Starlight

Tomorrow - Maya

Mother is home.

I sigh, trudging up the stairs. I'll have to try summoning him from my bedroom.

Forgetting about Mother's conversation with him isn't possible. I don't know whose words to trust - those of my biological mother, who I've known my entire life, or those of a man whose name I do not know, who may or may not exist.

She didn't speak with me about my being in her chamber. I think she was just irritated that, after all the times she's told me not to enter her room unsupervised, I did just that. Her excuse then had always been that there were elements of darkness I wasn't to interfere with - but now I'm not so sure it is that she's been hiding.

My room consists of a large canopy bed at the very centre, held stable with towering pillars attached to the ceiling, draped with swathes of fine gold and red materials. To the left is a wide window, covered with elaborately woven fabrics in a deep red, to match those of my bed. On the other side is an old-fashioned cream-coloured dresser, complete with a mirror, reflecting back my assortment of vanity products, resting on the open top. Then there is my wardrobe.

My cloak has been pushed to the very back. I breathe in the heady scent of my earthy perfume, combined with the fresh cotton lingering on my clothes, and smile. It reminds me of old times - the old times where I knew without doubt that my mother loved me, when I didn't feel pressured to hide myself away.

At the bottom of my wardrobe are tiny drawers, filled with my wiccan things: candles, books, ingredients - even my own wand.

It is thick from the handling end and thins out into a point, made from the finest polished brown wood. Carved into it are delicate patterns, interlocking swirls and symbols I've never come across before. I wield it with pride, as if I've done this many times - but the truth is I've never even used it.

From the drawer, I also take a bunch of lavender plant and other herbs for cleansing. Closing my eyes briefly, I picture, in my mind, the herb plants catching light. The next thing I know, the smell of lavender clouds my room, a grey smoke tickling my nostrils, making me want to sneeze.

This cleansing ritual is called Smudging. Long ago, Mother taught me of it vaguely, but warned me from doing it. Now I realise this was because it warded away dark energies - which is exactly what she wants.

When the whole room is smudged, I raise the wand. My mother used to have a close friend called Amina, who showed me how to use it, but when Mother learnt of our going behind her back to practice forbidden magic, she - did something to Amina. I can't help feeling sympathy towards her; after all, she was the only person who's ever tried to teach me differently, the only person who's ever considered that, maybe, I want to make my own choices. I create an invisible circle, which is most necessary. (If Mother were to come into my room, she would know straight away that I'd been casting.) I murmur foreign words under my breath. To me, they sound like Old French, but I wouldn't know. When I received my wand on my fifth birthday, rituals and ideas for casting would flood my mind. This is no different.

My candle I take and sit with it, inside my invisible circle. My lids flutter as I ignite a flame magically, feeling the familiar rush of warmth as I do so. I stroke the candle, inhaling deeply the mingling scents of lavender and melting wax.

The seconds pass. It doesn't feel as though I am waiting; instead, I embrace my inner being, the time I have to familiarise myself with my powers.

There is a sudden chill in the air, which I recognise as the shadow man's presence. My eyes open slowly.

"You didn't understand me," he says. In his voice, there is not a trace of the friendliness I have heard before.

"What do you mean?" It seems I am constantly having to ask him this question; he speaks in riddles.

I take from the way his eyes cloud over in distraction that he has dismissed me. "What do you want to know?" he asks instead.

There are lots of things I want to ask him and he's finally giving me the chance to - but I must be wise.

"You spotted me the other night," I say, without even a hint of doubt. If he says anything other than yes, I am prepared to do something, though I've no idea what.

"Yes," he says.

"Is it true? Are you......my father?" I ask softly. Another predictable question, but I need to hear him say it.

"Maya.....," he says. His voice holds a note of warning, though his eyes are gentle.

"Answer the question," I say forcefully, gritting my teeth.

He nods after a second, and I inhale sharply, even though I already knew. My eyes are suddenly on the verge of brimming, but I sniffle loudly in a lousy attempt at preventing the tears.

He glances up. "Don't cry, Maya," he says with all the emotion of the years I have missed him. At those three words, my yearning for a father figure - someone soft, understanding, tolerant of my teenage needs, to counteract my mother - is sated.

Finally.

"Why?" I breathe. Somehow, he knows it is not in response to his soothing.

"She banished me to the Shadows. I knew she had dark magic and planned to take you away somewhere - anywhere - but she found out and cast me off before I could stop her. Maya, you must trust me now."

"Go on," I urge him.

"Your mother, she doesn't just practice dark arts."

I nod. "I thought as much."

"Just - watch over him. James." My mind reels. "What does she want with him, though? I don't understand anything you tell me." On the outside, I appear calm, but only my eyes convey my true feelings. They are wild with confusion. Inside, I am in hysterics.

"You're ready to hear this?"

I don't have to think about it. "I'm ready to hear anything other than lies," I correct him.

His eyes shut. He looks as if it's hurting him. "His mother - Gracie - was a witch - one even more powerful than your own mother. They grew up together as best friends, but started to move further apart from one another from initiation, since your mother was - is - of darkness, and Gracie was of light.

"Gracie met her love and became pregnant, as did your mother with my child-." His words falter and he clasps his hands at his chest before continuing. "As they neared the births, their powers were stronger than ever before.

"They gave birth very close together. Your mother was visited by the head of Coven, an old witch who was known for her physic experiences, who predicted the death of her child by Gracie's hands" - his eyes raise to meet mine - "of you.

"Without me, your mother fled to avoid the prediction, but following fate, Gracie and her family soon found you - unintentionally. However, the outcome had changed. Gracie died in your place. Your mother killed her."

I purse my lips, eyes on the floor. To think, James's mother died instead of me. He never told me.

"You need not continue," I say slowly. "When we moved here 4 years ago, it was to escape - that?"

He nods, but remains silent, seeming to understand the terrible pain - pain for Gracie, pain for James, pain for my mother, pain for my father, and most of all, pain for myself - that has overcome me.

"And that's when your mother was given the title of Dark Witch."

I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to it. "Don't look for me again; it is too dangerous."

I know this is about Mother, but the weight of his words settles in my stomach uneasily.

"Will I ever see you again?" I whisper. Still, he hears.

"I will make sure of it." A smile tugs at his lips, no matter how sad the meaning is. He closes his eyes and his form fades out, like it has before, although this time it is different. It seems to last twice as long, and part of me wants to hang onto him, to know him.

"But I don't know what to do," I say to a now empty room.