The Coven

Chapter 2

She'd come on impulse, John would be furious when he noticed she'd not gone straight home, but she liked Juno Holland and felt the urge to impress her. Though she got the sense most people had that same urge, it wasn't Juno's popularity that intrigued Malia, whatever it was that had her hooked was inexplicable, supernatural even. Like there was some invisible cord between, winding her in. So she agreed to give Juno and Willow a lift home that evening.

Willow, tall and beautiful as she was, was frightening . Her cold green eyes watched everything, they followed Malia everywhere, distrustful and intenst. She wore black jeans and grey t-shirt under a black jacket, with scuffed converse sneakers. She sort of looked like a tall, slender shadow. Her face wore no expression and Malia stared far too long trying to determine the slightest glimmer of amusement or anger, frustration, anything. But there was nothing. She had artfully mastered control over her face it seemed. She sat in the back seat of Malia's little blue car and stared impassively ahead. She said nothing while Juno fiddled with the radio, nothing while Malia rambled anxiously. She became this looming, frightening presence in the car. At least, Malia thought so. Juno seemed unsurprised, un-phased, by Willow's indifference.

"So Malia, where did you grow up?" Juno asked, finally settling on a radio station that was blasting Taylor Swift. She didn't even glance at Malia, the casual tone of her voice, the way her body relaxed back into the chair, it was as though she didn't even care to hear the answer.

Malia shuffled in her seat, keeping her eyes out for the street sign Juno had told her to turn at. "A small town called Cachette, not too far from here."

"Cachette," Juno rolled the word across her tongue delicately. She was rustling through her handbag, her head ducked. "Turn here," she spoke calmly, but Malia was so startled the turn was sharp, abrupt. "the house will be on your right, you can't miss it, number 12."

Malia frowned, her heart was pounding. Her back was stiff, her neck was aching, already she felt an uncertain turning in her stomach. The longer she sat amongst their eerie silence the more the music bothered her, it felt like a lullaby to calm a child. Forced and stiff, the beat seemed to batter in her skull. No one spoke, but it felt as though there was so much waiting to be said. As Malia pulled into the drive way of number 12 her stomach sank. Something was really off. She regretted agreeing to this. She should have listened to her uncle, she should have gone straight home.

"This is it," Juno smiled brightly, tossing the door open, she swung her legs out with energy. Willow did not mirror that energy, nor was she confused as Malia was. Calm as ever Willow slipped silently from the car.

Malia watched the two, tall and taller popular girls as they strode toward the remnants of a front door. Number 12 Warwell crescent was a darkened mess of burned home. Parts of the house, though old and collapsing, were intact and unburnt, but most of it was ash and dust, only the fraying foundations survived.

In the doorway, as Willow disappeared into the darkness, Juno turned. Her piercing blue eyes narrowed in on Malia without falter. "You coming?" She called lightly, waving her in.

Malia's hands were shaking as she took the keys from the ignition. Her mind had gone numb in a sense. No comprehensible thought crossed through her brain, only the impulse of emotion. Namely fear. When she opened the door it was like a wave rolling over her. Fear. So intense it stifled the air around her and she was forced to gulp, her fist curling around her car door.

In the doorway Juno frowned at her, untouched by the emotional current that was burying Malia. It was not the first time Malia had been crippled by an inexplicable emotion. Her grandfather used to explain it away as extreme empathy for the state of peoples or places. But often what Malia felt was not mirrored in the subject causing her trouble.

"Malia?" Juno's voice was fractured in Malia's ears. "are you alright?"

As sharply as it had come, the fear vanished. Finally drowning her lungs with the cool relief of oxygen she took one shaken moment to catch her breath. When she stood upright she forced herself calm, kept a straight face and followed Juno Holland into the remnants of the house. As she strode in she was hit almost immediately by the weight in the air. As though warmth still radiated from the ashen ruins. With each breath she took she struggled not to cough, ash and dust kicked up with each and every movement they made.

"What is this?" She asked breathlessly, her eyes drinking in each corner and crevice. "What happened here?"

Juno was right behind her shoulder, breathing on the back of her head. "This is my family home," she answered solemnly. "This is where my mother, my father, and my brother, died. This is where Anna Bourke and six other people met their fiery deaths."

"My mother," Malia breathed, brushing hair back from her face. "So this is where it happened."

Juno nodded heavily. "Only one room survived the fire completely intact," She added.

"Juno's nursery." Willow was leaning over the creaky, burnt frame of a bannister that overlooked them from the second floor, her long limbs seemed to stretch too far in the cramped ruins. "Directly over the room the fire started, and yet even the floor boards remain unmarred."

Juno motioned Malia onward. "This was the dining room once. Right here is where the fire started, where they all died." she pointed up. "But the ceiling has not even been charred. Right up there was where my room was."

Malia frowned, her eyebrows drew together with intensity that made her forehead ache. "How is that possible?"

Juno shrugged. "Nobody knows."

Malia shuddered, the hairs on her arms stood up and she hugged herself tightly. "Wow," She whispered.

"How much do you know about your parent's deaths?" Juno asked.

Malia shook her head, her body too heavy to move. "My father was mauled to death in the forest the morning before the house fire killed my mother."

