Escape from Windenburg | 3

I'd like to say the first time I saw Mom's ghost in my dreams was also the last time, but that would be a lie. After that, she began to appear to me almost every night. Even after dozens of dreams, her actions never became any less limited. She could only drift endlessly, silent and unseen. She would occasionally reach out to touch an object or try to sit down on a piece of furniture, but her body just passed right through, unable to achieve solidity, and she always wore the same wearied expression on her face - as if she were disappointed but not surprised to still find herself trapped inside this endless cycle.

A few times, I even saw her in Dad's bedroom, her arms outstretched toward him while he obliviously slept on. In these moments, she seemed almost frantic, desperate to pass some message on but lacking the means to do so. Magical charge coursed angrily through her body, and she remained helpless to tame it.

While the dreams had frightened me at first, I soon fell asleep anticipating them and woke up in the morning feeling my connection with Mom renewed, despite her absence in the real world. I became obsessed with the idea that they were more than dreams, more than aftershocks of grief going off like fireworks in my slumbering mind. Mom's spirit was definitely attempting to communicate something to me.

This wasn't an entirely illogical conclusion to draw, I told myself. I remembered what Mom had told us about the supernatural abilities threaded through our lineage, what Grandma Malia had muttered at the funeral about the island spirits telling her things that hadn't made sense until Mom's death. If magic were that intrinsic to our bloodline, if Grandma could really communicate with the dead, Mom's death couldn't possibly be so simple. There had to be some cosmic piece of her out there, and if there was, she would be trying to find her way back to us, I knew.

Despite the fact that our last conversation about magic hadn't gone so well, I tentatively broached the topic with Dad one morning over breakfast. "I've been seeing Mom in my dreams lately, or not Mom exactly. I guess it's more like... her spirit." I heard Sabrina choke on her spoonful of granola, and I stared down at my own bowl, unable to look either her or Dad in the eyes. "I think she might be trying to tell me something."

"Are you kidding me?" Sabrina exploded. "You think Mom's speaking to you now?" She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I knew you were depressed, but this is actually pathological. Dad, tell her she needs to get a grip."

"While I don't appreciate your sister's unnecessary harshness," he said, glaring pointedly in Sabrina's direction, "I have to agree. Rowan, this is getting out of hand. Maybe we should revisit the idea of finding you some counseling. You know, it's not a sign of weakness to seek out help if-"

"I don't need counseling!" I interrupted through gritted teeth. "It's like you guys are forgetting everything about who Mom was. She was one of the greatest spellcasters in the entire Realm! She could do things that completely defied reality! There's no way she would just die without leaving something behind." Dad began to get up from his seat, shaking his head sadly, like he didn't even have the words to explain how wrong I was. "This is why she chose to appear to me," I shouted in one last bid for their attention. "I'm the only one who ever fully understood her!"

As frustrated as I was, I guess I couldn't blame Dad for not knowing how to deal with what he perceived as my unhealthy coping mechanisms. Death seemed to have become a permanent fixture in our lives, first Mom and then our grandparents, and it was already hard enough for him to hold what was left of our family together without having to worry about my sanity. After putting it off for months, he'd just been in San Myshuno packing up his parents' belongings so he could stop paying rent on their apartment. To him, it must've just felt like my fixation was constantly re-opening barely closed wounds.

I didn't want to keep hurting Dad, but I couldn't abandon Mom either. I thought maybe if I spent more time at her graveside, I could strengthen whatever bonds tied her spirit to me enough for her to send a clearer sign about what she wanted me to do. Was she looking for peace in the afterlife, or  could she somehow be trying to show me there was a way to bring her back?

I kept Dad in the dark about my continued efforts, but I couldn't hide from him my failing grades, my non-existent friends, or the fact that I wasn't considering my future at all. I had no idea what I wanted out of life other than seeing Mom again. Meanwhile, Sabrina seemed to do no wrong in his eyes. She was the perfect daughter who excelled on all levels, while I was the one constantly letting him down.

But he didn't know Sabrina like I did. When he wasn't around, her good girl facade disappeared, and she turned into someone who definitely wouldn't make him proud. For one thing, she was a budding kleptomaniac. I would always catch her stealing the most random things from the desks of students and even teachers, things she didn't need but kept squirreled away in a box in our room, which she often took out to admire like a trove of prized jewels.

