6. Alice
Chapter 6
Alice
The Mini Cooper’s engine purrs as Gordy navigates the narrow streets of Screaming Woods. My palms are sweaty, and I keep wiping them on my jeans like that will help.
“Going back there is not exactly my idea of a fun Friday night,” I confess, glancing at Gordy, whose shoulder almost presses against the car's roof. His knees are crammed under the steering wheel, and he has to hunch slightly just to see the road. It's like watching a Greek god stuffed into a sardine can. But he seems unfazed, focused on the road like this is the most normal thing in the world.
“Fun is overrated sometimes,” he says, shooting me a quick look that somehow manages to be reassuring yet filled with mischievous charm.
“Says the guy driving a clown car,” I mutter.
“It’s compact, ” he replies, indignant. “Efficient. Urban-friendly.”
“Gordy, you’re six-five with a head full of snakes. You need a tank, not a teacup with wheels.”
He grins. “You try parallel parking in Screaming Woods in a tank. I like a challenge.”
“Right. And I’m sure the snakes love being squished into your hat like a bunch of angry spaghetti.”
A soft hiss echoes from beneath his knit cap, and I smirk. “See? Even they think you need an upgrade.”
“I’ll have you know, this car has personality,” he says, patting the dash. “Besides, she gets me from point A to point B without turning anyone to stone.”
“Barely,” I mumble as we take a sharp corner and one of the snakes pokes out from under the cap like it’s gasping for air .
He rolls his eyes. “One more jab and I’m making you ride on the roof.”
I snort. “Please, with your driving? I'd be safer on a broomstick.”
“Tempting offer,” he says with a wink. “But I don’t share my… broomstick on the first few dates.”
I shake my head, but I’m laughing now, the tension easing in my chest just a little. “Easy for you to joke, Mr. ‘I’m-Not-The-One-Confronting-My-Rich-Controlling-Parents.’”
“True,” he admits, his grin softening. “But I am the one who gets to see you put them in their place.”
He glances over at me again, and this time, his smile isn’t teasing—it’s warm, solid, grounding. It’s like a bolt of comfort straight to my heart.
“Besides,” he adds, “they can’t ignore you forever, Al. You’re an adult. You get to make your own choices.”
“Adult is a state of mind,” I mutter, but I can’t help returning his smile.
And somehow, despite the tight space and the oncoming emotional storm, I feel like I can breathe.
We pull up to the imposing gates of my family estate an hour later, and I take a deep breath. “Here goes nothing.”
“Or everything,” Gordy adds as if we’re about to embark on some epic quest instead of walking into a parlor to have tea and unpleasant conversations.
“Ha-ha, very funny.”
“Hey, life with you is an adventure, Alice. With or without magic powers.”
“Let’s hope it stays that way after today,” I say, pushing open the car door before the nerves can glue me to the seat.
Standing beside him as we face the grand double doors, I feel oddly calm. I knock, and the door swings open. Mom and Dad stand there, looking at me with confusion because I knocked, which I’ve never done before.
“Mom, Dad, we need to talk,” I announce, more confident than I feel.
Their expressions are a mix of surprise and apprehension.
I turn to Gordy, and he raises his eyebrows at me in question. “Oh, right. Mom, Dad, this is Gordon. Gordy, these are my parents, James and Rose.”
“Nice to meet you,” my parents say in unison. They seem to be taking me bringing home a gorgon well—almost too well.
They usher us into the family living room, the one we don’t bring guests to. It’s a comfortable room with a huge wraparound couch that’s the most comfortable thing in the world to take naps on, a fireplace, and a TV screen that could fill in for a movie screen in a cinema.
“Sweetheart, what’s all this about?” Mom asks, her brow furrowed as she looks between Gordy and me. “I thought you ran off to find yourself.”
“It’s about me. About who I really am,” I say, taking a step forward. “I know there’s something you haven’t told me. Is it true? Do I have… abilities?”
The following pause feels like an eternity .
Finally, Dad clears his throat. “Yes, Alice. You do.”
“Oh,” I mutter because nothing else comes to mind at that moment. I’m too stunned for words.
“Your mother and I, we wanted to protect you,” Dad continues, voice heavy with unspoken regret.
“Protect me from what? From being who I am? Clearly,gaslighting your own daughter for decades is stellar parenting.” The words tumble out, laced with years of confusion, hurt, and frustration.
My mother flinches. “Alice, it wasn’t like that.”
“Oh? Then what was it like, Mom?” I challenge. “I mean, let’s go over the facts: you knew I had magic,chose not to tell me, and instead, let me walk around thinking I was some kind ofhuman disaster magnet?”
My father sighs. “We thought if we didn’t acknowledge it, maybe it would never awaken.”
I blink. “Did you seriously tryignoringmagic out of existence?”
My mother rubs her temples. “Sweetheart, please?— ”
“No, no,” I interrupt. “This is great. Next time something goes wrong, I’ll just pretend it didn’t happen and poof —problem solved.”
