Page 23 of Stalked

I must be dreaming.

You know when you’re dreaming.

I looked back up at him. “If magic was real, and I’m a witch. How do you know? I’ve never seen you before in my life.”

Caleb smiled. “There isn’t anything that stood out to you as odd? Has there been anything you can do that no one else could at any point in your life?”

I thought back to my childhood. Memories that I’d often convince myself were just dreams. How I would often be called a liar for saying weird things that happened, as none of my friends believed me.

Why would they?

I swallowed. “I was never sick. Ever. I … I saw nature move when I wanted it to, if that makes sense. Trees seemed to shift when I’d shift. Branches reached out to me like they were trying to touch my hand.” I shook my head. “A child’s imagination. That’s all I believed it was. All the kids thought I was a fucking weirdo.” I looked up. “I never a saw a green glow shooting out of my fingers, though.”

Caleb, whose eyes were now full of hope, motioned for me to continue.

I sighed. “There were times, however, that I’d feel this energy in my body whenever I’d get upset. It wasn’t adrenaline, though, or even anxiety. As a kid, I would play make-believe that I was a witch and had these crazy powers whenever I felt them, but the feelings would quickly fade.” I looked up, studying his response in the dim light of my room. “I guess that was my mom’s doing?”

Caleb gave me a subtle nod.

“When I got older,” I continued, “my mom told me about my ancestors, how we were descendants of some of the accused in Salem, but she told me they weren’trealwitches. That magic and witchcraft were made-up, and our ancestors were only innocent victims of a brutal witch hunt. I watched Lily embrace our alleged ancestral practices, but none of it made sense to me. A part of me wanted to believe it was all real. I tried to deny it because it scared me.” I let the realization wash over me; the truth of what I felt all these years. We locked eyes.

“I really am a witch, aren’t I?”

He smiled and gestured to the bench I was sitting on. “May I?”

I didn’t say yes, but I moved over a few inches, allowing him to sit. Caleb leaned back against the bay window, keeping his eyes on mine. “I know this is a lot of information to take in at once, but you need to know where you come from, Mercy, and accept who you are.”

I looked at him quizzically. “I’m listening.”

Instantly, I regretted those words as he smirked. “Well, you already know the answer; you just don’t remember.”

I stared at him intently. Where had all my fear gone? Every second he was next to me, the calmer I felt.

Why?

I sighed. “Tell me.”

A small smile grew on Caleb’s face. “I’m going to share with you a story,” he said, “about five special children born in 1671 in Salem, Massachusetts.”

I lowered my brow. “My ancestors?”

“Not exactly.”

Curiosity crossed my face.

“Your mom was right about one thing. Many of those accused during the trials were innocent of magic. The church back then pointed their finger at anyone deemed different. However, some families held that power and tried their best to protect them.

“The five families I speak of were each blessed with a child. The children were born with gifts to help actual witches with their magic.”

He brought his hand to my neckline. I flinched. He kept his hand steady, and I glanced at his eyes, which were focused on my necklace. I realized what he was going to do and relaxed, letting him grab the jet stone dangling from the chain. Lily had told me it was a symbol of my heritage. The pentagram represented the five elements: earth, water, fire, air, and spirit.

He rubbed the symbol gingerly with his thumb and said, “You were so powerful back then, and it pained you to see the blood spilled that night and not being able to protect them.”

It took me a moment to realize what he was implying. “You’re lying,” I snapped.

“I have no reason to lie to you,” he said and tried to reach for my cheek, but I scooted away.

Caleb pulled his hand back, averting his eyes from mine as if he were hiding that my rejection hurt him. “We were both born on May 2nd, 1671,” he said, looking back up. “Our mission was to become warriors. We were called the Chosen Ones. After we had turned ten years old, we formed our own coven. Eleven years later, we would go through a ritual, which was called an Awakening.”

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