the house on top of the hill as the Buick crept along. “You know anything about this house you bought?” he asked.

            “Not much,” Zahra’s mom said.

            “Well, it used to belong to an old lady,” Harold rambled on. “Curious old bird, always kept to herself. Must have lived there for twenty years and nobody knew a thing about her. Some people kind of took offense to that, you know, this being a small town and all. I guess people kind of felt rejected. You know, this town is like its own little tribe, for better or worse, so you might hear some stuff like she’s a witch or something, but it’s just people being silly. She seemed nice enough to me.”

            “A witch?” Zahra couldn’t help asking.

            “Yep, that’s what people say. They say she was up to something spooky up there.” Harold gestured his old wrinkly hands in mock terror. “The dark arts.” He gave a quavering laugh. “I mean, I guess I’m going to have to speak for all of us around here and break it to you: the truth is, a our little tribe here ain’t real sophisticated.” He said the last bit in a hillbilly accent, in a kind-hearted mocking tone.

            “Why do they say she’s a witch?” Zahra asked. “What did she do?”

            “Oh, not a whole lot,” Harold shrugged. “She was a little peculiar though. She had a habit of talking to herself. I heard that much just walking by on occasion, and then there was the music. The music was pretty odd.”

            “Odd?” Zahra wondered.

            “Yeah, it was always really soft. You could never quite tell where it was coming from. It sounded…it sounded like nothing I’d ever heard before.”

            “So weird music and she talked to herself,” Zahra’s mom scoffed. “That doesn’t sound like a reason to burn anybody at the stake.”

            “Nope,” Harold agreed as he crawled the Buick up a short, slanted, driveway. “Not at all.” He turned off the engine and gave Zahra a big smile. “Well, princess, we have arrived at your new castle.”

            “She wishes,” Harriet Petrowski growled.

            The house was an old Victorian, beautiful, with three ornately trimmed stories, and steeply sloped roofs. It was the only house in the neighborhood that needed a new coat of paint, but Zahra’s initial reaction was that it was pretty cool. It was big, it was on top of a hill, and it may or may not have been owned by a witch.

            “Tell me more about this witch lady,” Zahra asked Harold, as he carried their luggage up the steep steps to the front porch.

            “Zahra,” her mother ordered, “stop pestering the man and help him with the bags!”

            Harold gave Zahra a wink and smiled indulgently. “Well, the clincher,” he said, “was when she disappeared.”

            “Hold on Mr. Harold,” Harriet Petrowski said, “I think you’ve told my daughter quite enough of your little tall tales today.”

            “But it’s true,” Harold claimed, innocently. 

            “She disappeared?” Zahra’s mom said, clearing her throat in disapproval.

            “Into thin air,” Harold insisted, spreading his hands in a magical gesture. “One day she was here, and ‘poof!’ the next, she was gone.”

“That guy was nice,” Zahra said, as Harold Newton backed his old Buick out of the gently sloping driveway.

“Maybe,” her mom said reluctantly.

 Zahra and her mom stood staring at the front door for a while. Neither of them could explain the exact reason for doing so. It was a feeling though, a very palpable sensation, like some kind of current running through the body. It made one curious but a little apprehensive, as if they were about to cross a threshold of some kind. Of course they were about to cross a threshold, for that is the very definition of the base of a door, but it felt like more than that. It felt like something you may never come back from. Zahra stood rapt, absolutely still, feeling the sensation tingle about her body.

            “Well…” Harriet Petrowski laughed nervously. “Shall we?” She produced a rather large antique looking key and inserted it into the lock. Again, they paused. Was there just the faintest sound of music, the tinkling of chimes, and the slight wavering resonance of a flute, perhaps? They strained their ears. Zahra could actually feel the little hairs in her ear holes perk to attention, but there was nothing, just the soft rustling of a breeze carrying the slight scent of jasmine from a tangle of flowering vines crawling up a rusty downspout. Her mother turned the brass key in the ornate door plate and there was a substantial thunking sound as the old lock disengaged.

            The large door swung easily on its hinges. “My goodness, it’s lovely!” Harriet Petrowski exclaimed as she stepped into the house.

            Zahra dropped her bags in relief. “I thought it would be all dusty.”

            “It looks even bigger on the inside!” Her mom effervesced, setting her suitcase down on the solid oak floor. The floor was dark with age, but it looked like it had a recent polish. Everything was clean and orderly and completely furnished. There were big velvety-looking armchairs in the living room near a substantial oval table with carved wooden legs and a thick marble top. Through an open doorway, Zahra could see an octagonal room with old books lining tall shelves. Zahra’s mom swept back a heavy curtain revealing huge windows separated into small rectangular panes of glass. There was a fireplace with a stone slab mantle and a variety of implements to tend the fire.

