Water and Ghosts

Chapter 1

I didn’t think I was a sentimental person, but as I step over the threshold of the front door, I can’t help thinking this is the last time. I did the same when I left my bedroom, when I walked through the kitchen, when I saw the blanket sitting on the couch. Though I guess leaving your home forever would make anyone sentimental, especially if the reason is that half of the people in your home died.

That sounds more horrible than it is; like there were six people living here and only three are left alive. When I say one half, I do technically mean fifty percent of the people, but there weren't many here. I mean one out of two: ½.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve lived with just my father in this tiny little house. We live on a large piece of land, with a few scattered trees and a large garden filled with strawberries, raspberries and blackberries and blueberries, apples and avocados. We also grew herbs for healing and seasoning. I learned how to cook at a very young age, being the only girl in the house. My mother died when I was five, in our first house. I try not to remember that.

But now my father has passed, and I’m off to live with my Grandma Colette. Instead of living at home and being homeschooled, with no one around for miles, I’ll be living with my mom’s mom in a village where I will go to school with the rest of the kids living there.

I’d be lying if I said I was anything less than terrified.

But for now I focus on the fact that I’ll get to see Grandma Colette again. I haven’t seen her in years, and she’s always come to me. It will be nice to go on an adventure.

I close the front door behind me, staring at it for a moment as it rings with finality.

And then I turn away.

I don’t have much with me; just one large suitcase with my clothes, books, toiletries, and some baubles I couldn’t bear to part with. I wheel it behind me, holding my sweater closed against the cold and the wind. Autumn is fast approaching, as it’s the beginning of October.

My house is a single story, small cottage, surrounded by a moat. The water is clear and loud, since there’s a small waterfall in it. I used to sleep with my window open so that I could hear it trickling in the dark.

I take a deep breath as I approach the bridge allowing us to get to the other side. What most people don’t know is that my genius of a mother managed to create a magical salt that she would sprinkle in the water. It protected us from Cyra, the infamous sorceress. She could not go through the invisible dome the salt— Shielding Salt, my mother called it— created over our home. And since my mother was a water Elemental, the moat made the magic that much stronger.

I have a small pouch filled with Shielding Salt, plus the recipe memorized. I will be protected everywhere I go, especially if I can find the right ingredient to place the salt over my person. I have both of my parent’s intelligence, but I need to find the missing piece that I have been looking for for three months straight.

I shake my head, dispelling the thoughts before I can grow annoyed. I step onto the bridge and walk across, feeling no different when I step onto the grass on the other side.

I look down and open the pouch that I’ve been carrying in my hand. I pull out a pinch of the shimmering blue and white stuff. Volantes Sugar, which helps you teleport from one place to another. All you need is a place to go.

I close my eyes and bring my grandmother’s face to my mind, along with the map of our island, Imperial. I know where Harbor Village is in relation to my hometown of Aster.

I sprinkle the sugar, dusting off my fingers, over my head with my eyes open. I watch as my world fades and one I have never seen unfolds before my eyes.

I’m in the middle of a sidewalk. This must be a main road, because all around me are people going in and out of shops, talking to other people and walking and carrying bags. People of all ages— younger and older, my age and my parent’s age. Cars drive up and down the streets.

Blinking, I try to get my bearings. I notice the street sign says Honor Road, and my eyes widen as a smile spreads across my face.

I actually know where I am.

I continue north along the road, passing people and smiling when I make eye contact, but I keep walking. I ignore the sound of rumbling car engines. I don’t want anyone to ask me questions right now; I don’t want to talk in general. I mainly keep my eyes down as I walk along Honor Road.

There aren’t many streets turning off the main road, so it’s easy to find East Fish Hook Street; easy, if you don’t count my cramping feet from all the walking. I make a right, and then another right onto Fall Isle. This street is a curve, so it starts on the opposite side of Fish Hook Street, but curves to the east, which is Garden Fork. My grandmother lives right ahead, on the corner where the two streets meet.

