Legacies

I. How Could I Let This Happen? (Andréa)

I plopped myself down on my sofa and stared blankly in disbelief. My head was reeling, I felt nauseated, like how I felt after I downed a tub of chocolate caramel ice cream without my lactose intolerance medication. One question repeated over and over in my mind like a broken record I'd heard on my mam's old Pink Floyd ones she loved so much: How did this happen?

I couldn't help but think of how only a week ago, my mam and I sat in this very flat, on this very lumpy couch, eating Chinese from our favourite takeaway place down the street in our laps as we watched 'Young Frankenstein' for the umpteenth time. Me silently mouthing the words since I had the entire film memorised since I was ten. My mam beaming with pride. Laughing at all the appropriate place and some of the inappropriate ones as well because I had a twisted sense of humour. Something I inherited from her.

We thought we had all the time in the world, we didn't worry about the fact that one of us forgot to turn on the immersion heater again because apparently Ireland's different from the rest of the world when it comes to hot water or that the crazy amount of bills piling up around us. We were happy, at least for that time. Though we didn't have much. Just an over-protective and loyal dog, off-white walls littered with old photographs of us through the years, two bedrooms, one neat and clean, one looking like a nuclear bomb went off. Clothes lied everywhere, papers from school on the bed, knitting needles by a pillow with a bunch of blankets that blocked my wardrobe. The was a kitchenette that doubled as the dining room where the two of us would usually eat all our meals. Except on the days when she had to work and I was left on my own for hours on end. Papers covered the circular wooden table that could only seat three people. A mixture of bills, reminders, and paperwork from St Anne's Catholic School. A shower that hardly ever worked or a toilet that one of us had to plunge at least once a day. We were happy. We didn't have much, but we had each other. That's all that mattered to us.

I listened to the sound of rain come down on the outside of my building, the torrential downpour seeming to match the atmosphere of the flat. Four white walls hung with photos of my mam and me through the years. I sat on the couch, my head in my hands. These photos and the memories we made together in the seventeen years I'd known her were all I had left of my mother now. I was doing my best to not break down sobbing. I was seventeen, not seven. I was almost an adult, almost old enough to drink, almost old enough to vote. Throwing a temper tantrum wasn't appropriate for someone my age. I had to pull myself together. I had to be strong, she wouldn't've wanted me to act like a baby because she died.

I shivered and looked down at my body. I was beaten and bruised beyond belief, black and blue marks peppered my pale skin. A handprint was obviously visible on my left forearm. I had no clue what I was planning on doing with that. I might be able to cover it with foundation and concealer. Being iron deficient, I knew my bruises would take longer to heal than my friends, who looked just as shaken-up as I was.

Connor Doyle was passed out cold on the floor. The moment we arrived back at the flat, he collapsed from pure exhaustion, not even managing to make it to a sofa. He looked almost angelic with his curly blond hair, pale skin, and freckles. Saoirse McGill stared hollowly at the photos, looking at them but not really at them. Staring into the void of thoughts and memories she had of her own parents. The faerie was just as shaken-up as the rest of us, perhaps even more so than she was letting on. Her pointed nose, pointy ears, small lips, and delicate features were only accented by the light of the setting sun. Saoirse glided gracefully to a separate chair and took a seat. It seemed that everything she did was graceful and elegant.

Louis Dobrik shivered. The poor guy was soaking wet, his straight brown hair and olive skin drenched in water. I didn't know how he was managing it without another towel, as he set there bundled up in a ratty old black one Mam and I had for years. He got up from the chair in the kitchen, muttering something that I couldn't figure out, and went into the bathroom, getting water all over the linoleum floor. I heard the shower turn on. I couldn't blame him, but I didn't get up to warn him about how the shower was finicky. I was just too shocked.

Mary Doherty had her back against the wall, her knees picked up to her chest and she was rocking back and forth. Her chocolate brown eyes were filled with sorrow. Her dark black hair was still in its messy braid that she'd put in the day before to keep her hair out of her face. She was muttering to herself about how she would be explaining what happened to her parents. I didn't know what I would do if I was in her shoes. Her parents weren't exactly the understanding type.

Seamus Flynn stared up at the ceiling blankly. He too was trying to wrap his mind around what had happened. His curly hair that was dyed blue but had black at the roots stood up on edge. His green eyes also filled with pain. He stared at the ceiling fan, wondering how and why this had happened. He was trying to make sense of it all.

We were all reeling from the events that had taken place a few hours before. Knowing that we had unleashed a great evil into the world. And now it was up to a ragtime group of teenagers, who just wanted to graduate secondary school alive and relatively unscathed, to save the world from mass destruction. For with her coming back, all might as well be dead. The Apocalypse getting ramped up and ready to go. And even though we all joked that we were ready to die, I, for one, wasn't ready to go. There was still stuff I wanted to do. There was stuff that I wanted to see.

The events of the last week played out in my mind over and over again. I couldn't shake them off. They haunted me, following me around everywhere I went. The painful thoughts and memories refusing to leave my side like a pest or that ex of yours you couldn't shake off.

More muttering came from the bathroom as Louis muttered something about how the shower here sucked. I silently agreed with him on that.

After Louis got out of the shower, he took a seat on the floor and crossed his legs. His face was blotchy and he looked like he'd been crying. The eerie silence wasn't what we were all used to coming here. Usually, my mother would've been smiling at all of them. Offering them some green tea. Those days were long gone now, lost to time and days have gone by.

"What's gonna happen now?" Seamus asked sitting up. The silence had been broken.

Connor was shaken awake, muttering in a way only someone who was woken from a nap would talk, saying: "Coffee? Tea? Biscuits? Food?" After collecting himself he took a seat next to Saoirse, who was hovering slightly above the floor.

"We fix this mess," Mary stated as she stopped rocking and joined the group. "An evil sorceress who is hell-bent on destroying the world and making it her image is now on the loose. We were the ones to let her out, it's us that sends her back to Hell permanently."

"What's gonna happen to me?" I wondered aloud. "My only living relative's..." my voice trailed off. I didn't know how to phrase it. It felt too raw, too real. Like I was in some sort of bad dream and any minute I would wake up and have her still with me, making me American style pancakes for breakfast with bacon.

T'Pow came by my side and took jumped up on the couch. The brown and black Doberman placed her head on my lap, looking up at me with those adoring brown eyes. I was pretty sure she was confused about all that happened as well.

"Is dead?" Saoirse said.

I nodded my head. "Exactly," I responded tears swelling in my blue and sea-green eyes. "She's dead."

There was a knock on the door. I got up from the couch and walked to the door. Standing there was a man with black hair, pale skin, freckles, blue eyes, and a thin body was on the other side. He looked just as defeated as we did. "Come in, Merlin," I whispered.

He embraced me in a hug. "God, Andréa, I'm so sorry."

I started sobbing. "I can't believe she's dead," I sniffled. My voice was breaking. "I can't believe she's dead. She can't be dead, she can't be dead."

This had to be a bad dream. A twisted dream that the depths of my mind pulled from my worst fears. I just couldn't believe she was gone. My mam was gone and at seventeen, I was an orphan. I was now pretty much alone in the world. And I didn't know how I would be able to bounce back like I always did.

But first, to understand what was going on, Dear Reader, let's start from the beginning—a week ago in fact. Right before all Hell broke lose.

This is the story of how I found out that I was the last descendent of Merlin and that I came from a long line of witches. And how I managed to set free one of the most powerful sorceresses or the time. And how I got my own mother killed.

Buckle up, put on your favourite artists, grab a blanked and a cup of tea. Because everything written in these pages is true. And how I wish they weren't.