The house in between

Selene was oddly comforting. It was not as if she patted my arm and cooed that everything would be alright. It’s not as if she sat me down and asked me gently what had happened; she didn’t need to. She knew. I could see it in her eyes. Her usually delirious eyes wide with fear for something only she could see.

For a few minutes, as she made me tea while I sat down at the kitchen table, I felt something in me stir in response to her.

Could she be like me?
Half in shock the question slipped out, “Selene, are you a witch?”

Something clattered from behind me and then there was silence. I did not dare to turn around, frightened to elicit one of her mad rages or even worse, for her eyes to glaze over as she drifted away from reality.

When I finally gathered the courage to turn around Selene was gone, one of Anna’s porcelain teacups on its side on the counter as tea dribbled out of it to splash onto tiles below, little rust coloured pin pricks on the immaculate white. Washing the teacup my hands shook; I could smell traces of dark root almost masked under the almost overpowering smell of mint tea and honey.

Dark root was used to numb pain and most other sensations in hurt patients. If too much was used it could however produce long term effects even after a patient has been healed.
They would start to forget small things and then suddenly wake up one morning not knowing their own names. The professional term for the root was strangely nunquam alieno, don’t forget, and it was only used as a last resort for seriously ill patients who had to be operated on.

And Selene had just tried to use it on me and judging by the fact that I could smell it; she had used more than was wisely recommended. Had she intentionally tried to poison me? Did she not want me to remember the horrible vision I had just seen? Thoughts that she might be a witch herself evaporated like mist in the midday sun; a witch would not use this against one of her own kind, we had noses and bucketfuls of suspicion to protect us.

Maybe someone else had engineered this? Had Selene, in a moment of pure idiocy accepted dark root from someone who promised it was a harmless remedy for sleep?

I gave a shaky laugh and wiped off my hands on my skirt. Suspicion had helped me so far, no need to become paranoid as well. I mean seriously, who would want me dead? A half-blood witch and an orphan to boot? But nevertheless my hands shook all the way to my room. I locked myself in even though a part of me wanted to yell and scream until someone appeared to help clear things up. I knew I shouldn’t even try looking for Selene; she would most probably only be back in a few days after one of her many mysterious disappearing acts. And once more she would be a shadow of a shadow, any lucidity long gone.

I flopped down onto my bed and held back tears as the night gently ushered day into her bower. I began doing my homework to keep my mind off of anything important like someone trying to poison me. Next to that Pride and Prejudice seemed a silly drama and maths only made me more mentally exhausted. Then I heard it. Granados’ Oriental gently coaxed me out of my room and I wondered who was playing on the piano but then smiled at myself and thought, stupid, who else?

As I walked down the hallway, up the sweeping staircase and into the parlour room I let the music seep into every nook and cranny in my mind, let it coat everything in a veneer of calm subduing the demons if only for a while.

Alexi’s back was turned towards me, his fingers weaving deftly as he played the slightly haunting and melancholy tune. This time I did not marvel at his size nor at his usually clumsy paws that now teased such beauty from the slightly out of tune piano. I leaned my back against a wall and closed my eyes. