Witch in Hiding (#1 in the Witches Trilogy) (EDITING)

Twelve: The Curious Incident of the Dog In The Nighttime

Mom has this special recipe, a bread dish Dad taught her. It's one of the only things we still use of his, and only because it's too damn good to let go to waste. Mom won't tell me what's in it, but it's a handmade bread baked with special spices dipped into a thick gravy.

Unfortunately, Mom only cooks it on special occasions, so when I get home from Rae's and find it on the dinner table out of the blue, I know something's wrong.

She waits for me to take four bites before getting into it. "So I bumped into Jess yesterday."

Oh, boy. I stuff another piece of bread into my mouth, hot, spicy and savoury.

Mom takes a bite. "Vinni," she says, in her concerned parent voice. "I know you enjoy your lessons—"

"That's a first."

"—but I'm worried you're putting too much time into this. It's only been two weeks. There's no rush."

There's a brief silence. My neighbour's dog barks outside.

"I could've had longer if you'd told me about this earlier."

"I wanted you to have a normal childhood for as long as possible. What you can do... it attracts a lot of attention. People are very interested in witches."

"All the more I should understand myself!" I exclaim. "That's why I got a death threat, isn't it, because of what I can do. Except I can't do them because you never told me anything!"

"Vinni!" She takes a deep breath. "Your dad did a lot of things wrong. But one thing he was right about was keeping you safe. Magical politics are dirty—you shouldn't be involved, but the moment you go in, you're going to be trapped in the centre of it. You don't have a specific alliance, you're inexperienced; you'll become a pawn in power games before you even realise it, and I don't want that for you!"

"So you're just going to keep me locked up my whole life? Because when has that ever worked?" I sneak out when she grounds me; I break rules. I don't respond well to being cooped up. "Able to do all these amazing things but not do anything with them?"

A car goes by and sets off the dog, barking angrily. Mom seems to be going the same way."You don't have to do anything with them—this isn't a movie! It's life! There are no secret quests or secret organisations—you're just a girl who's way in over her head!"

YIPYIPYIPYIP. I sweep my arm, and we lift off the floor—chairs, table, us and all. The exertion makes my hand shake, but I keep at it. "I'm not a kid anymore. Not one you can keep lying to, to 'protect'. If someone is really trying to kill me, I need to know how to use my powers, to defend myself!"

"Put us down, Vinni!" She snaps. "That's what I contacted Raelynn for, to teach you to control your powers. I didn't think you'd get so... obsessed with it. Every day, Vinni?"

"It's fun. I'm learning." I set us down with a thud. The gravy spills, pooling on the tablecloth. "Why is that a problem?"

"I think you need to take break." Mom says through gritted teeth. "Go out with Jess and the others. Go for karate classes. And for god's sake, do your homework. Your teacher called me, Vinni. She wanted to know if you were all right, because your grades were slipping. What was I supposed to tell her? That you were suddenly a magic junkie?"

"Mom!" Anger courses through me, and a dam bursts—literally. It starts raining. In the kitchen.

Mom stares at me, then at the food, the bread turning to mush in the water. "Stop it."

"Not until you admit that I'm right! That I need this. I've learnt more in the past two weeks than in the past six months. No thanks to you."

"Stop it!"

The rain gets heavier. "I'm not stopping my lessons."

"You're sacrificing everything else for those lessons, you know that?" Mom glares at me. "You might be a witch. But you're not even thirteen, and you're still my daughter. Until you're not, you'll still do what I tell you to! Vera never—" she stops abruptly.

"Of course Vera never argued with you. Vera is perfect. Vera can do everything. I'm not Vera, Mom! Vera's not here. You should've sent me off instead, is that it? Then you could have your normal life with your normal daughter, and all your problems would be far away. Like Dad. Just send away the people you don't want to deal with, right?" I know I've crossed a line—Mom stands up—but everything that's been building inside me, the resentment—at Dad, for leaving, at Mom, for not telling me anything, at Vera, at my friends—it triples and it swells and it pours out of me. "I finally found something that I can do, just me, not Vera, or Dad, or anyone, and you're not letting me do that!"

"STOP IT." Mom finally shouts, and she's standing there in front of the ruined dinner, water pouring over her, over us, the dog still barking out our anger in a punctuated, chaotic rhythm. "You don't know what you're talking about, Vinni, that—"

The dog won't shut up, and it just makes me angrier. "Maybe I don't know what I'm talking about because you won't tell me anything—"

"I had nothing to do with your father leaving, and Vera misses you, and I know you miss her—"

"Stop talking about Vera for one second, why don't you!"

"—you're completely out of line—"

"Are you surprised? I'm the problem, remember, I'm the daughter who's doing everything wrong—"

YIPYIPYIPYIPCRASH.

I jolt. With a clenching feeling in my gut, the rain stops. Mom and I stare at each other, suddenly silent. Voices begin yelling outside.

With a steely, anguished look, Mom tears her eyes away from me and hurries out of the kitchen. After half a beat, I follow, drenched, heart pounding.

Outside is a wreck. A car has gone headfirst into a streetlight. People are yelling, calling for an ambulance, shouting at each other, trying to get the drivers out. It looks like they're alive, they weren't going that fast. Then my neighbour bursts out of the hubbub, shrieking—she runs to a lump in the road, starts shouting at everyone else.

Mom runs forward to help. I absorb the scene with numb detachment.

Then I go back into the house and lock myself in my room.