            “Wow,” was all that Zahra could say.

            They wandered from room to room. Everything was in perfect order. The beds were made, the house plants were watered, there was even a small stack of wood by the fireplace.

            “Is this weird?” Zahra asked, looking at a teapot and set of teacups arranged near the stove. “Doesn’t it kind of seem like somebody still lives here?”

            “Don’t be silly,” her mom said. “The realtors probably just spruced things up a bit.”

            “It’s kind of creepy,” Zahra decided.

            “Hey, there’s nothing creepy about free stuff. You want to buy a bunch of new furniture?”

            “No…but…” Zahra began.

            “Exactly,” her mom said. “No buts. This is a new start for us and we are going to approach it with positivity and an open mind. I’m sick of worrying about things. All that crap can just stay back there with your father and that stupid little floozy of his.”

            “Mom!” Zahra protested. She really didn’t like it when her mom started bashing her dad. It made her angry, and when the anger burned out it left little hurt feelings of sadness.

            “Sorry,” her mom said. “I don’t expect you to understand. In fact, I don’t want you to understand. It’s just…when somebody…” Harriet Petrowski sighed and then shook her head vigorously like she was trying to get rid of a mosquito in her ear. “Forget it!” she snapped convulsively. “Where did I put that wine? Honey, have you seen the handbag with the little butterflies on it?”

            The night passed slowly. The internet wasn’t hooked up yet, and there was no cell reception. 

“What kind of town doesn’t have cell reception?!” Zahra fumed. Her mom seemed unconcerned sitting in one of the velvety armchairs by the fireplace with a glass of wine deeply absorbed in a book. “It’s totally lame!” Zahra ranted. Her mom’s expression didn’t change.

Out of boredom, Zahra started poking around all the nooks and crannies of the house. Finding nothing of real interest in the closets or down in the dark, musty, cellar, she crossed the living room and went through the doorway to the library. It had three big windows that formed a half hexagon on each side of the room and huge bookshelves covered the other two walls. In the middle, were two upholstered chairs with carved wooden arms on either side of a low table. Two large crystal paperweights sat on the tabletop, one pink, and one green. Beside them was a picture book about herbs.

            Zahra examined the crystals and then pulled several random books from the shelves. She turned on a lamp and began to flip through the first book. It was full of ancient looking charts and dates with cryptic notations written in tight calligraphy. There were full-page illustrations of geometric patterns aligning constellations of stars.

            “The powers of nature are most magnified during the equinox and solstice dates,” Zahra read aloud. She furrowed her brow. She knew what an equinox was. It was when day and night were exactly the same length. It happens twice a year, once in spring, and once in fall. The solstices were the two days when the length of the day and night were the most different. The longest day was the summer solstice and the longest night was the winter solstice. “Boring,” Zahra huffed, and tossed the heavy book onto the floor with a loud thump.

            What are you doing in there?!” her mother yelled.

            “Reading!” Zahra yelled back.

            “Oh good.”

            The next book was full of chemical equations. There was a periodic table of the elements. The first chapter was titled: States of Matter. “Total nerd stuff,” Zahra grumped, and “thunk!” The book went down with the last one.

            “Will you stop banging around!” her mother bellowed.

            Zahra picked up the third book and immediately froze. The sensation she had felt earlier on the front porch came back to her in a wave. It was much stronger now. It felt like she was on the edge of something astounding. It took her breath away. The book seemed to hum with a subtle but powerful vibration. “Elf Magic,” Zahra read, softly running her hand over the title imprinted into the careworn leather cover. The leather was darker along the edge where Zahra placed her fingers to open the book, evidence that it had been opened many, many, times in the past.

When she flipped the heavy volume open, she was startled by a large, pure white, moth fluttering out. She carefully ran her fingers over the smooth pages. There was no indentation, no place at all, for the creature to have hidden. To make matters more curious, the moth didn’t fly up and flutter frantically about the light as most moths would do. Instead, it settled on the opposite armchair and stared at her with black faceted eyes and began slowly waiving its feathery antennae. She was momentarily entranced, eyes wide, staring at the undulating antennae.

“I’m just wigging out,” she told herself, wrestling her gaze from the oddly hypnotic insect and opening the ancient book. The language was barely decipherable, but from what she could tell, it was a book of spells. “Phase Shifting,” Zahra read and shivered. She quickly thumbed through more pages. “Object Mending, Illusion, Impermanation, Death…” A sudden fright took over her. She slammed the book shut and the moth fluttered up to the space from where it had been removed. Obediently, Zahra put it back. “I’m tired,” she told herself, “I’m just freaking out.” She looked back at the shelf and the moth was gone.