Soon enough, she needed more than the minor rush of stealing small, inconsequential items from school. We would wander around the mall to avoid going back home to Dad, and inevitably she would end up dragging me into some designer store where she tried on impossibly expensive, overly revealing outfits she just had to have. "Dad will never buy that for you," I would tell her every time, like a dope.

She laughed at me indulgently. "No one has to buy it," she said calmly, betraying no nerves as she eyed the bored and sleepy salesperson at the register and analyzed the woefully inadequate security system, "because I'm going to walk right out of here with it on. Cover for me."

I had no choice but to comply. If I didn't, I would either incur Sabrina's wrath or land her in jail, both of which would make Dad angry. In both scenarios, he would only blame me.

I suppose he would find a way to blame me, too, if he ever caught Sabrina on one of the many nights she sneaked out of the house to go hang out with her friends at clubs they were technically to young to be in. It wasn't like I could stop her, though, even if I wanted to. In fact, the last thing she would do was listen to me; if I begged her to stay, she would only roll her eyes and grow all the more determined to go.

"Oh yeah, and if you tell Dad anything, you're dead," she would say, almost as an afterthought. She knew I would stay quiet, whether she told me to or not. Then she straddled the balcony railing and leapt as silently as a ninja to the grass.

I hated her for just assuming I would keep her secrets, but I hated myself even more for doing it.  Well, if she could run around all night getting up to stuff that Dad would never approve of, I decided I could, too. There was no point in continuing to avoid magic. Mom needed me to be strong, and I had a long way to go to get there.

I pulled Mom's old wand out of hiding and began teaching myself spells from her magical tomes. Luckily, her collection was comprehensive and she had taken copious notes in the margins, but it was still an uphill battle without the benefit of a mentor. I had to start at the very beginning. While I practiced, I stuck close to her tombstone, feeling more confident with her by my side.

Even more difficult was mastering the finicky art of riding a broomstick entirely on my own. It took me countless attempts, battling against the incessant downpour and draftiness of Windenburg's rainy season, to get off the ground in the first place.

Then, once I had made it aloft, the impossible task became remaining in flight for longer than ten seconds. I had expected it to be easy, an action my body would take to naturally, but it was anything but. The broomstick seemed to have a mind of its own, hurtling in haphazard directions and bucking me off without warning.

Most nights, I ended up flat on my back, bruised, windswept, and soaked through. But I wouldn't, couldn't give up. I stumbled away from every crash landing feeling even more fiercely committed to getting it right the next time.

But after weeks of flying under the radar, I got careless. I studied the tomes in broad daylight so that I wouldn't have to waste time reading instead of practicing after dark. One morning, I was up early, memorizing spells while everyone else was still in bed. Sabrina caught me. Her lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk when she recognized the weighty book in my hand. "I knew you were up to something. You're not very good at sneaking around."

"It's not what it looks like," I blurted immediately. "I can explain."

"Oh, I think it's exactly what it looks like. You're trying to do magic again." Suddenly, her expression crumpled into a frown, but it was showy and exaggerated, like she was performing on a stage. "Rowan, I've done everything I can to help you, but you just keep digging a bigger hole for yourself."

That was a lie. Everything she'd ever done to "help" me was for her own benefit because she was as afraid now as Dad to be reminded of Mom or magic in any way. I tried to appeal to her. "You can't tell Dad. I haven't told him about your designer wardrobe or your nights out on the town, have I?"

She began to turn away. "I'm afraid this is much more serious than all that."

"Come on, Sabrina! Please!"

All I'd asked was that she extend the same courtesy to me I'd extended to her. We were twins, which must count for something. Shouldn't we be compelled by virtue of sharing a womb to look out for one another? But, of course, she couldn't do it. She couldn't pass up yet another opportunity to cast herself as the obedient golden child and me as the rebellious black sheep.

By the next morning, Dad knew everything. He and Sabrina were waiting to confront me like I needed an intervention. "You're heading down a dark path, Rowan," he told me gravely. "You purposely defied my wishes. I am your father, and you are still a child. When I say no magic, I mean it!"

