Chapter 1
The gray sky foretold the coming storm. Raindrops soaked her skin and drenched the black dress as she stood before the freshly dug grave.
Kai was beside her. In fact, he was everywhere lately, whether she wanted him to be or not. It was annoying for her, and probably for him too — not that she cared. It had been a year since they had gone their separate ways across the nation: he was a Shadow, and she was an Occultist. There was no synergy between their dynasties. Not anymore.
Penelope stepped out from under the umbrella he held, walking as quickly as was appropriate for a funeral — though, in truth, she wanted to run. Run far from the rain, the graves, the black clothes, and especially from Kai.
She was a great witch. Cassandra, that is. And an even better mother. It had come as a surprise to everyone when news of her death arrived — found in her room at Belmont Castle with sheets wrapped around her neck. She hadn’t left anything behind, except her children.
No one had any idea why.
Walking hurriedly, Penelope found herself at the edge of the property, trees dripping rainwater and the earth beneath her feet muddy and slick. Still, she didn’t mind, pushing her way between them. Her mind was clouded — she had no idea what she was doing or where she was going.
At some point during her walk, her shoes had been left behind. Now her feet were cold and muddy, just like her dress, and in her soaked hair were tiny leaves and twigs. The commotion of the funeral was no longer heard — only the sounds of the forest.
She could hear the wind beating against the trees, the rain falling violently, and the sound of water flowing through the narrow river ahead of her. For a moment, Penelope thought she saw her mother atop the lowest tree, lying on the branches. If she focused more on her emotions and memories, Cassandra was everywhere: in the trees, dipping her feet in the river’s current, at the base of the weeping willow in her garden… Not that it existed anymore.
Everything seemed to have changed into something she couldn’t understand or grasp. The days since her mother’s death passed far too slowly. People rushed about with funeral preparations, and she was losing track of everything. At first, she locked herself in her room without even seeing her siblings’ faces. Her mother — dear mom — was dead. She would never see her again, never hear her voice or feel her embrace. But she would remember. Remember her features, her playful and sometimes stern voice, and the comfort of her hugs.
Penelope stopped in front of a tree. She wanted to disappear, wished there was a hole she could escape through to another world. Wonderland, maybe. Oh, she’d definitely follow the white rabbit in her current state. But there was nothing like that — only pain and the need to run again, even farther.
She climbed the tree to the top, to see the sky. The sun was setting, and the orange hues calmed her for a moment. Her mother loved sunsets. And the color orange. The rain, now a drizzle, snaked down her arms and the leaves of the tree. Up there, Penelope felt like nothing could ruin her mood.
The end is only a new beginning.
That was her mother’s saying when Penelope woke up with a weight in her chest, screaming for her mom, scared she might have gone.
“You’re daydreaming,” a familiar voice said.
“Cesare, I want to be alone,” she replied to her older brother.
“We all do,” he muttered. “But we have a funeral to attend.”
Penelope climbed down a third of the tree and stared at her brother.
“Dad’s already here…” he continued calmly, as if none of this affected him.
From the waist up, he scanned his little sister’s appearance. Destroyed. All the effort to get her ready had been in vain. Her red hair was tangled with twigs and leaves, her dress soaked with a muddy hem, and her feet caked in earth.
“Where are your shoes?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Penelope…”
“I don’t know!” she snapped. “I lost them on the way.”
Cesare stepped toward the tree and held out his arms.
“Jump. I’ll catch you.”
Penelope rolled her eyes and jumped. He caught her, as promised. He always did. Setting her down, he held her shoulders, studying her more closely.
Their father would hate seeing her like this. And Jeremy would have a nervous breakdown. He always did when it came to his only — and therefore favorite — sister.
Together, they walked to their grandparents’ country house, where most of their mother’s childhood had been spent. Her ashes would be kept there.
Claude was already at the door, standing in his usual rigid posture. Guards were posted everywhere, watching everything and everyone; always acting imposing and loyal.
