One afternoon when I was 10 years old, my mom took me and my sister Celia aside and told us that we were witches. I remember it coming as quite a shock to Celia, but I was fairly unfazed; I had always felt that there was something unusual about our family. For one, there was the nature of our birth. Mom told us that same afternoon that me and Celia had been immaculately conceived exactly a year apart from one another. If you’re curious, our shared birthday is May 22. We both think she told us that so we wouldn’t have to learn about whoever our father was, but we always knew better than to push it. If she felt the need to jump through all these hoops to ensure we never met, maybe there was good reason. At any rate, it never really affected our family much.

          Mom also told us that although she had mastered witchcraft for the sake of preserving the art, she would not be teaching it to us, claiming that she wants to keep us safe from those who would persecute witches. It made sense at the time, but the more I think about it now, the less sense it makes. If she wants to preserve the art, then why wouldn’t she teach us? And if it’s really so dangerous to practice witchcraft, then why is she so comfortable doing it?

          It’s just a gently nagging thought, it doesn’t bother me too much. Most of the time, I just pretend to be a normal high schooler who doesn’t possess latent mystical abilities. It’s actually easier than you’d think.

          “It’s time,” says Mom, nodding at Celia as she walks through the door. She turns off all the lights in the living room and begins lighting the candles. These formalities weren’t strictly necessary, but I never wanted to be the one to spoil her fun.

          We take our seats on the floor and form a circle. After a minute of meditation in which me and Celia awkwardly stare down at the table, Mom speaks.

          “I have called tonight's meeting to discuss a very important matter,” she says. “As you know, our family comes from a long line of witches, possibly the last line in the world.”

          I steal a glance at Celia. Where is she going with this?

          “I’ve taught you the entire history of our culture with one exception,” Mom continues, “I’ve been having premonitions lately, and I believe that a family of warlocks intends to uproot us.”

          “Warlocks exist? The male counterpart that persecute witches?”

          “Yes,” she continues, “I believe a family of warlocks intends to move to Terrace Hollow and dispatch a teenage agent in an attempt to rid the town of witches. Somehow, they must have discovered that a couple, or even a coven lives here.”

          She pauses, her lips pursed.

          “We do not wish this to happen. That is why I would like you two to find this warlock and tell me who he is, so that I can deal with him.”

          “Deal with him, like kill him?” I ask.

          “Prevent him from causing further problems,” Mom responds cooly.

          Another pause.

          “I know this is a lot to take in,” Mom continues. “But I’d like you to think of this as a side-assignment. I still expect you to do well in school. And I still look forward to your band performances, Grace. Just… keep an eye and an ear out, is all I ask.”

          “Of course,” says Celia, and I swear I see her attempt a little bow. “I will.”

          I have to fight to keep from looking frustrated. Does nobody else see it?

          “So, um, these premonitions. Are they a normal thing for us to have? Witches, I mean? How do you know you can trust them?”

          To my surprise, she doesn’t fight me on this.

          “They are normal,” she says. “But you’re right to be wary; they can often be difficult to interpret. Rest assured, I’ve been practicing for a long time and am able to sufficiently parse meaning from my visions. Now, can I trust you to do as I say?”

          There’s the pushback I was looking for.

           “I’ll keep an eye out,” I say. Mom snaps her finger and the candles go out.

          “Until the next.”

          We all get up and turn on the lights. Just like that, it’s over.

          I wonder what Emma’s up to tonight?

          -

          A quick text message later I have my answer.

          Stuck doing schoolwork. I’m booked, says Emma.

          That sucks, good luck

          Thx

          I set my phone down and flop onto my bed. I wonder what I’m going to do tonight.

          I let my mind wander and end up thinking about warlocks. It makes sense that they exist. I mean, we do after all. I don’t know why Celia was so surprised. I bet she ends up taking this really seriously though; she’s probably been waiting her whole life for something like this. She was always really excited to be a witch, even though we don’t actually learn spells or do anything with it. It’d be kind of cool to be an actual witch I guess, but I don’t know. Seems like a lot of trouble too.

