"Why are they coming after me? I barely know anything about magic!" My voice cracked as panic surged through me. "I'm still fumbling through the basics—just a few spells, and even those I can't cast right! This has to be some kind of mistake… or a joke?" I let out an uneasy laugh, but it died the moment I saw Grandma's face. She wasn't laughing.
She was deadly serious.
"Okay, okay," I muttered, shrinking under her steady gaze. "I thought I was being funny. But seriously, I'm not even good at this. I'm practically a magical amateur." I stared at her, waiting—hoping—for some sign that this was all a misunderstanding. That she'd crack a smile and tell me we were just playing pretend.
But she didn't.
In the blink of an eye, a suitcase appeared beside her. "Let's go," she said firmly. "I've packed everything. We have to leave. Now!"
She grabbed my wrist, but I instinctively pulled away.
"Wait—what? Go where? This is too fast! What about my job? My friends? I can't just vanish without a word!" My thoughts were spiraling, tangled in confusion and fear.
"That's the easy part," she said calmly, lifting her hand with a familiar flick of her fingers.
"No!" I stopped her. My heart pounded. I knew that gesture far too well.
She was about to wipe me from their memories—everyone I ever knew in this world. I knew because I'd done it before. It was one of the first tricks my mother taught me, something every witch was supposed to master: the art of vanishing cleanly.
But I could only erase a week's worth of memories. Grandma? I didn't even want to guess how much she could take. The thought alone chilled me to the bone.
"Please don't. I lied about my friends, I only have one friend. And if it's really my fate to let go of this life I've created; I want to say good bye."
Cordelia stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed. "Alright. You can say your goodbyes—just not now. We have to leave immediately."
Before I could respond, a sharp knock echoed through the room.
Cordelia and I froze.
Her eyes darkened, jaw tightening with tension. I felt it then—a strange, searing heat crawling over my skin like a warning. A presence. Familiar… and dangerous.
Another witch.
"Shit," I breathed. "They're really here."
Cordelia shot me a look and raised a finger to her lips. Stay quiet.
We crept silently into the kitchen, careful not to let the old floorboards betray our presence. Slipping into the pantry, we held our breath as Cordelia murmured something under her breath—an incantation, though I couldn't recognize the spell. A soft, glowing aura enveloped our bodies for the briefest of moments, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared. It felt like a shield, and soon I realized—that's exactly what it was.
Cordelia had cloaked us, hidden us from the senses of the witch who had entered our home. Witches, you see, can feel each other's presence—like a sudden warmth creeping across the skin when another of our kind is near. But with Cordelia's enchantment, that heat never came. It was brilliant, and I couldn't help but stare at my grandmother in awe as she stood beside me, still peering through the jagged holes in the pantry door, her eyes locked on the intruder.
Now, there's something important you should understand: witches like us can't enter another witch's home without permission. It's an old rule—ancient, even. Like the stories told of vampires needing an invitation to cross a threshold. It's not just tradition; it's a law woven into our very nature. My mother explained it to me once. She herself can't step foot into a home uninvited, and I've seen the truth of that with my own eyes. But me? I can. I don't know why—and I've never told anyone that I can.
So when I saw that this witch had crossed our threshold without permission, something clicked. She was like me. There was something not right—something different. And maybe that meant there was something not right about me, too.
The witch who entered wasn't like any I'd ever seen. Her skin was pale—deathly pale—and her hair, brows, even her lashes were all bone white. Her eyes were the most unsettling of all: completely white, save for a pinprick of black in each center. She wore flowing garments the same stark color, but there was nothing pure or peaceful about her. No, she didn't look like an angel. She looked like a warning.
A threat.
The witch stood in the center of the kitchen, her eerie white gaze sweeping over every shadowed corner, as if sensing the air for hidden souls. My breath caught as her eyes—those unsettling, near-colorless eyes—settled on the pantry door. Through the small cracks in the wood, I saw her stare straight at me.
My heart thundered in my chest. I froze.
Cordelia's fingers tightened around mine, her grip like iron. We didn't speak. We didn't move. But we both knew—if she saw us, really saw us—it wouldn't end well. Being caught wasn't just dangerous. It could be fatal.
But then, as if deciding we weren't there, the witch turned away and continued her silent search. She lingered for a moment longer... and then, without sound or warning, vanished into thin air.
Gone.
Cordelia and I remained frozen for what felt like forever, the silence pressing down around us. Only when we were sure the witch was truly gone did we slowly, cautiously, step out of the pantry.
"Why didn't you just teleport us somewhere else?" I asked, still shaken. "I mean... you're a potential High Witch, right? Can't you do that?"
Cordelia didn't answer right away. She picked up my small suitcase and reached for my hand again.
"I could have," she said softly, her voice heavy with something unspoken. "But I'm not as powerful as I used to be, Sera."
I blinked. "Why? What happened?"
She didn't reply. Not with words. Just a long pause... and then she gently tugged me toward the door.
"I'll tell you everything you need to know," she said. "But not now. We need to go. This house... it's no longer safe."