TIME AFTER TIME

octo.

EIGHT:

"The Boy From the Vision"

SALEM.

"What are you interviewing for again?" Scarlet asks, mouth full of the French toast Bree had made earlier this morning. My fiery sister slept in and begged our sister to make another batch so she could taste it fresh. Bree always made it a habit to bake at our home in the human realm, whether it was habitual or instinct, I wasn't sure. We finally finished the leftovers from Thanksgiving which meant no more turkey and sweet potatoes for breakfast.

I'm looking in the mirror above the hallway table where we throw our mail, keys, and just about everything - loose change, Bobby pins, condoms, chapstick - from our pockets when we get home. My eyes look at my purple blazer and then go to wavy hair. I washed it the night before so my curls look bigger but I'm worried they shield my face so I dig through the bowl for an accessory that could tie back my angry mane. "It's for the residency program at Genoa Gallery, I sent them my portfolio and they said they loved it so now is the face-to-face interview." I had a website and had written a few papers on art history but this would be my residency program with a stipend along with other resources.

"I thought you wanted to paint for galleries, not work in one," Scarlet assumes, scratching her short curls that seemed to be growing more and more each day. I didn't have time to explain the specifics of what an artist residency program was to Scarlet because I was still looking for something to tie my hair up with.

Bree emerged from the kitchen, a plate of more French toast stacked beside strawberries in one hand and a small pitcher of maple syrup in the other. Her relaxed expression paired well with the warm morning light. "She can do both, Scar," she sets the plate down and gives our sister a pointed look, "Seriously, this is the last plate I'm making."

I find a clip near the bottom of the bowl and pull my hair out of my face as Scarlet rubs her palms together, excitedly staring at the plate in front of her. "Right, because Salem is great at doing both of everything," she takes the top two pieces of French toast and sets them on her plate, "Being a witch... Playing human."

I cut my eyes at her and stride into the dining room, taking the strawberry off her plate before she can eat it, "I'm not playing anything," I chew on the piece of fruit bitterly. I knew Scarlet felt hostility towards my decision to keep the house. Since Mom was gone, keeping the house meant making money to pay bills. That meant Bree getting a part time at a local bakery and me selling paintings that were collecting dust in the attic. It meant making new art so that each month I would sell at least one so that we had enough to pay bills. Whatever it meant to keep life as normal as possible for Mom's return, we would do it. Before I can remind her of this, the phone in the hallway rings so I tell her, "I'm balancing. You should try it, Miss Daughter of Oasis."

"We don't have to choose between lifestyles," Bree plays mediator while taking two pieces of French toast for herself, "We can have both."

"But we have to do it together," Scarlet mimics my words that feel like ages ago. I had said the same thing when we chose to live here, and our amazing aunt supported our decision to stick together and live together both in the human realm and Oasis where we journeyed to our studies and training. I ignore Scarlet's jab at me and go to answer the phone. It's Romeo. He was casting from Oasis to call us in the human realm, a ritual we adopted from other wind witches who made long distance calls to other covens.