          I wonder what Emma would think if she saw me performing spells. I figure it would either go one of two ways- One, she would be utterly amazed and find it beautiful, or Two, she would be utterly terrified and find it diabolical. I like to think it would be the first one, but with people you never really know.

          I guess it’s another writing night.

          For just about as long as I can remember, this is what I’ve done whenever my head gets too filled with thoughts. These days, I don’t think I’d be able to function if I wasn’t able to channel my misgivings and anxieties into a truncated work of fiction with a thinly veiled central metaphor.

          I open up my laptop and try to get back into the story. My current work in progress is about a high schooler named Cary Morris who has a curse; every day at midnight, for just one minute, whatever he thinks of becomes real and tries to kill him. The story begins when he discovers a way to get rid of the curse. Or at least he thinks he does.

          I last left Cary as he was explaining his findings to his friend Nate. Nate is really friendly; he’s the only one who hangs out with Cary. I guess it’s a bit of a stretch to call them friends, but deep down, I think Cary likes the company.

          I get in a page or two before I start feeling tapped out. That’ll have to be all for today.

          -

          The only classes Emma and I have together are first and last period. We both found that kind of odd when we first compared schedules, but now we’ve accepted it as part of our lives. It means that we can walk to school and walk home together, so that’s been really nice.

          For whatever reason, we’re running a bit late today, and we make it to Biology just in time. Me and Emma find our seats, and before we know it, Ms. Goldblum is talking.

          “Good morning, everyone,” she says. “How are we today?”

          A few disgruntled mumbles answer her. She should know better than to ask that question on a Tuesday morning.

          “I hate to be that teacher,” she says, proceeding as if the previous interaction hadn’t happened. “But we have a new student I’d like to introduce today. Marcus?”

          The entire class follows her gaze and turns to look. The boy who I assume is Marcus stares straight ahead, acting as if he’d rather be doing anything else. He has black, somewhat bushy hair, and a pair of glasses with dark frames to match. Completing the look is a gray hoodie, and I have to assume he didn’t make it black as well so he wouldn’t be accused of being a full-blown emo.

          “Hey.” He gives a quick wave and quickly retreats back into his original form.

          “Welcome to Terrace Hollow,” says Ms. Goldblum. She turns back around and begins to teach.

          I can’t believe there are still teachers who do the ‘we have a new student today’ bit.

          I steal another glance at Marcus. He’s reading his textbook. I turn back around and shift my focus back to Biology.

          -

          After class, I run into Celia in the hallway.

          “Hey, can I talk to you?” she says. We step aside, away from the hustle and bustle of the passing students. “You saw the new kid, right? Marcus?”

          “Yeah.”

          “Don’t you think it’s kind of suspicious? Mom having the premonition the day before he shows up?”

          I keep my voice down. “You think he’s the warlock she was worried about? Do you have any evidence besides ‘he’s new?’”

          “No,” she sighs. “It was just a feeling.”

          “You know how Mom is.” I scan the crowd, still making sure no one is eavesdropping. “She gets crazy and uptight about this witch stuff. I’m willing to bet this warlock thing is nothing.”

          “Fine,” Celia says. “Make me do all the work. Again. I’ll find him.” She storms off.

          I don’t know why witching is the only thing Celia takes seriously. I guarantee she’s on her way to go bomb a test right now. That or skip class with Dean. Again.

          I head to band practice.

          -

          It turns out Marcus is also in band. After getting my trombone out, I head to my seat and find him sitting adjacent to mine, also carrying a trombone. “Hey,” I say as I sit down. He nods in recognition.

          Mr. Harris takes the conductor's podium. “Good afternoon,” he says. “Let’s start with B flat chromatic, please.”

          Throughout warm-ups, I keep finding myself glancing at Marcus. He seems like a solid trombonist. Maybe even good enough to be a section leader if the season wasn’t already underway. I wonder how he’s going to fit into the show since the drill was written months ago and all the positions are filled.

          Do I think he’s a warlock? No. But also, do I care?

          No.

          After practice, I get up and put my trombone away without a word. Marcus does the same. I don’t think about him again for the rest of the day.