Juno nodded. "And that's all anyone ever told you?" She continued.

Malia nodded, "There can't be much more to it than that."

Juno made a noise in her throat, a mixture or disbelief and satirical humour. "Come on," She murmured, her cold hand landing gently on Malia's upper arm.

They ascended the creaky, fragile stairs to the second floor and entered a room that, unlike the rest of the house, was not charred and dark. It was filled with the light of the afternoon sun through a wide window shrouded in pink, tulle, curtains. A cradle sat against a wall, white with pink and yellow bed sheets. A bookshelf with children's picture books took up the other half of the wall. There was a change table and chest of drawers, everything white , white carpet even. In the middle of the room a fluffy pink rug covered the floor.

"Why are we here?" Malia asked stiffly. Something in the room upset her, deep in her chest, something felt wrong. "I thought I was taking you home."

Juno grinned, "Just a detour," she promised, kneeling at the edge of the pink rug.

Willow sat in the deep set window sill where a chest was also a cushion seat. Her feet were on the seat with her, her knees drawn to her chest. She looked as though she should be gazing out the window peacefully. Instead her intense gaze was set on Juno as she lifted and tossed away the rug. The carpet below had been torn up revealing loose floorboards which Juno promptly removed. The cavity below the floor was stuffed full of loose papers and leather bound notebooks, pendants, candles, Malia even caught the glimmer of gemstones buried beneath the paper. She took a shaken step backward. "What is this?" She demanded. "I - I need to be getting home, my uncle is expecting me."

Juno didn't turn to look at her. She reached into the cavity and removed one of the leather note books. This one was dark and worn, with fraying brown leather, tied shut by black string. Juno undid that string ever so reverently, her fingers caressed the frail leather and fluttered through fraying pages. Until she flipped the book open, the page she landed on proudly was a list. A list of names from what Malia could tell. Juno flipped another page, to another list.

She held the book out flat for Malia to see and Malia peered at it.

The were was on list on the left and another on the right. The list on the left was titled 1974-1975, the list on the right was 1999-2001.

"What is this?" Malia asked, looking up to find Juno smirking at the pages.

Juno thrust the book at Malia. "Read it," she commanded, "See if you recognise any of the names."

Indeed she did.

The page on the right… the last name on the list; Malia Sage. Just two names above her was Juno Holland.

The page on the left contained more familiar names; Anna Bourke, Ethan Sage, Peter Holland (she was assuming that was Juno's father).

"What the hell is this?" She demanded, slamming it shut and tossing it back to Juno. "Some kind of cult ledger?"

From the window sill Willow scoffed.

"Will," Juno murmured, "Could you give us a minute?" She arched a blonde eyebrow, her cheek bones flushing pink.

Willow Crace slunk back through the doorway, all lithe movement. A predator on the prowl. Malia shuddered.

"I should go," She wanted to say boldly, loudly, but her voice came out small and broken.

Juno was watching her with those big blue eyes. They were so deep Malia felt like she got lost when she stared into them. Juno was gorgeous, there was no doubt about that, but she was also an intensely serious person when she let you passed that 'it' girl persona. "I'm going to say something crazy," she murmured, stepping toward Malia with her palms up as though she were approaching a wild animal. "And I want you to hear me out."

Malia swallowed thickly. She couldn't look away. Couldn't break that gaze. The cord between them seemed to pulse, it was drawn so taught. Her skin was tingling, her blood racing.

"Malia," Juno started slowly, "I don't think their deaths were an accident. I think our parents were involved in something big, something scary."

"Our parents?..." Malia finally glanced away, looking desperately to the doorway. It was all ash and ruined foundation. She swung back to Juno, her gaze catching on the emerald necklace dangling from Juno's throat. "I don't… I don't know what you mean but…. If-if our parents were up to something don't you think our families would have told us by now?"

"Would they?" Juno pressed tossing her arms out at the room, the book still clasped in her hand. "Look at this! This isn't normal, this isn't possible. Tell me you haven't thought the same thing?"

Her hands curled into fists. Her heart began to pound almost painfully against her ribs. "I don't know what you're insinuating but I… I don't know anyone who would kill this many people - no matter how dangerous their lives."

Juno shook her head. "It's crazy," she breathed, reaching out with her free hand she caught Malia's clenched fist. "But, weird things have been happening lately. And getting weirder. Malia…" She paused to take a breath, her free hand drifting up to her necklace. "Just… Don't freak out on me yet," she pleaded, blue eyes wide. "I know I sound crazy but I've lived my whole life one street over from this house and until I found this book all I knew was that my whole family died in a freak fire during a dinner party. Don’t you want to know what really happened?"

Though her heartbeat was pounding so rapidly Malia could feel her skin flushing, she couldn't help but be drawn into the passion in Juno's eyes. It wasn't wild or unhinged. But there was a deep seriousness there, a drive to dig deeper. And what had Malia come to Paloma for if not to learn something about her parents. Maybe it was crazy, but so was this creepy nursery. This house, one floor down from where she now stood, was where her mother died. If she was going to look for a connection to her parents well… what better place to start than where they died.

"So what do you know?" She asked.