The Dark Side of Eleanor Warwick
MATTHEW

Matthew holds up a book with a picture of a massive worm crawling along desert dunes.

“It’s the Mongolian death worm, olgoi-khorkhoi. Some people think it’s just a myth, possibly influenced by the famous science fiction novel, Dune. The problem is the first stories of the worm predate Dune by decades. They say anyone who’s ever seen it has died. But that begs a question doesn’t it?”

Matthew lowered his book. Jessica sat cross-legged on the floor staring at him. “What?” she asked.

“If everyone who sees it dies, where do the stories of it come from?”

She stared blankly. “Movies?”

“No. The obvious answer is that the stories are made up.”

Matthew stood and moved over to a map pinned to his bedroom wall. Red thumbtacks were stuck in various places around the world. American woodlands. Loch Ness. Rural Mexico. He placed another one in Mongolia. “It’s just another fake.”

He looked over the map in disgust. “One day I will find a real one. One of them has to be real.”

“Why?”

He turned back to her. “What?”

“Why does one of them have to be real?”

“Because the…the…” he tapped his chin. “I don’t know. There have to be secrets in the world, Jessica. Mysteries.”

“Like what?”

“Like the things that occupy the boundary of fact and fiction. Things that hover just beyond known reality.”

“Like magic?”

With a dismissive snort, Matthew said, “Please. Magic’s not that mysterious. Seems like everyone can do it.”

Jessica looked down at her hands.

Her brother grimaced. He sat on the floor in front of her. “Hey, don’t worry, Jessica. You’ll be able to do it in no time.”

“I heard Adrian say I was weak,” she said with a frown.

“Adrian. Look, the big secret about Adrian is that he calls other people weak to make himself feel strong. I love him, but it’s kind of sad.”

Jessica didn’t seem convinced.

“Give me your hands,” he said, reaching out to her. She placed her hands in his. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Focus on something. An image.”

Following his lead, Jessica closed her eyes. She heard Matthew mutter something. She stayed focused.

Slowly she began to feel warmth on her face. Opening her eyes, she gasped.

The siblings sat in a beautiful glen. Tall grass swayed lightly in the soft breeze. The sun was setting, casting an orange glow. Jessica watched a butterfly flutter between them. Matthew kept his eyes closed, a smile spreading across his face.

“Thank you, Matthew. It’s so pretty.”

“Don’t thank me. It’s your imagination. I’m just projecting it. We’re casting this spell together.”

He grunted suddenly as Jessica threw her arms around him. The glen faded but neither cared. Matthew hugged his little sister and tussled her hair.

“Don’t worry so much about it. Your powers will come. How could they not, we’re Blackwells.”

“We’re Blackwells,” Alexander’s grim voice reminded. “That comes at a price.”

Alexander paced in front of his three acceptable children. “That price will never be easy to pay, but pay it we will. Weakness must be cut out of our House. Weakness is a disease and it will spread. I will not allow it.”

Anastasia stood stoically, her hands behind her back. She eyed her children coldly.

Alexander stopped his pacing in front of Adrian. “Adrian, are you with me?”

Adrian glanced past his father to meet his mother’s steel glare, but only for a fleeting instance. He nodded. “I’m with you, Dad.”

“Thank you, son.” He moved on to his daughter. “Madeline?”

Madeline sniffed and shifted uncomfortably. Her eyes welled. “Dad, she’s our- .” Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the (ꜰind)ɴʘvel.nᴇt website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Madeline,” Anastasia said sternly.

Alexander lovingly cupped Madeline’s cheek. He offered a sympathetic gaze. “I need you with me, sweetheart.”

With a deep, settling breath, she composed herself. “I’m with you, Dad.”

“Thank you, Madeline.”

He continued on to the third Blackwell child. “Matthew?”

Matthew stared forward. His face slackened. His eyes were wide with horrified alarm. A tear ran down his cheek.

“Matthew?”

His posture was stiff. He barely breathed.

“Matthew,” Anastasia said.

He tilted his head, indicating awareness but not looking at her.

“Don’t you have something to say to your father?”

Matthew opened his mouth, but nothing passed his trembling lips. Finally, he offered a slow shake of his head.

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