“What?!” exclaimed Winter. “Erik, what are you talking about?”
“The cops called me after I got to work,” he explained. “They said one of the neighbours had called about our house. I went back home to see for myself and—Winter, it...it was like a car went through the house!”
Erik paced as he continued his story. “The cops were still there and I asked them what had happened, but they said they didn't know; they were still investigating. They pointed out there weren't any vehicles around when they arrived, and they didn't find any skid marks or tire tracks on the road or on the lawn.”
“My word, was anyone hurt?” asked Mr. Levins, sounding concerned.
“No, thankfully,” said Erik. “Our parents are away in Greece for the month along with our younger sister; they're visiting family over there. I dropped Winter off here, then I went to work. Everything was fine when we left the house this morning...!”
Erik turned to his sister and put a hand on her shoulder.
“Winter, I'm sorry, but...the most damage was done to your rooms. The rest of the house doesn't even look like it was touched, but I can't be sure. I can't go in the house until the cops clear the scene, and when I left to come get you, they were still there.”
Winter cried out in sudden realization. “Erik, my library—my books...!”
“I know,...
“I don't want to be here, Erik...!”
Winter Banos pouted as she leaned on the passenger-side window frame of her brother's pick-up truck. The last thing she wanted to do was sit inside a high school classroom in July. She was about to repeat American History so she could graduate with the rest of her senior classmates.
“Can't be helped, Sis,” replied Erik. He was a tall, good-looking young man of twenty-two, with thick wavy brown hair and a short goatee. He was wearing his usual work clothes; a bright yellow t-shirt, complete with a design which read BANOS CONSTRUCTION, blue jeans, and construction boots. Erik had what Winter believed were the coolest eyes she had ever seen; his right eye was sky-blue, while his left eye was a stormy-grey colour. “I told you that skipping class would land you here. It's your own fault; you'll just have to accept your fate.”
“Oh puh-leeze, Erik,” moaned Winter as she rolled her eyes at him. “You know I don't believe in things like fate or destiny; they're stupid. I control my own destiny, thank you.”
“And yet here you are,” teased her brother.
“Oh shut up,” huffed Winter. “And why did you have to drive me into school anyway? Were you afraid I'd skip again?”
“Well, the thought did cross my mind,” said Erik. “But you heard Dad this morning—I'm to look out for you while they're away.”
“Whatever, Erik. I'm seventeen; you...
Beneath an ancient Victorian home, in a small, dimly lit stone room known as the Key Chamber, there sits a solitary figure. A woman, cloaked and hooded in robes of royal blue. She rests unmoving upon an old ornate wooden chair.
The woman once had a proper name, yet for more than two hundred years, she has borne a different mantle—
Witch.
The old Witch sat there in complete silence, her features hidden beneath her hood. She has remained undisturbed inside this stone room for a long time, for the Key Chamber belonged solely to the Witch. No one was welcome without her consent.
The chamber itself was cold, and dome-shaped. Besides the Witch and her ornate chair, it contained a structure, made up of four columns of clear glass which rose from the dry, dusty floor. The columns arched over at the top near the low ceiling, curving down towards the ground. Each column tapered to a blunt point, and attached to each end was a thick heavy chain of black wrought iron. All four chains in turn held up a large cauldron made of smooth transparent crystal. Its jagged rim hung at eye-level over the room's centre. The cauldron glowed with an eerie orange light from within, and this light was the only source of illumination within the Key Chamber.
Its muted glow suddenly changed from orange to a deep blood-red hue. This prompted the Witch to rise from...
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