Page 2 of Spelled By Truth and Tresses

With a final gasp, my hands scraped against the sheet and my eyes flung open. As I moved the rest of my arm, turning myself onto my side, the heaviness over my body evaporated. I gazed at my black nightstand, and the leather-bound book laying open in the center. With the onslaught of oceans of dreams, the false awakenings and paralysis, the lines between fantasy and reality are blurred.

To make sure I wasn't dreaming, I dug my nail into the sensitive skin of my wrist and let out a sharp hiss.

After wiping the sweat off my forehead, I sat upright, catching my breath.

“Zellie?” My mother’s grating voice echoed up the stairs and into my ears.

I rubbed my eyes, and spotted my black, leather backpack emblazoned with a rose held by ghostly fingers.

My heart ballooned, the memory of the dream forgotten, as the day finally arrived when I could leave the house.

I jumped out of the bed, then grabbed the spools of golden hair, weaving the strands into a braid that hung over my shoulder, reaching my hips.

“Zellie!” I jolted as her screech deepened and quickly grabbed my robe.

I hoped she hadn’t changed her mind.

The heavy door creaked as I pulled down the ornate silver handle and carefully opened it. She always unlocked it when she woke up, which was always before me. It gave an illusion of freedom, I supposed, except the sound of the key turning in the lock each evening attributed to my nightmares. Still, after all these years, she didn’t quite trust me.

My bare feet hit the cold, winding staircase of our two-story, Victorian home. The musky scent of lilies hung in the air when I reached the foyer, and I noticed the fresh bouquet sitting in a vase on the half-moon table. The whites of the flowers, a contrast against the wallpapered, dark-red walls.

Slowly, I walked into the kitchen, tightening the knot on my bathrobe.

Mother was standing by the counter tapping her long fingernails on the granite. Her tired eyes latched onto me the moment I crossed the threshold. She tilted her head, running her hand over her thick black curls that she pulled into a tight bun. With a roll of her gray eyes, she shook her head. “Why must you insist on not responding immediately?” Her hand slid over her chest. “You cause me so much anxiety, Zellie.”

I cleared my throat, my eyes widening as I evaluated her mood from each movement. But she shook her head again, then tsked under her breath.

“Sorry, Mother,” I said, not wanting to argue this morning. Not if it meant her revoking my returning to the academy. Although we both knew why she was allowing it. I was an adult, and keeping me locked away, with my powers growing, wasn’t an option for her anymore. I was no longer a small child she could handle, so the physical restraints had turned into mental games.

She had no choice but to agree to many of my requests, but her main weapon was fear. Unfortunately, she wasn’t lying. I was a risk, to most people. Sirens were dangerous. I was the only one at the academy, most of whom were witches, and my beauty and compulsion could evoke the deadliest obsessions in most. Fortunately, I was half human, so those particular powers were diluted enough that I could still finish my final year and master the powers I was yet to harness.

“Do you remember what I told you?” she asked as she turned her back to me, brewing a pot of coffee. The powerful smell hugged the kitchen, and I breathed in the evocative aroma.

I nodded, although she couldn’t see me. “I will be home immediately after school. I won’t let anyone touch my hair, and I will call you if anything bad happens.”

Her sigh tightened the anxiety in my chest. Finally, she turned to face me, her thin, pink lips pulled into a hard line. “Do not let anyone take advantage of your powers. They’ll try, you know.”

“I know,” I admitted. “But last year was okay. Besides, Lalita will be with me.”

She glanced up at the ceiling, tilting her head, lost in a thought I could not read. “Yes. But cannot trust her fully. Don’t trust anyone!”

“I know.”

She poured the coffee into a large mug, then handed it to me. “Now, get dressed and cover your arms lest you want people to know of our rituals.”

I nodded, then turned while I still could, and hurried back up the stairs to get ready. Once I was back in my room, surrounded by antique furniture, softened by throw pillows and various dark blankets, I sipped my coffee, a small smile building on my lips.

I got my love of coffee habit from her, but that’s one of the very few things we had in common. Especially physically. I inherited a lot of my dad’s genes. My deep, blue eyes, a trait of any siren, or half siren. The pale skin, sharp features, and golden hair were a mirror image of him, but my style was all my own.

Laden, gothic pieces hung in my wardrobe, untouched since I was last at the academy. I grabbed a lacy, black top with long sleeves to cover the scars inflicted by my mother, then completed the look with a pleated, dark gray skirt, a scarf, jacket, and stockings. Lastly, I applied my crimson lipstick and some light mascara.

The final dregs of coffee slipped down my throat, and I threw on my backpack and hurried to the door.

I hadn’t spoken to anyone all summer, and while I was desperate to return to the academy, I couldn’t stop the trembling in my hands or shallow breaths. Because no matter how good it would feel to be back in society, everyone knew about the mystery surrounding my dad’s death. I hovered by the front door. Surely, they’d ask me about it, but I knew as much as the newspapers did in our small town of Crimson Leaf. He was found dead in the forest, and they couldn’t decide if it was suicide or homicide. The investigation was still ongoing, although the updates had become far less frequent. Yet, my powers swirled like a storm inside of me, unlike ever before, and my mind was slowly fracturing.

A part of me couldn’t help but wonder if my dad was so overwhelmed by his magic that he had ended it all. I hated the idea that he would willingly leave us — leave me. I wanted to believe he was murdered, as morbid as the thought was. It was better than him killing himself. Because if his fate ended so darkly, then surely mine would too? We were both descendants of the same, terrifyingly mad creatures after all.

CHAPTER 2

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