          -

          “How was school today?” Mom asks at the dinner table.

          “Good,” says Celia.

          I shrug, “It was alright,” 

          “I have news about the warlock mission,” continues Celia, who was clearly waiting for the perfect moment to interject with this piece of information.

          Mom looks up from her plate. “Yes?”

          “There was a new student today. His family is from out of town.”

          “Do you know his family name?”

          “No, I didn’t catch it. But his first name is Marcus.”

          “Interesting.” Mom sets her fork down. “Thank you for telling me this. Keep an eye on this boy if you believe him to be suspicious.”

          “I will.”

          We eat in silence for a while before Mom cuts in again.

          “Grace, how about you? Did you find anything?”

          Did I find anything? I guess not, but I wasn’t really looking. I guess I can just tell her what Celia told her.

          “I thought about Marcus too,” I say, “It could be him, I guess.”

          “I see,” she responds, “Well, if you both suspect him, I think those suspicions could be sound. Perhaps we should study him closer.”

          Oh no. I know where this is going.

          “I want the two of you to watch Marcus whenever convenient. Whenever you have a spare moment, you should be studying him. But school and family time take priority, of course. ”

           “How?” I ask. “Do you want us to just follow him everywhere?” That won’t look weird at all.

          Mom smiles. “Of course not.” She pauses, apparently considering something. “I’ve meditated thoroughly on this matter and I’ve decided to teach the two of you limited spells, purely for the sake of monitoring others remotely.”

          Celia looks up. “Really? You’re going to teach us? After everything you said-”

          Mom cuts her off, “Yes. But please, be warned. If I find that you abuse your magick and use it for any purpose other than surveillance on Marcus, you will be severely punished.”

          She looks at me, then at Celia.

          “Is that understood?”

          “Yes,” says Celia.

          Mom stares at me.

          “Yes,” I agree, yet something else is already nagging at the back of my mind. “But if you wanted to monitor the warlock so badly, couldn’t you just do it yourself? Why teach us?”

          Despite my relative imprudence, she considers this carefully.

          “This isn’t just about me anymore. In the past I’ve felt a strong urge to protect the two of you, but you’re growing up now, and I won’t be around forever. At some point, you’re going to have children, and eventually they’re going to have to learn too. We all have to start somewhere.”

          At this, her eyes narrow, and the somber tone returns.

          “But I can’t stress enough how important it is that you only use your abilities for the purposes I suggest. Is that clear?”

          “Yes,” me and Celia say at the same time.

          “Good,” says Mom, nodding. “So how about Lesson One?”

          -

          There’s a room in the basement that Mom won’t let me or Celia in. She says it contains her library of grimoires, and seeing as how she never intended to teach us magick, she thought it was best to make the room forbidden. I wonder if she could have foreseen herself doing what she’s doing now.

          Mom steps out of the forbidden room, locking the door behind her for good measure. She’s carrying a large, weathered, maroon book.

          “Let us begin.”

          The three of us sit down on the floor, legs crossed. Mom opens the book and studies it closely.

          “So, how does this work?” asks Celia, “Are there like, incantations?”

          Mom doesn’t look up, “Of course not.”

          Celia backs down, defeated.

          Eventually, Mom looks up from the book. “Now,” she says. “Because we don’t know Marcus’s last name, this will be more difficult. The simplest thing to do is cast a spell that will identify the nearest person who calls themself Marcus and hope it’s the correct one.”

          She closes her eyes. Then, she makes three smooth circular motions with her arm and stops. She doesn’t make a sound.

          After a moment or two, she makes a fist and opens it. Celia and I gasp.

          In the palm of her hand is what looks like a small television screen. Inside, I see a boy with a backpack walking past a row of houses.

          It’s him. It worked.

          “Is this Marcus?” Mom asks. Her eyes are open now.

          “Yes,” I say.

          “Excellent.” She closes her palm and the apparition disappears, “Now it’s your turn.”

          Celia and I ready ourselves.

          “First,” says Mom. “Close your eyes.”

          We obey.

