The Gift of Magic

                                                            The Gift of Magic                                                                 Chapter 1     Morgan woke from a sound sleep to the sound of someone banging on her door, jumped out of bed to answer it, only to trip over a pile of clothes. Stumbling back to her feet, she headed for the door, cringing at the mess in her apartment. She'd never been much of a housekeeper, but this went beyond the limits of bad housekeeping and into the realm of natural disaster.     By the time she made it to the door her sleep deprived brain had finally began to function, and she began to wonder who could possibly be banging on her door this early in the morning. The sun was just coming up on the horizon, slanting into her big picture windows and making the mess look even worse. Try as she might it was impossible to believe that she'd been responsible for the mess, but there was no other explanation for what had happened last night.     Blocking the memory from her mind, she opened the door to find a handsome man standing at her door. She didn't recognize him, but when their eyes met an instant sense of recognition washed over her. Still she was glad that she'd left the chain on the door, recognition or not, he was a stranger and a woman couldn't be too careful these days. “Can I help you?" She asked, peeking through the crack in the door.     The man studied her face for a second, smiled broadly, then said, “I've been looking for you for a long time.” Morgan was just about to slam the door in his face and call the police, the man's words instantly setting off alarm bells in her head. But he quickly added, “I'm your cousin Peter from back East.”     Morgan did slam the door then, “I don't have any family back East.” She said, searching through the mess for her cell phone, then added. “Please go away or I'll have to call the police.”     There was a long silence on the other side of the door, then the man spoke again. “Morgan, I'm sorry to introduce myself this way, but there isn't time to do this more formally. I know you think you don't have any family left, but that was a lie your father and mother told you to keep you safe. Your father was a great man, but he's left you defenseless.”     Morgan was instantly angry, her father had only been dead for six months, had died in a car accident just a few days before her birthday. “I don't know who you are or what you're trying to pull, but I want you to go away.”     Again, there was a long silence, then she heard something rustling, like someone was sorting through a pile of papers. “Here maybe this will help.”     An envelope appeared under the door, Morgan picked up the envelope and slipped a single sheet of paper out. Her heart did a slow flip flop when she saw the handwriting, it was her father's, she'd recognize it anywhere. She scanned the note, then read it again, then she opened the door just a crack to look at the man again. Her brain was having a hard time processing not only her visitor but what her father had written.     “I…” She had no idea what to say.     “How about if we meet at the coffee shop around the corner? I'd really like to talk to you and there isn't much time.” The man said, backing away from the door a little.     Morgan could only nod her head and shut the door, her mind spinning with questions, questions her father wasn't there to answer. For her entire life she'd thought that the three of them were the last of the Corey's, that the rest of her father's family was gone, now suddenly she had aunts, uncles, and evidently cousins if the man at her door was telling the truth. Even more shocking was the news that this new-found family lived only a few miles from Salem, a place she'd been enchanted with since she was a girl.     Knowing that she had no choice but to meet the man at the coffee shop, she turned back to her messy apartment hoping that at least some of her clothes were still in the closet. Refusing to think about what had happened last night, she managed to put together an outfit. First, she'd deal with the mysterious man, then she'd try to figure out if she was losing her mind.     When she walked into the coffee shop less than half and hour later, still off balance, but intensely curious to find out what her cousin had to say. She'd looked at the note from her father again and again, searching for any clue that it was a fake, but in the end, she'd had to admit that it had been written by her father. Everything about the note, from the handwriting to the word choice screamed that her father had written it, after years of deciphering his terrible handwriting there was really no doubt that it was from him.     But what the letter didn't explain was the reason that her parents had lied to her all these years, why they'd kept her away from what was obviously a large family. After she talked to her cousin, a visit with her mother was definitely in order, she wanted to hear directly from her why they'd done what they had. A wave of anger washed over her when she thought about all the years she'd yearned for connections like her friends had, grandparents, aunts and uncles, cousins, but she pushed it aside telling herself that they must have had a good reason.     She slid into the booth Peter had chosen at the back of the room, her heart pounding in her chest. Before she could say a word, the waitress was at the table, looking at her expectantly. They placed their orders, some of the tension evaporating with the ritual, but once the woman had walked away, Morgan got right to the point.     “The only reason I'm here is because of that note my father wrote.”     “I can understand that you're confused, if I were in your place I would be too, but you're going to have to trust me.” Peter said, resisting the temptation to touch her hand where it lay on the table.     “I can't promise that, but I will listen to what you have to say.” Morgan said, wishing he'd just get to the point.     “Fair enough, but first let me ask you a question. How much do you know about your father's family? Did he talk about where he grew up?”     Morgan sighed, as much as she loved her father, it had always bothered her that he wouldn't talk about his family. “Nothing, he always said that it hurt too much to talk about them.”     Peter realized then that this conversation was not going to be easy, that his uncle had left Morgan unprepared for what she was going to have to face. “Our family,” he began, then paused for a second to gather his thoughts, “arrived here in America in the early 1600's. They were fishermen and farmers who simply wanted a better life, a place to raise children and follow their faith. After only a few years they joined a group of like minded people who would eventually be the founders of Salem.”     Morgan couldn't help but interrupt, “Salem Massachusetts?” She asked, knowing deep down that he was talking about the infamous village on the eastern seaboard.     “Yes, if you look at the original town charter, you'll see the name of our ancestor Michael Corey. He was granted a large track of land and thanks to a small personal fortune he took that land and established a large prosperous farm not far from town. For several generations the Corey's were considered one of the best families in town, but that all changed when Michael's great-grandson's married Martha and Mary, a pair of sisters who arrived from England in 1683.”     Morgan's mind was spinning, she clearly remembered the name Corey appearing on the list of people who had been executed for witch craft, but when she'd asked her father he'd denied any relationship, had in fact made a joke about it. But the possibility had sparked her imagination, had filled her young mind with images of the horror that had been unleashed on innocent people during that terrible time in Salem's history.     “My dad took me to Salem when I was thirteen, but he denied any relationship to the Corey's.” Morgan said, wondering again where all this was going.     “I'm sure he was trying to protect you, but I also think he was trying to prepare you.” Peter said.     “Prepare me for what?”     “I'll get to that, but first let me ask you another question.” Peter paused, waiting for her to answer. When she only nodded her head, he asked, “Has anything strange happened to you lately? Have you noticed anyone following you?”     Morgan was alarmed, “Following me? What do you mean?” Then she remembered her apartment and the way her coffee table had floated to the ceiling and remained there the night before. “Strange things like what?”     Peter saw the look of fear and confusion on her face and knew that something had happened.“What happened Morgan?” He asked.     Morgan was tempted to tell him about the night before, but knew that she’d sound crazy.“Nothing.” Then to change the subject she asked, “Why would anyone be following me?”     Peter sighed, he'd let the conversation get away from him, “It's a long and complicated story, one that goes back as long as the witch trials. I didn't mean to scare you.”     “But you did. What's going on, I feel like I'm missing something.” Morgan was beginning to think that she was still in a dream, nothing about this entire meeting was making any sense.     Peter considered his next move carefully, he had no idea how to tell Morgan that she was the descendant of a very powerful witch, that their ancestor had been one of the few executed for witch craft who had actually been guilty. Knowing that sometimes showing was better than telling, he reached down next to him and pulled a black case off the floor where it had been practically invisible.     “This rarely leaves the Corey compound on the island, but I wanted you to see it.” He said, sliding the case across the table.     Morgan looked at the case, afraid to touch it, knowing somehow that once she did, her life would never be the same. But in the end, she was unable to resist, and pulled it closer, flipped open the clips and opened it. Inside was a very old book, one that released the smell of dust, leather, and age. A strange feeling washed over Morgan, a feeling not unlike the one she got when she returned to her childhood home, a feeling of recognition that made her think she’d seen the book before.     Running her fingers across the name Corey which was etched into the leather on the front cover, she asked, “Is it the family bible?”     “Not exactly.” Peter said, waiting for her to open the book. When she seemed reluctant, he added, “Open it and you'll see.”     Morgan didn't like his answer, or the way her fingers tingled when they came in contact with the book. But she couldn't resist the pull the book seemed to have over her so she gently opened the book to a random page, then gasped when the words on the page began to move. Shifting and circling, fading then reappearing until what remained was a few lines that reminded her of a spell.     Looking more closely at the words, she realized that she'd seen these exact same words just the day before. Those were the words she'd been mindlessly saying over and over in her kitchen right before all hell had broken lose, the entire contents of her apartment suddenly coming to life, flying through the air as if propelled by a force she couldn't see. With a stifled scream, she slammed the book closed, shoved it away from her and stared at Peter horrified. Be sure and start your weekend out right, check back here every Friday night for the next Chapter.