Penelope passed them without saying a word, not even to her father, heading straight to the large living room. Claude watched her small frame walk upright and determined, a glow in her eyes.
All the guests were there — family and friends — to say their final goodbye. Penelope pretended not to hear the whispers or see the stares as she passed through the white wooden doors; she knew full well how she looked and the rumors that would spread the moment she chose not to change clothes. Claude followed shortly, beginning the ceremony. His speech was cold, nothing like the man who had once loved Cassandra — or at least claimed to. Her eldest son Cesare went next, and then it was Penelope’s turn, before Jeremy.
Cesare didn’t say much, nor did he cry. He kept his head high and focused on speaking kind words about their mother, recalling her accomplishments. Penelope barely spoke. In fact, it looked like she wasn’t even breathing. With her muddy dress and bare feet, messy hair, and dead eyes, she simply recited a poem in the ancient language of the witches:
I am the sea, I am the trees and skies My body belongs to the earth, my soul to the stars New lives will come, new people I’ll be You can’t catch me now, nor see But I’m in the trees and in the breeze I’m in the fire and the waterfalls Do not cry and mourn at my grave For I am not there. I did not die.
Jeremy was the last of the siblings, the youngest at just fifteen. He didn’t say much, but gifted everyone with his beautiful voice, singing the song their mother always asked for.
The loss was suffocating. A mother doesn’t abandon her children. Never. A mother is meant to care, protect, and teach. What would she teach them now, dead? How would Cesare become a better man — less of a womanizer — without her support and scoldings? How would Jeremy learn to enjoy magic if it only reminded him their mother was buried six feet under?
Penelope couldn’t break down. Not again. Her father wasn’t an option, Cesare was a man, and so was Jeremy. She would be the new matriarch. She’d hold everything together, teach Jeremy, and get Cesare back on track.
Her aunts were married, they couldn’t give more support than they already did. And her grandparents? They were old. Raising grandchildren shouldn’t be their concern anymore. Penelope was now nineteen. She would be the one to take care of the family.
No more running away, no more fleeing into the woods, no more disappearing in the night — and above all, no more showing weakness.
When the ceremony ended, the guests left, including her father. Penelope sent Jeremy to shower and sat in her mother’s favorite chair, her bare feet resting on it. Cesare followed and sat on the dark oak coffee table in front of her.
“You don’t have to…” he began.
“You think I can’t?” Penelope’s voice came out hoarse, a few tones lower than expected.
“You can,” Cesare sighed. “God, you’re more than capable.”
“Exactly,” she replied. “I can and I will. I just need some time.”
Cesare nodded, not getting up. They stayed there, staring at some random point in the house. Night was falling, Jeremy came down with wet hair, only to be sent back up to dry it. Cesare was next to be sent for a bath.
Penelope took advantage of her brothers’ absence for a moment alone. She lit the fireplace with a small spark from her index finger, which turned into an uncontrolled flame and ignited the stacked wood. Her eyes reflected the fire as she stared, wrapped in her own dress.
Truthfully, she didn’t know what she was doing. Didn’t know where to start, if she even wanted to start, or if she ever would. She wasn’t religious, but liked to think her mother was in a better place — perhaps a field of daisies, where the sun never set. None of her brothers came down again. Alone with her thoughts, she went upstairs to the bathroom in Cassandra’s old room, filling the tub with hot water. She removed her muddy dress, letting it fall on the brown marble floor, and sank into the water, hoping it would drown her pain.
That was her farewell. A goodbye to Penelope, the average young witch who liked to cause trouble and nap in the garden. A goodbye to the memory of her mother — and her own. From that moment on, Penelope would be recognized as the head of the family. The matriarch, like all the generations of witches before her and all those yet to come.
Rising, she sat hugging her knees until the water turned cold. Still, none of her brothers came to check on her. She had to handle everything alone, no matter how much they wanted to help.