          Mom’s voice permeates through the darkness, “Now wait.”

          A minute passes. Then another, I think. It could have been more. Or less.

          Mom’s voice is back, “Make a circle with your right arm. Slowly.”

          On instinct, I obey.

          “Another.”

          I make another.

          “One more.”

          I make one more.

          “Now focus on the name. Marcus.”

          Marcus.

          “Marcus.”

          Marcus.

          I feel something in my chest. Or is it my stomach?

          “Open your eyes.”

          I open my eyes and nearly jump back in shock. Mom is peering at me, eyes wide, as if looking directly into my soul. I avert my gaze.

          “Open your hands,” she says.

          I open my hand. I see the apparition. It’s Marcus.

          It worked.

          “It didn’t work.”

          I look over at Celia.

          “It didn’t work,” she says, and her voice quivers. Is she fighting back tears?

          “That’s okay,” says Mom, “Almost no one gets it on the first try. We’ll try again.”

          Celia nods. I’m still focusing on the palm of my hand. Marcus is home now, he’s walking to his room…

          “That’s enough.”

          Mom waves her hand, and the apparition is gone.

          “Grace, do exactly what you did before. Celia, I’d like you to watch Grace.”

          I close my eyes and perform the arm motions. The feeling in my chest returns.

          “Just like that.”

          I open my eyes and meet Mom’s gaze again. She’s smiling at me. I look down at my hand and notice that the apparition is back.

          “Now, both of you together.”

          I go through all the motions again. Once I’ve finished, the apparition returns once again.

          I smile and look over at Celia, hoping to see an exact replica of the apparition in her hand. My heart quickly sinks when I instead find her frantically waving her arms up and down to no avail.

          “I’m trying, I’m trying-”

          “I know,” says Mom, “You did fine. It takes time to master.”

          “Then how did Grace get it first try?!”

          Mom stands up suddenly. She looks concerned in a way I haven’t seen her before.

          “We’ll be done for today. For now, Celia, you can watch Marcus with Grace. We’ll keep practicing until you can do it on your own.”

          Celia doesn’t look happy about this. “Fine.” She gets up and storms off.

          I close my hand and make the apparition disappear.

          Mom is looking at me again, “You did very well.” 

          “It seemed intuitive,” I say. It really did, it just came to me.

          “It doesn’t come this easy to everyone,” Mom continues, “You should feel lucky.”

          I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a part of me that found it cool. But I think lucky is a bit of a stretch.

          -

          I have no intention of spying on Marcus every waking hour like Mom intends. I’ll peek in every so often, especially when I’m home just to appease her, but there’s no way I’ll be devoting the amount of my life to this that she thinks I should. I know Celia will feel differently though.

          “Bring it closer, I can’t see,” she says. She grabs my arm and looks further into the apparition.

          “He’s just doing homework,” I say.

          “He could be writing anything in there.”

          I peer closer. “Nope. Those are math equations.”

          “Alright. Fine. You’re right.” She sits back.

          We’ve been at this for a few hours. Celia wanted to get on it right away, but I think even she is starting to get worn out.

          “Do you really think Marcus is a warlock?” I ask.

          She turns to face me, “We don’t know for sure. That’s why we’re doing this.”

          “You sounded more confident when you first brought it up with Mom.”

          “I don’t know, it just makes sense.”

          “So if a new student shows up tomorrow, do you want to spy on them too?”

          “Shut up,” she snarls, “Tell you what. How about I go do something else and you keep watching him. Let me know if anything interesting happens, ‘kay?”

          Before I can say anything, she walks away, most likely to hook up with Dean again. I don’t mind, really. I would prefer to do this without her anyway.

          Marcus puts his math homework away and gets out his trombone. I wish this thing had audio. I squint and bring my hand closer to my face.

          Oh, he’s working on our show music, I think. Good for him.

          That’s enough Marcus for tonight. I need to visit Cary Morris.

          -

          Where was he last? Oh yes, Cary and Nate’s ‘mystery crew’ had just gained a third member: Sadie from science class. Sadie had overheard them talking and decided she wanted to help. I don’t know why yet, she might have ulterior motives.