It’s a good sized house; two stories even though I’m sure she doesn’t use the second. My mom grew up here, along with her parents and younger brother; my Uncle Axel. But now that Uncle Axel has moved and Grandpa Scott has passed away, it’s just my Grandma Colette. 

The house is white brick, with a blue-gray roof and a swing on the porch. Wind chimes tinkle with the wind and create a song of its own. The front door is a dark gray, with a gold handle. The grass is a vibrant green, with a trickling founding in the middle, the gravel driveway bare, the steps leading to the door polished. I walk up those steps now, hesitating only a moment before I rap my knuckles against the door.

I hear footsteps before I have finished knocking, and before I know it my old grandmother is standing in the doorway, smiling down at me as she peers through her large glasses. She has white hair and a rounder face, currently wearing her apron, and she’s a little more plump than I expected. But her eyes are the same; they’re the ones she shared with my mom. In all of the pictures that she’s in back at my house, you can never fail to miss her piercing eyes. The same goes for my grandmother.

“Aqua!” She says, throwing her arms wide for a hug.

“Grandma Colette,” I say, smiling as I embrace her. She smells like lemons.

I pull back, smiling as I move my dark blue hair out of my eyes. Unlike my Elemental mother, I did not inherit blue-water eyes. I got my dad’s light brown/slightly golden eyes. Instead, I was born with blue hair; dark blue, like blueberries when you smash them open. Mostly blue, but with highlights: Magenta and violet. That’s what my hair looks like.

I am magical, after all.

“Come, come,” Grandma Colette says, turning and walking into the house. As soon as I cross the threshold, I know she’s been baking. I can smell the pie from here.

“Cherry pie?” I ask before we even get to the kitchen. Grandma Colette winks at me.

“You have a good nose, miss.”

Why, thank you,” I laugh, looking around.

The front door was off center, majorly to the left of the house while the stables was on the right— that was what counted as the garage. Most people these days either use Volantes Sugar or cars.

When you walk into the house, there is a family room on the left, with two reclining chairs and a fireplace in the corner. On the right is a wall with a door.

“My room,” Grandma Colette says when she catches me staring at it. I nod; it must lead to the master bedroom.

Past the family room is a set of stairs in the middle of the floor, underneath of which is the pantry, and past the stairs is the kitchen. Across from the kitchen, on the right, is the living room. One couch, two chairs, a coffee table and a TV. Two doors occupy the wall making up the right side of the living room. The left one is ajar, letting me see the office it contains. The right one, Grandma Colette tells me, is the downstairs bathroom— a half-bath.

Almost everything is beach themed. Beige and white and grey and so many different shades of blue, though it is mostly dark blue. The back wall is made of glass, letting me see into the backyard. I smile; of course Grandma Colette has a pool.

And a fished shaped one at that, with the shallow end in in the tail and the deep in in the head. I laugh quietly.

I notice the fire pit in the back left corner and the greenness of the grass before turning back to look at my grandmother. She’s looking at me expectantly.

“Don’t you want to see your room, dear?” She asks, smiling and blinking.

I make a mental note to work on my patience before following her up the stairs.

Immediately in front of me when I get to the top is a game room, complete with a shuffle board, foosball, and pool table. There’s a small open area all around the stairs, but otherwise it’s all walls, with one door on the back wall, and a hallway.

Grandma Colette doesn’t pause as she continues down the hall, letting me see the two doors on the right and the single set of double doors in the middle on the left.

“Where do these lead to?” I ask kindly.

I notice Grandma Colette smirk, but I don’t have time to puzzle it out. “Double doors go to the game room, the second door on the left leads to your new office.”

I hesitate. “And the first door?”

“You will learn, in time.”

As I pass by it, I put my hand on the handle. I plan to open the door and see its contents before continuing on, but I quickly realize that I can’t.

It’s locked, with nowhere to insert a key. There’s a device with a button, though. So the key is a word or phrase.

As I hurry after Grandma Colette, I wonder why the door would need to be locked.

I wonder what secrets it might be trying to bury.