2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

G rief was a funny thing. Some days it sat quietly in the background, a gentle reminder of the person who was gone. Other days it was a roar that drowned out all the good in the world. For the past six months, Draven James had been living within the din.

The loss of his mother was a specter in the shadows stalking every moment of every day since he had held her hand in his for the very last time.

But today would be different. Today he had a purpose and that purpose was exactly how he found himself in the town of Addersfield, Rhode Island, four hours and over 200 miles from home.

The kind of place you would see on a postcard that instantly evoked thoughts of salt and sun and sand. The quintessential coastal town.

His mother was from here and according to the journals he found tucked away in her nightstand, she was a witch.

At first, he thought it was a joke. But the more he read, the more he believed. Dozens of journal entries that described in detail his mother’s early life as a witch: meeting his father, the eventual loss of her magic, and his father leaving them. It was all connected. He read and re-read amid countless sleepless nights. Until finally, a few weeks ago, he made the decision to confirm the truth for himself by paying a visit to this small New England town that, according to his mother, was full of witches.

All he had were these journals and his own instincts to guide him.

He tried to Google the place before just showing up, but he found nothing. No advertisements, no address listings, no websites for local businesses. No way to look for housing. Not even an auto-generated Facebook page and in the age of the internet, that was very strange. But in a town that was home to witches, maybe it was a weird safety measure? It made sense— small towns tended to be very close-knit and in a town that was home to witches, they would probably be even more so.

He was almost certain that his apartment building alone had more people living in it than the whole of Addersfield, which boasted a population of only 6,000. If he had to guess, the impending culture shock would not be insignificant.

He had lived in New York his entire life, a place where anonymity was no problem. But here? He would stick out like a sore thumb. He wouldn’t be staying forever, just long enough to get what he needed and that required fitting in. This town was like something straight out of a quaint movie. There were people out walking their dogs, old men sitting in the park playing cards and exactly one main street.

It looked like that was where all the action was, if he could even call it that. He spotted a diner, a pharmacy, and a grocery store right next to the other. People waved hello and called out greetings as they passed each other on the street. This was definitely not New York.

A quick drive around the town square revealed an inn just off the main street. It looked like as good a place as any for a temporary living space, while he looked for a more permanent situation. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he would be staying.

He was a journalist for one of the bigger papers back in New York and he was good at his job, which was why his editor had let him take some time off to come here. He had promised her a big story and he planned on keeping that promise. A magical town full of witches? It would be huge. He just needed proof.

Pulling his car into the small parking lot, he killed the engine and sat back in his seat. Glancing around at the buildings and people, the intimacy of it all was completely foreign to him. Who had his mother been here? Did she have a happy childhood? Did she have any remaining family here? Would anyone remember her? Where did she fit into the history of this town? And where did that leave him? He was determined to get answers to his many questions.

There were only two other cars in the lot beside his own—probably employees. How a place like this stayed open in a town this size, he wasn’t sure. Especially considering they seemed to be going to great lengths to keep tourists away. He grabbed his bag from the passenger seat and made his way up to the entrance.

Stepping inside, he was instantly hit with the comforting and familiar scent of roses. It reminded him of his mother. The inn itself was like stepping into the pages of a travel magazine, the kind with one of those articles listing “The Top 10 Inns in Rhode Island.” The whole place was, in a word, ‘cutesy.’ Dark wood throughout and lots of floral-patterned furniture. There was even a fireplace off the main room surrounded by books. Maybe he could borrow a few. He’d had to leave the majority of his collection behind.

As he approached the front desk, a woman greeted him with a wave and a bright smile.

Her tone was cheery. “Hi, can I help you?”

“Yes. I was hoping to rent a room. For the week?”

“Sure thing. Are you visiting someone?”

“Nope. Just looking for a quiet place to relax and work on my book. I’m a writer. A little town like this seemed the best place.”

Not exactly a lie. But that was part of the job, telling people what they wanted to hear to make them feel more comfortable. No one here needed to know what he was up to. At least not yet. Once the article was published, he could give two shits if anyone found out. If anything, it would make the whole thing just that much more satisfying.

Her brow furrowed, questions brewing in her eyes.