          I write a lot tonight, or at least a lot more than I did last time. It happens; some nights you just find the groove a little better than others. I write a total of ten pages before I stop.

          That feels like enough.

          I close my laptop.

          -

          I’m really sick today, Emma texts in the morning. Have fun without me

          Before leaving the house, I make sure Mom sees me watching Marcus. She nods approvingly. I head out.

          Marcus is walking to school. As soon as I turn the corner, I end the apparition.

          I’m tempted to check in on Emma. Not because I think she’s lying, she’d just have to be really sick to want to miss school. I want to make sure she’s okay.

          What did Mom say? Severely punished? How severe is she implying?

          No, it’s not worth it. Besides, I’ll see Emma tomorrow.

          -

          I take my seat in Biology. Marcus comes in a minute or two after me. Peering almost as intently as I did last night, I watch him walk across the room and sit down a few seats away from me.

          I need to stop.

          Ms. Goldblum stands up from her desk. “Good morning,” she says, “We’re going to be working in pairs today. I’d like everyone to find a partner please.”

          Great.

          Any other day, Emma and I would’ve paired up without a moment of hesitation. Without a friend in class though, finding a partner is essentially hell for people like me.

          “Hey.”

          I turn around. It’s Marcus.

          “Want to uh… you with me?” he points at himself, then at me.

          My brain takes a moment to catch up.

          “Oh yeah, sure,” I say. He takes the seat next to me.

          “You’re in the trombone section, right? I think we sit next to each other.”

          “Oh yeah, we do, I think.”

          Ms. Goldblum shouts over the bustling voices, “Once you have a partner, I want you to look over this week's reading and compare notes.”

          “What did you think?”

          I look over. Marcus already has his notes out.

          “Oh. Um,” I fumble around for my notes.

          “Personally, I thought it was really interesting how the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell.”

          I look back at him. That was a joke.

          “Indeed,” I say with a smile, “Though I prefer to think of it as a powerhome.”

          He laughs.

          Honestly, that was one of my better ones. I usually think of responses to jokes about 10 hours too late.

          Marcus and I spend the rest of class comparing notes. On more than one occasion, I’m tempted to question him about Warlock stuff behind the facade of getting to know him better, but I chicken out and stick to small talk. Eventually, the bell rings.

          “See you in band,” he says.

          “See you.”

          -

          After class, I go to use the restroom. I’m about to open a stall door when I look down and see someone on the other side sitting cross-legged. The lime green shoes they’re wearing are unmistakable.

          I glance around the room to make sure no one is listening. “Celia? Is that you?”

          She jerks up and peeks through the crack in the stall before opening the door. Her face says it all. “Grace. Hi.”

          “Were you doing what I think you were doing in there?”

          She glances around for good measure. “Only for the reasons that Mom said.”

          “You have to be careful here,” I say, “If one of us is found out, do you know what Mom will do?”

          She nods. “You’re right, you’re right. I’ll be careful.”

          Someone else walks in. Celia closes the door and sits cross-legged on a toilet.

          Oh, that sister of mine.

          -

          “Hey,” Mom says when I get home. “How was school?”

          “It was good.” I wonder if she gets as tired of asking that as I do responding to it.

          “Anything to report?”

          “Um…”

          I mean, not really. I’m not sure how relevant she would find a transcription of me and Marcus exchanging Biology notes to be.

          “No. Well… not really anyway.”

          “That’s not very convincing.” She raises her eyebrows, “Did something happen?”

          “No, I just… talked to Marcus during Biology class. Just about school stuff.”

           Mom backs down. “Okay. But let me know if anything changes.”

           I nod and head up to my room. I think I’ve earned some alone time.

          –

          That night, Celia practices the spell with Mom again. Judging by the way she moped upstairs afterwards, I’m guessing she didn’t make much progress today either. Mom made a point of telling me how strange it was that Celia was struggling so much.

          “Traditionally, the first child is the most adept at learning magick,” she says, “It’s strange that it came so easily to you, but not to Celia.”

          Ain’t that just the way.

