The Black Witch. Laurie Forest

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       CHAPTER TWO

      Aunt Vyvian

      The Gaffney twins buzz past as I make my way into the kitchen, which is now full of friendly, boisterous noise.

      My aunt stands with her back to me as she kisses Rafe on both cheeks in greeting. My uncle shakes hands with Gareth, and the twins are practically hanging from Trystan while holding up their toys for his inspection.

      My aunt releases Rafe, stops admiring how tall he’s become, and turns toward me in one fluid, graceful movement.

      Her gaze lights on me and she freezes, her eyes gone wide as if she’s come face-to-face with a ghost.

      The room grows silent as everyone else turns their attention toward us, curious as to what’s amiss. Only my uncle does not look confused—his expression grown oddly dark and worried.

      “Elloren,” Aunt Vyvian breathes, “you have grown into the absolute image of your grandmother.”

      It’s a huge compliment, and I want to believe it. My grandmother was not only one of my people’s most powerful Mages, she was also considered to be very beautiful.

      “Thank you,” I say shyly.

      Her eyes wander down toward my plain, homespun clothing.

      If ever there was anyone who looks out of place in our tiny kitchen, it’s my aunt. She stands there, studying me, amidst the battered wooden furniture, soup and stew pots simmering on our cookstove and bunches of drying herbs hanging from the ceiling.

      She’s like a fine painting hanging in a farmer’s market stall.

      I take in her stunning, black, formfitting tunic that hangs over a long, dark skirt, the silk embroidered with delicate, curling vines. My aunt is the absolute epitome of what a Gardnerian woman is supposed to look like—waist-length black hair, deep green eyes and swirling black wandfasting lines marking her hands.

      I’m suddenly acutely aware of the sad state of my own appearance. At seventeen, I’m tall and slender with the same black hair and forest green eyes of my aunt, but any resemblance ends there. I’m dressed in a shapeless brown woolen tunic and skirt, no makeup (I don’t own any), my hair is tied into its usual messy bun and my face is all sharp, severe angles, not smooth, pretty lines like my aunt’s.

      My aunt sweeps forward and embraces me, obviously not as dismayed by my appearance as I am. She kisses both my cheeks and steps back, her hands still grasping my upper arms. “I just cannot believe how much you look like her,” she says with awed admiration. Her eyes grow wistful. “I wish you could have gotten to know her, Elloren.”

      “I do, too,” I tell her, warmed by my aunt’s approval.

      Aunt Vyvian’s eyes glisten with emotion. “She was a great Mage. The finest ever. It’s a heritage to be proud of.”

      My uncle begins scurrying around the kitchen, setting out teacups and plates, clunking them down on the table a little too loudly. He doesn’t look at me as he fusses, and I’m confused by his odd behavior. Gareth stands rooted by the woodstove, his muscular arms crossed, watching my aunt and me intently.

      “You must be tired after your trip,” I say to my aunt, feeling nervous and thrilled to be in her lofty presence. “Why don’t you sit down and rest? I’ll get some biscuits to go with the tea.”

      Aunt Vyvian joins Rafe and Trystan at the table while I fetch the food, and Uncle Edwin pours tea for everyone.

      “Elloren.” My aunt pauses to sip at her tea. “I know you overheard my conversation with your uncle, and I’m glad you did. What do you think about being fasted before you go to University?”

      “Now, Vyvian,” my uncle cuts in, almost dropping the teapot, “there’s no point in bringing this up. I told you my decision was final.”

      “Yes, yes, Edwin, but there’s no harm in getting the girl’s opinion, is there? What do you say, Elloren? You know that most of the young girls your age are already wandfasted, or about to be.”

      My cheeks grow warm. “I, um...we’ve never talked much about it.” I envy Trystan and Rafe as they sit playing with the twins and their toys. Why isn’t this conversation about Rafe? He’s nineteen!

      “Well—” my aunt shoots a disapproving look at my uncle “—it’s high time you did discuss it. As you overheard, I’m taking you with me when I leave tomorrow. We’ll spend the next few weeks together, and I’ll tell you all about wandfasting and what I know about the University. We’ll also get you a new wardrobe while we’re in Valgard, and your brothers can meet up with us for a day or two. What do you say to that?”

      Leaving tomorrow. For Valgard and the University! The thought of venturing out of isolated Halfix sends ripples of excitement through me. I glance at my uncle, who wears an uneasy look on his face, his lips tightly pursed.

      “I’d like that very much, Aunt Vyvian,” I answer politely, trying to keep my overwhelming excitement at bay.

      Gareth shoots me a look of warning, and I cock my head at him questioningly.

      My aunt narrows her eyes at Gareth. “Gareth,” she says pleasantly, “I had the privilege of working with your father before he retired from his position as head of the Maritime Guild.”

      “He didn’t retire,” Gareth corrects, stiff challenge in his tone. “He was forced to resign.”

      The kitchen quiets, even the twins sensing the sudden tension in the air. My uncle catches Gareth’s eye and slightly motions his head from side to side, as if in caution.

      “Well,” says my aunt, still smiling, “you certainly speak your mind very frankly. Perhaps talk of politics is best left to those of us who have finished our schooling.”

      “I have to be going,” Gareth announces, his tone clipped. He turns to me. “Ren, I’ll come by to see you when you’re in Valgard. Maybe I can take you sailing.”

      My aunt is studying me closely. I blush, realizing what conclusion she must be forming in her mind about the nature of my relationship with Gareth. I don’t want to respond too enthusiastically, to give the wrong impression. But I don’t want to hurt Gareth’s feelings, either.

      “All right, I’ll see you there,” I tell Gareth, “but I might not have time for sailing.”