Damn London and its constantly overcast skies! The one time Andrea didn’t bring an umbrella, the skies decide to deliver the largest rainstorm London has seen in years. Zeus must be pissed at her, or fighting with his brothers again, today of all days.
First, she should probably explain something: London is weird. They have weird curses, they have weird weather, and they have weird food. As if messing with their voices wasn't bad enough. Everyone had a bloody British accent, and was 'ever so polite.' Only two years in London had given Andrea a British accent, not a very strong one, of course, but it was noticeable. The magic that had kept Andrea from aging at the Spa had slowly faded, so now she was about the equivalent age of eleven. The remainder would fade within the next month or so, and she would age like a normal person.
This wasn't the only time she had been caught unawares by the weather. Two months ago there was that freak miniature hurricane. Today, Andrea felt like Zeus was trying to make her life miserable. She sincerely hoped not. Having a god watch over you can be helpful, but if it was Zeus, she would rather take her chances by herself. He had never liked her father much and certainly didn't care for her. Truthfully, Andrea was thankful. Athena had gotten along with her father the best—she had been his patron goddess after all—but the gods were less active in England, or anywhere else that wasn't the Americas or their personal house or whatever for that matter.
Completely soaked, she stomped into the hotel building she had called home for the past year. The butler, Jorgenson, smirked at her.
"Now, it's a bit wet out there, Miss. Didn't you think to bring an umbrella?" he asked innocently, with a devilish smirk that ruined the whole picture of innocence.
"Nonsense, Jorge. I just went out for a bit of a walk. Fine weather we're having today isn't it?" she replied cheerfully and trudged up the many stairs to reach the penthouse. She was halfway up the fourth flight when she remembered: the mail! Muttering curses under her breath in Ancient Greek, English, and several other languages that had long since been forgotten.
Sputing curses on how this had to be the one building in all of London that didn't have a freakin' elevator, and how Gran just had to get the apartment penthouse on the top floor; Andrea retrieved the mail and paused to think if there was something else she had forgotten. If she had she would remember later, probably in the middle of the night just when she was about to fall asleep. Then it would keep her awake until she did something about it. Andrea sighed.
As she walked up the steps again, she started to sort through the mail: a bill, another bill, Gramps' magazine, Gran's newspaper, bill, hello, what's this? She held a thick envelope addressed to her in brilliant emerald green ink.
Miss A. De Luca
Notting Hill Penthouse
Guest Room
London, England
What in the world? Was this some kind of prank? Carefully, she opened the envelope and pulled out a letter made out of the same thick parchment paper.
The letter began:
Dear Miss De Luca,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Minerva McGonagall,
Deputy Headmistress
Hogwarts? Andrea actually laughed out loud. What a ridiculous name, a school named after a pig’s acne! Witchcraft and Wizardry? Andrea stopped laughing immediately and gaped at the paper.
Somebody must know her secret, she realized, and started to panic. Hold on, Andrea thought reasonably, I haven't done any magic since I had arrived in London over two years ago.
Andrea knew she needed to get up to her room as fast as she could possibly could. Glancing around guiltily, she concentrated on the hallway right outside their penthouse room hoping that no one was there. A second later, she was standing outside the apartment gasping for breath.
“Wow,” she panted, resting her arm on the wall. “I am really out of practice.” Andrea leaned against the wall for a moment to catch her breath. As she was about to unlock the door she heard loud voices arguing through the walls and paused to listen.
“She has to know what she’s up against!” Gramps shouted.
“She doesn’t need that kind of responsibility yet!” Gran yelled back. “Let her enjoy her childhood while it lasts!”
“In case you haven’t noticed, she hasn’t exactly been a child for nearly two thousand years! She’ll be safe there.”
“Well—“ Gran broke off, as a sob escaped. “I—I don’t want to admit she’s growing up. I don’t want her to get hurt. I don’t want to let her go now—we just got her.”
Andrea decided this was as good an entry point as any, so she put her key in the lock and turned it noisily to alert them that she was there. As predicted, the quarrelling ceased immediately.
As she set her sopping school bag in the hall Gran’s head appeared around the wall from the living room.
“Andrea, we need to talk,” she said seriously, without any of her usual cheeriness. Andrea followed her into the parlor and sat down on the leather chair opposite her and Gramps, still holding the mail in her hand.
Gran sat down and looked over to Gramps, as if she didn’t know how to start. Gramps nodded, “Just tell her Iz.”
Gran sighed.
Andrea couldn’t stand the silence anymore so she asked: “So, tell me what, exactly?”
Gran sighed, “I am your grandmother, Andrea. Your real grandmother,” she said as her body flickered, then changed into a younger dark haired woman that looked a lot like her mother. She had the same dark hair and deep brown eyes, but there were two ghostly figures at her side, one on the left, the other on the right. It was like looking at her through a bubble or a thick piece of glass. She smiled at her granddaughter, her eyes twinkling in the same way Gran’s did, as if to reassure Andrea that it was in fact, still Gran in that body.
“So that would make you—“
“Hecate,” Gran finished, her voice echoing as if the two figures themselves were speaking with her. “Goddess of Crossroads and Magic.”
....................................................................................................
I am really feeling too lazy to write an author's note . . . sorry.
-Skyy
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The Witch's Daughter: Book 1| The Sea of Stone
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