          I’m happy to see that Emma is doing better when we meet for our walk tomorrow. On our way to school, I fill her in on what she missed in Biology and History.

          “You partnered with Marcus? The new kid?” she asks.

          “Yeah,” I say.

          “And he approached you? I thought he seemed kind of aloof.”

          “I did too. But yeah, he’s pretty cool.”

          “I guess I’ll join you guys today then.”

          I introduce Marcus to Emma when we get to class. He shuffles his feet a little but doesn’t seem too bothered otherwise.

          “This is Emma,” I say.

          “Hey,” says Marcus. Emma smiles, with a little more effort than usual. That’s weird.

          Ms. Goldblum walks in, interrupting my train of thought. “Greetings everyone,” she begins, “Today we’ll be starting Chapter 14, everyone get out your textbooks please…”

          I look over at Marcus, and we lock eyes for the briefest of moments before he faces Ms. Goldblum again. I turn back around.

          To tell you the truth, I’m really not sure what to make of him anymore.

          -

          Instead, I have to rely on Mom for answers.

          Later, as we gather around the dinner table and sit, she gives them. “I have some news to share,” My stomach churns; this can’t be good.

          “This morning, I had another premonition,” she continues. “I believe that the warlock, possibly with his family, intends to make a move during this week’s football game.”

          Honestly, I’m starting to question the validity of these premonitions. It kind of seems to me like she’s just making these up as she goes along.

          “Make a move?” I ask, “What does that mean? What did you see exactly?”

          Mom’s eyes narrow, and my stomach churns further. I don’t know what’s gotten into me lately; I never used to question her like this.

          “As I’ve said before, when it comes to my premonitions, you’re simply going to have to accept my word on the matter. All I’m asking is that you keep your eyes open. That’s not too much to handle, is it?”

          I shake my head and back down. Didn’t imagine I’d ever have to remind myself to think before I spoke.

          “Since you’ll be busy, Grace, I don’t expect you to look into it,” Mom continues, her placid tone resuming as if the previous exchange hadn’t happened. “Just be cautious, as always.” She turns to Celia, “Me and Celia will be in the audience, watching for signs of trouble.”

          Celia looks up. I’m guessing this is the first she’s heard of it.

          Mom changes the subject, but only slightly. “Anything to report on Marcus?” she asks.

          “I don’t think so,” I say, “We’re talking in class now. He seems pretty normal to me.”

          “Hmm… if he is the warlock, he’s hiding it very well. Keep looking into it.”

          It’s baffling to me that no one else is even considering that Marcus might just be a normal kid.

          “Um, Grace?”

          I look at Celia.

          “Isn’t there something else?” she asks.

          Something else? What is she talking about?

          “I’ve seen the way Marcus looks at you,” Celia says. “You don’t see it?”

          “What? No, no, it’s not like that at all,” I say. “Honestly, we hardly know each other.”

          “Just be careful, Grace,” says Mom. “It’s okay if you get close to Marcus, but if you get too close we could all be in danger. I trust you to know where that line is.”

         They’re not getting it.

          “No,” I say, more sternly this time. “We’re just friends.”

          “I don’t know if Marcus wants it to stay that way for long,” says Celia.

          “Just be safe,” says Mom. “That’s all I ask.”

          “No I’m serious, it’s not like that at all, I feel like you guys are putting words in my mouth-”

          “We’ll drop it.” Mom shoots me a look. I guess that’s the end of that.

          We finish dinner, and I head upstairs.

          -

           Is Celia serious? Could Marcus actually have feelings for me despite having known me for less than a week? Before tonight, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind, but now I’m rethinking every interaction we’ve ever had.

          Not that it matters, of course. Even if he did confess, I don’t think Mom would approve, regardless of that “trusting me to know where the line is” bit. Plus there’s the simple fact that I don’t see him that way.

          I don’t know. I don’t think it’s worth devoting this much thought to.

          How is Cary doing? He’s having a better day than me, I hope. I feel like he’s on the verge of something, a big change or a missing puzzle piece perhaps…

          I spend the rest of the night writing.