"That's not fair, Dad! It's the only thing I'm good at. It's the only thing I like. Don't you want me to be happy?"

He tried to soften his approach, but the damage was already done. "You're not happy, honey. You're confused. It's understandable given the circumstances, and I partially blame myself for letting it get out of hand. But we need to get you help. You can't keep living in this fantasy you've created." He sighed heavily. "I'm going to make a few calls. Now, I want you to gather up all of your mother's old things and hand them over."

I turned on Sabrina. "How could you do this to me? I've always had your back! Why couldn't you have mine just once?"

She flinched away innocently, still putting on a show for Dad. "I was concerned, Ro. I only did what I thought was right. We're on your side here. We just want you to get better."

I stormed out of the house, unable to face either of them a moment longer. There was no way I was giving Mom's stuff to Dad. He would surely destroy it. Luckily, I had hidden it well once I'd begun practicing, in a shallow hole covered with rocks and branches a good distance away from the house. My mind was racing with questions about what to do next. I couldn't just give in, but I also knew it would be near impossible to keep living under Dad's roof and continue my magical study. He would be watching me like a hawk. That is, if he wasn't already on the phone with the headmaster of some boarding school for wayward teens. I wouldn't stand a chance of slipping away from a place like that unnoticed. It began to seem more and more like my only option was to get out now, before it was too late.

Of course, Dad pounced on me as soon as he heard the creaky front door swing open. "You're making this into a bigger ordeal than it has to be, Rowan. Bring me your Mom's things, now. I won't ask again. Next time, I'll have no choice but to track them down myself."

Before I really knew what I was doing, I brandished Mom's wand at him like a weapon. "Put that down!" he shouted firmly, but I could tell the mere sight of it made him uneasy. He couldn't attempt to take it from me because he couldn't even stand the thought of touching it. My lips mouthed the first spell that came to mind.

I can't say I'm proud of what happened next. Flames curled up from the floorboards in the space between me and Dad. He was momentarily trapped, so I made a beeline upstairs. The spell had arisen almost unconsciously. I still barely knew what I was doing, after all. I didn't want to hurt him, just stall him, and I was lucky I wasn't yet capable of building enough charge to do real damage. Looking back, though, it's an action I wish I could take back. He must have been terrified. He didn't know the fire would soon fizzle out, more illusion than threat.

Upstairs, I quickly changed out of my smoky-smelling clothes and into an old shirt of Mom's I found wadded in the back of the closet. Then I threw whatever else was close at hand into my backpack and scooped up Obsidian. Mom's long-ago lesson about familiars still rang in my mind. I couldn't risk leaving him behind and being caught in risky magical circumstances without him.

Like I had seen Sabrina do countless times before, I shimmied out the window and dropped onto the grass. Sid let out a sharp yelp from inside my bag, but the fall was softened for him by the nest of clothes he sat curled inside. I bolted to my hiding place, shoved as many tomes as I could fit in my bag (it was rather overstuffed now, much to Sid's growing consternation), and took up my broomstick. I had gotten better at flying, but sometimes the broom stubbornly refused, no matter how patiently I coaxed it. Tonight, it seemed to sense my urgency and shot me straight over the rooftops. "Hold on tight, buddy!" I called back at Sid.

I pictured Dad stomping up to our room once the flames finally abated, sooty and furious. I would be nowhere in sight, nor would any of Mom's magical items. He would only find an empty wand case, perhaps a few pages of my scribbled notes. They would read like a foreign language to him.

I didn't exactly relish adding extra weight to the heavy burden that already sat on his shoulders. I hoped he could forgive me eventually, would one day understand why I had to leave. When I came back home with whatever resulted from the mysterious mission I felt I had been sent on, maybe he would finally see what I saw.

Sid and I touched down safely several miles away, on an overgrown cliff facing out to the sea. The view was breathtaking. Although I'd spent my whole life on this island, its landscape had never looked as insidious as it did now. As magnificent as it was, it also made me feel trapped, cut off from the rest of the world. If I truly wanted to find myself, to fully unleash my magical potential and discover the meaning behind Mom's ghostly reappearance, I would have to step - or perhaps fly - across that divide and embrace whatever awaited me on the other side with open arms.