“Is something wrong?”

She blushed. “It’s just a little weird. We don't get many visitors, or rather, we don’t get many strangers," she said. “I mean, obviously, people visit the town sometimes. We're not like barring people at the town line or anything. I mean …”

“It's just that this isn't exactly a town on the beaten path.”

“Exactly!”

He shrugged. “Well, it seems like a lovely place for what it’s worth and I needed a change, so it works for me.”

Another trick of the trade. Pile on the compliments.

She seemed satisfied with his answer and didn’t pry for more information, thank goodness. Instead, she worked diligently, charging his credit card and having him fill out some paperwork. It was a relatively painless process, considering most places like this would normally be using a computer.

Maybe the whole town was a little behind the times? Was that a reflection on the kind of people who lived in this town? Were witches naturally averse to technology because they had magic to help them out? Or was that supposed to add to the charm of this place? Another question to add to his ever-growing list.

"Well, here’s your room key,” she said as she handed him an actual, physical key. “Number four. Just up the stairs and to the left. I hope you enjoy your stay. My name is Parker, by the way,” she said, pointing to herself. “My family owns this place. Let me know if you have any questions or if you need anything.”

“Nice to meet you, Parker. I’m Draven James,” he said, resisting the urge to extend his hand. If she’d wanted to shake it, she would have. He paused. “Actually, could you tell me: is there a beach nearby? Or somewhere you can see the ocean?” He held his breath. He was desperate to be near the water.

“Oh. Umm, yeah,” she said, looking a little surprised. “Just take Main Street all the way down past the grocery store,” she pointed with her finger in the direction of the store. “Turn right and there’s a boardwalk path to the beach. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it,” he said with a nod. “I’ll see you around.”

“See you around,” she said, again with that same bright smile.

He grabbed his bag and, clutching his honest-to-God metal key, went in search of his room.

It was a standard hotel room, if a little antiquated. Decent-sized double bed, small bathroom. TV, mini-fridge, dresser, even a microwave, and more floral furniture. Even the curtains had flowers on them. Not exactly his style, but it would do for now.

He did not have much to unpack. Most of his belongings fit into a few bags and boxes, which were currently taking up space in his trunk. The stuff he had been unable to bring along had been donated, books, a few pieces of small furniture, and some of his larger kitchen appliances. In the bag he brought with him were the necessities, toothbrush, toiletries, and a week’s worth of clothes. Hopefully, he would be able to find a place to rent quickly.

But first, there was one part of this town that beckoned to him: the ocean. Grabbing his wallet and keys, he ventured back out into the sunshine, its brightness a stark contrast to the way he was feeling inside.

The town was certainly picturesque, that much he could admit. Walking the quiet streets was incredibly surreal, like something out of a dream. Had he really packed up his entire life and come here on what could arguably be considered a total whim?

What if things didn’t work out and he wasn’t able to write his story? What would he do then? This was all he had. The fact that this place could have been his home in another life perhaps should have stirred some kind of connection or positive feeling. Yet, he had never felt so disconnected from anything or anyone in his life.

When he arrived at the beach, there was no one else around. Not surprising given the fact it was a Monday afternoon, but he preferred it that way.

In addition to his mother’s journals, he had found an album of old pictures, one of which was of her sitting on the beach, presumably the same beach he was standing on now. The dark blue water loomed in the background. Had she ever intended for him to end up here, to discover her secret? Would she have told him everything if she had had more time?

Cancer was a bitch. It came for his mother swiftly and silently. One of those types that was a death sentence before you even knew it existed. One day she looked perfectly healthy and the next, she was sitting him and his brother Lucas down to tell them she was dying. From that moment on, he had tried to distance himself from anything that made him feel too much. His mother, his brother, and the few friends he had.

Between endless doctors’ appointments and hours spent sitting in hospital waiting rooms, he withdrew further and further from the person he used to be.

Instead, he focused on work, never letting up. It helped to distract him from the pain and in a way, it paid off. He had too many bylines to count and he was always going after the most controversial or hard-hitting stories, never letting up until he got every piece of information available for a story. He wasn’t sure that particular approach would work here. But, whatever it took, he wouldn’t stop until he got his story. The pen was mightier than the sword, as the saying went.

