Spelled by Truth and Tresses (Enemies Ever After)
Chapter 1
CHAPTER 1
D arkness was coming. I could feel it, singed deep into my veins, as if something inside of me was calling to it.
I hooked my arms around my legs, pressing my forehead against my knees, then quaked back a sob. The wooden boards of the bed groaned as I shifted position, the moonlight outside of the window illuminating the room.
A twinge of magic coursed through me when I lifted my gaze to my onyx backpack sitting on my white dresser, the ornate carvings on the side panels cast in shadow. The sensation tingled under my skin, as if my return to Ghost Rose Academy—a college for the magically gifted—was bringing even darker powers to the surface.
I wasn’t unaccustomed to magic. Being a half-siren meant I could do things most couldn’t. But it was my hair that was special. According to my mother—who possessed no magical abilities—I should have grown my hair as long as possible; in her studies of sirens and the occult, she found the longer the hair of a siren, the more power they wielded. That was why she never let me cut it.
In fact, she didn’t allow me to do a lot of things. She was jealous that she didn’t have any magic to speak of and she hated that my powers were passed down from my dad.
I brought my hands up to my long, golden tresses, then tangled my fingers into the silky strands. As I clamped my eyes shut I tugged on my locks, as I wished, more than anything, that I was free.
Being one of the rare descendants of the original sirens ensured I would forever be under my mother’s thumb, locked away in this house for good. If it wasn’t for my father’s advocation, I wouldn’t have ever been allowed to leave. But I did. He pushed for me to attend the academy, stating that I needed to learn how to harness my powers.
Since his death six months ago, I was surprised my mother was allowing me to return and finish my final year. The academy was the only freedom I had from the leash of this locked room.
I cast my gaze to the window, looking toward the midnight sky looming through the crack in my gray drapes. Tomorrow, I would return to Ghost Rose Academy, but I did not know what I would do after that.
If I was to believe my mother, then my existence would be paved to remain hidden in the shadows of society. That I was to remain here with her, although my father wanted so much more for me.
I leaned back against the headboard, then closed my eyes, falling into the tumbling abyss of slumber.
Something was haunting me, lingering on the fringes of my dreams. As I fell deeper, they warped into nightmares.
I landed in an empty room, inside the crumbling tower that had haunted my nightmares for months. I knew it well. The abandoned fortress of stone and cobwebs was a part of the campus of the academy, but few ventured there.
Melted black candles sat in the middle of the large, circular room, and a burned, herbal smell hung in the air; accompanied by mildew.
Everything about the place was repellent, yet there was something so beautifully macabre about the decay of it all. The tower was broken, just like the souls that hovered inside.
Thick wooden doors embedded into the walls of the circular room, groaned as I paced around the symbols painted on their scarred surfaces. Skeletal leaves—dragged in through the shattered arched window—crunched under my black boots.
My voice echoed through the vast expanse, carrying up the long walls leading to additional rooms, only reachable by the decrepit spiral staircase. An eerie silence greeted my call.
A pale, dove gray filtered through the shards of glass, casting light onto blood splatters still visible from the slaughter that happened here years ago. I stared at the wall, my eyes glazing over the crimson that decorated the ancient stones, like a macabre, abstract painting.
The hairs on the back of my neck prick, an icy, frigid touch caressing my bare arms and throat. I shuddered, as a shiver snakes down my spine, and turned my head to see a figure on the stairs, cloaked in darkness.
I could not see the glimmer of his gaze, but he was visible in every recurring dream. It was always the same man, his face always masked in shadows.
I shuddered as an icy breeze slithered down my spine. Curiosity coiled in my guts, begging me to disobey. I paced forward, the desire to see the face that lurked in the shadows impossible to resist. As I neared him—before I could see his face—he slipped away, as always.
The frostbitten air that had come to Crimson Leaf with the arrival of fall, swirled through the window. An icy draft caressed my legs and arms, as I realized even in my dreams I was wearing my pajama shorts and strapped shirt.
I wrapped my arms around my body, then walked to the window. Just outside, dead leaves coated the area, hidden beneath frost resembling iced body bags, unmarked graves littered the grounds. Something terrible had happened there. I could feel it in my bones.
I peeled back my eyelids, revealing the soft morning light as it filtered through the curtains. My heart slammed against my ribs as I struggled to differentiate between the nightmare and reality. As I tried to move my body, my eyes remained fixed on the roof of my four-post-bed.
Paralysis rooted me under the covers, and as I parted my lips, the scream was nothing but a gust of forced air leaving my lips.
Not again. Not again.
Insomnia had plagued me since I was a child. But sleep paralysis was a new foe, one that had haunted me since my dad’s death. Shadows formed in my peripheral vision, getting closer as the hallucinations that came with the paralysis heightened my anxiety. My heart thumped faster, sweat beading on my forehead. I clamped my eyes shut, barely able to catch my breath, when I finally moved my index finger. Desperately, I sought the touch through my fingertips, attempting to scrape my nails against the soft bedding, slowly breaking the hold on me.
Thoughts of being stuck in this state forever weaved its way through my mind, and reminding myself that this was the anxiety talking didn’t help.
Please. Please move.
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.