Southern Charms

Surprised

After Willow's shocking admission, she went home to change clothes, promising we'd meet up later in the evening. I remained in my room until I was certain everyone had gone back to sleep or left the house. With the protection charm around my neck, I didn't need to avoid Harmony, but I wasn't in the mood for round two. Which, truthfully, shocked the hell out of me. I'd spent years wishing to face my sister on equal footing.

Halfway across the dining room, I paused as a rustling sound reached my ears. Someone was in the kitchen leaving me with two options- soldiering on or backing up. With a shaky breath, I stepped back. Once. Twice. Nearly to the foyer.

"Hey pumpkin," my father greeted me, popping his head through the door between the kitchen and dining room.

"Dad," I said, grabbing my throat as I jumped, "you just scared the bejesus outta me."

He smiled around a mouthful of cereal, milk dripping from the spoonful held aloft over the bowl he carried. My surprise turned to concern as I studied him. With a strong, square jaw, straight nose, and cerulean eyes, Basil Wych was thought to be quite handsome. Even Clemmy would admit as much, though she often muttered he was too handsome for his own good. Right before she transformed him into a rat.

He went about in a constant state of dishevelment, but it usually toed the line of absent minded professor. Today, his button up was stained and stretched over a belly I couldn't remember being so round, his socks didn't match, and his blond hair, normally short and thick, was thinning and curling around the collar of his shirt. The whites of his eyes were shot through with red streaks, and the skin beneath them was a muddy purple.

"You okay, Daddy?"

"Sure thing, pumpkin. Just hungry and tired."

Accepting his hug, I inhaled deeply. He still smelled like my father- tobacco and mint, though it was somewhat muffled by a sour body odor. Letting go, I fixed a bowl of cereal for myself and joined him at the dining room table.

"Did you sleep on the porch again?" He'd not been there when I went to bed, but most Mabon festivities would've been in full swing at the time.

"Yeah, ran into Clemmy last night at the Barry's. Alma was busy checking on Remy."

"What did you do this time?"

"Do I have to do anything?"

We laughed together. "No, I guess you don't."

Dad looked into his cereal bowl, lines forming on his forehead as he stirred the pink milk with his spoon. He was thinking awful hard or working up the courage to say something. Either way, I knew better than to push him. Rushing Daddy was the quickest way to slow him down.

"You been alright, pumpkin? School going good?"

"Yes, sir. Except for math, but I still have time to bring up the grade."

"Good, good. That's good."

"How's Mabon? Outside of being turned into a rat?"

"It's Mabon," he said, scratching his chin. "Sometimes I feel like we've lost sight of what the festival is all about. Giving thanks and giving back."

Having never participated in any of the rituals or attended any of the parties, I didn't have anything to say. Most of my knowledge came from indirect sources, overheard conversations. When the other witchlings and young warlocks went to school at the Francis Barrett Academy of Witchcraft, I went off to St. Augustine's Preparatory School for Girls. While Willow learned the histories of the supernatural world, I learned about the Revolutionary War. While she learned which parts of a toad to use in a healing elixir, I dissected frogs and cataloged their organs in Biology.