Reading her journals was almost like reading a family history with his mother right there with him.

They revealed that she had descended from a family of witches that had made their home here in Addersfield. But she eventually ended up settling in New York City with his father. They met when she was on a trip to New York City to celebrate her turning twenty-one. He was a bartender and had spent the night flirting with his mom while serving drinks and wiping tables. Fast forward to a year later: she told him she was a witch and he was fascinated and more in love with her than ever.

In the journal, she didn’t go into much detail beyond that she had decided to share her magic with his father. Only that wasn’t allowed and as a consequence, her magic was taken from her. She didn’t explain how or why.

His father had wanted her to fight to get it back. But she had felt there was nothing that could be done. Her magic was gone, she’d made a mistake and she would live with the consequences.

For a few years, they’d tried to carry on with their new life in New York. Draven was born two years later and his little brother Lucas the year after. But his father wasn’t happy and one day, he left for work and never came back. Over the years he had made very little effort to stay in touch with his sons.

Reading this straight from his mother’s own hand had sent him reeling. A lot of things made sense now. The stories full of magic his mother used to tell him before bed. Why she never talked about her past and why they never knew any of her family.

Maybe he could blame his father for all of this, because he’d wanted magic that didn’t belong to him.

But to Draven, it boiled down to one thing: his mother had been let down by his father, by the people here in her hometown, by her sons who were now barely speaking to each other and by magic itself.

As far as he was concerned, magic was the problem. Then and now. Magic was the thing that had pulled his family apart, a fact he spent his adult life trying to reconcile with alone. The existence of magic wasn’t something everyone knew about and he wanted to make things right for his mother. To prove how much she meant to him and how sorry he was that he hadn’t always been there for her, the way he should have been—choosing to let his career become the most important thing in his life.

Even if all he could do now was tell her story, it would have to be enough. He would tell the world about this town, the witches who lived here, and the way they turned their backs on his mother, so many years ago. It wasn’t right that they would go on living here, possessing magic while his mother’s was taken away.

The slow laps of the waves on the shore were a balm to his raging emotions, embodying a rhythm that was familiar for him. Evocative of home and his childhood. An endless summer day full of sand and sunshine. His mother loved the water, the beach and the warm weather; and she passed that love on to her sons from a very early age. They lived in the city, but every summer was spent in a rental cabin upstate. They fished, they swam, and they sailed for hours every single day. Until their fingers turned wrinkly and they were exhausted from the sun beating down on them.

At night they would lay in the tall grass together, counting the stars and making wishes and Lucas would insist that they try and catch fireflies. The air so warm and sweet. Those summers were everything to him and Lucas, something they looked forward to every year.

The tradition continued right up until the summer before his junior year of high school. At this point he was suddenly too cool to spend time with his family. Of course, looking back now, he would change that if he could. He’d remind himself that he would never get another chance to make memories like the ones they made each summer.

His mother had passed away before either of her sons had children to pass on the traditions to. He had so many regrets where she was concerned. But maybe what he was about to do would make up for that in some way.

Bringing out his phone, he snapped a picture to send to his brother. He made sure to include the passing sailboats in the distance. When he was satisfied that their crisp, white sails were visible enough, he sent the picture and a short message to Lucas.

I miss you.

They hadn’t spoken in so long. Time and grief did all they could to keep them apart. But he wanted to change that. It’s what their mother would have wanted. If she could see them now, it would surely break her heart.

They used to be best friends, he and Lucas. One of his earliest memories was of a day spent on a beach, a lot like this one, with six-year-old Draven teaching four-year-old Lucas how to build a sandcastle.

Their mother watched on with the biggest smile on her face, laughing along with them each time a wave came to wash the sandcastle away and each time they would hunker down and build a new one. Each one was better than the last.

She had given them so many special moments. Losing her was devastating, the only parent he had left. He missed her every single day.

Being here made him feel so close to her. Just imagining that she might have stood in this very spot, watching these very same waves.

He could not save her from her disease. But maybe he could make this one thing right for her. And he would try like hell, no matter what it took.