Gordy coughs, poorly disguising a laugh.
My father glares at him. “And who exactly are you in all this?”
Gordy, entirely unbothered, grins. “The guy who’s been helping her withher uncontrolled magic while you two werepretending reality doesn’t exist.”
It makes sense now that they didn’t bat an eyelid when I walked through the door with a gorgon. They’ve kept my heritage from me, so who knows what they’re used to? What they’ve seen?
Mom sighs heavily. “Can we sit down and discuss this? Like a family?”
I nod, feeling a flicker of hope. “Of course.”
“Let’s start from the beginning,” Dad suggests as I pull Gordy to the couch.
Mom and Dad exchange a glance laden with years of secrets. Dad’s jaw is set, his eyes beseeching me to understand before the words even leave his lips .
Mom’s hands flutter to her mouth, her tears threatening to spill. “Darling, it was never about hiding you,” she starts, her voice quivering. “It was about keeping you safe from a world that might not understand you.”
“Understanding starts with honesty,” Gordy interjects softly, his voice comforting.
I squeeze his hand gratefully. “Safe from what?” I press, needing to hear them say it.
“From judgment. From f-fear,” she stammers. “People can be cruel, especially to those they don’t understand.”
“Your powers, Alice,” Dad finally admits as if the words pain him. “You’ve always had them. We thought… We hoped they’d remain dormant.”
“Am I a witch?” My voice cracks over the word, disbelief wrestling with an odd sense of inevitability.
“We think so, yes,” Mom whispers, wiping away a tear. “After that silly movie about witches came out, everyone got paranoid. We couldn’t risk you being exposed. ”
“Great,” I mutter, the sarcasm a thin veneer over my shock. “So my teen angst was actually witch angst? Guess I should’ve focused on learning to fly my broom instead of playing soccer.”
But my humor fades fast, my mind racing with the implications of their confession.
I cross my arms, trying to hold myself together. “So… where did this even come from? Who in the family had powers before me?”
There’s a beat of silence heavy enough to press against my ribs. My parents exchange one of those meaningful glances that scream we’ve talked about this, and now we’re panicking because it’s real.
Mom lets out a long breath. “Her name was Theodora Hawthorne. She was your grandmother’s aunt. Technically, your great-great-aunt.”
“Theodora,” I repeat, the name curling around my tongue like a spell. “Okay, so she was magical?”
“She was more than magical,” Dad says. “She was… wild. Powerful. Unpredictable.”
“She didn’t belong to a coven,” Mom adds quickly, like that’s some kind of disclaimer. “She wasn’t trained or bound by tradition. She followed her instincts. Her own rules.”
Gordy shifts beside me. “A wild witch, then.”
My parents flinch slightly at the term, but they don’t correct him.
“So you knew there was magic in the family,” I say slowly, trying not to let the betrayal creep back into my voice. “And you still chose to act like I was clumsy and overly imaginative.”
“We were afraid,” Mom whispers. “Your grandmother didn’t talk about Theodora much. Only that she disappeared—just vanished one day. No trace, no note. She was feared… even by other witches.”
“So you decided to erase her?” I ask, sharper than I meant to. “Pretend she never existed?”
“It wasn’t like that,” Dad insists. “There wasn’t anything to keep. No letters. No spellbooks. Nothing passed down. Just… stories. Hushed ones.”
I stare at them, stunned. “You never tried to find out more?”
“We were too afraid of what we might uncover,” Mom says, wringing her hands. “And when you were born—when we saw those first signs—we thought maybe the magic wouldn't take hold if we didn’t acknowledge it. That maybe Theodora’s blood would skip a few generations.”
Gordy makes a quiet sound in his throat, and I don’t know if it’s disbelief or sympathy. Maybe both.
I shake my head slowly. “You hid my truth because of a woman you barely knew. A woman you had no real evidence of, just stories and fear.”
“I’m sorry,” Mom whispers, her voice cracking. “We didn’t know what else to do.”
I look at Gordy, his hand warm in mine. “Well, I do.”
My parents watch me, wide-eyed, as I straighten my spine.
“I’m going to learn everything I can. About me. About the magic you tried to bury.”
Dad opens his mouth like he wants to argue but—doesn’t. He simply nods, quietly resigned .
Gordy’s thumb brushes over my knuckles. “Looks like the Hawthorne magic isn’t going dormant this time.”
I smile, though there’s nothing light in it. “No. It’s waking up. And I’m not afraid of it.”
“We did what we thought was best for you,” Dad insists, but the conviction in his voice has waned.
“Best for me? Or easiest for you?” I demand, all my built-up resentment bubbling to the surface. “I needed guidance, not a cover-up.”
“Al.” Mom reaches out.
I move back, feeling like the walls are closing in on me. “Let’s go, Gordy,” I say, more to escape than anything else.
He nods in understanding and follows me out without a word.
The door slams behind us, echoing my heart’s turmoil.