Page 3 of Midnight Waters

I ran the chain of my moon pendant I had inherited from my mother between my fingers. London had its unique brand of city vibrance, but it could never compare to the magic of Dusk.

The hospital was the only one on the entire island and stood on the outskirts of Dawn. I hadn’t realised how small it was until I had seen the giant six-storey hospitals back on the mainland. But with magic on hand, very few people needed to stay overnight. Blowing fingers off in magical experiments was par for the course around here.

Dad parked in the parking lot of the hospital and we made our way to the maternity ward.

As we stepped through the double doors into the waiting room, a plethora of faces turned in our direction. The entire Arrowood family consisted of Dad’s sister Sandra, my cousin Isadora, and my dad’s cousins, Keith, Wendy, and their children and spouses.

I couldn’t see Wendy or her husband Ray among the congregation of Arrowoods. Given their daughter, Rose, was giving birth today, perhaps they had joined her in the delivery room.

After today, Rose’s husband would join the rest of us Arrowoods embroiled in the curse. The moment anyone had a genetic connection to the Arrowood family, their lives were also forfeit. I didn’t understand how anyone made peace with purposefully drawing themselves into this forsaken curse. Still, neither the Arrowoods nor the Everharts would exist without people willing to take the risk.

My aunt Sandra rose from her seat, a smile on her face but tears in her eyes. I hadn’t seen her since leaving Dusk four years ago.

Originally a blonde, she had more silver in her hair these days and more lines around her eyes than I remembered.

“You’ve changed your hair,” Sandra said, patting my head as she hugged me.

Her maroon scrubs scratched my chin in mid-hug. She worked in the magical department upstairs and dealt with backfired spells and potions. Some of the horror stories she used to tell me over dinner had my eight-year-old jaw dropping.

I decided not to answer her as we broke apart. Maybe I had been away so long that people had forgotten what I looked like.

“Any news?” Dad slipped his phone out of his pocket to check the time.

“Five centimeters dilated last we heard.” Keith paced back and forth, his hands clasped behind his back.

The slivers of hair that ran along the sides of his head had gone, but plenty sprouted out of his ears. Keith had a quick temper and no filter, which had gotten him into more than enough trouble in the past. His wife, Lola, who sat hunched and dazed at the end of the row, never had any success in reeling him in, and their son was always at Keith’s back.

I only hoped we didn’t have to worry about Keith’s behaviour when the worst happened.

Sandra placed a hand on my back and guided me into a seat. “It could be a few hours. Best we get comfortable.”

Dad took a seat next to me and clasped his hands on top of his stomach, watching his thumbs as he twiddled them.

Sandra wrapped a tight arm around Isadora, who held a tissue to her face. Dozens of tear tracks marred her skin, and her eyes looked raw.

I tilted my head over the back of my seat. This was going to be a long few hours.

“I couldn’t believe my eyes. The most disobedient and rude group I had ever taken scuba diving, and they gave me a one-star review!” Dad threw his hands in the air. “Some days I wonder why I even put the company on those tourist review sites.”

I popped another potato chip into my mouth. There were worse last meals if this was the final thing I ever ate.

Dad owned the only scuba diving business on Dusk, but it didn’t hurt to have an internet presence. Without me, he would still be handing out leaflets on the street.

“Because more people will find the company on those sites than leave you bad reviews,” I said. “Everyone gets them.”

“There should be a site where I can review my customers.” Dad folded his arms, his bottom lip jutting out a little.

I smiled around the next potato chip. If such a site existed, I couldn’t let him find it.

The inconsequential chatter made for a great distraction; it kept the thoughts of imminent death of myself or a family member at bay.

“How’s Sammie and Flora?” I asked.

“Sammie hasn’t changed,” Dad said. “He’s still addicted to fetch. In fact, he plowed headfirst into a fence chasing a ball last week.”

I snorted. Our eight-year-old collie wouldn’t let anything stop him from getting his ball.

“I have to admit, I don’t know how Flora is,” he added. “She doesn’t give me many signals.”

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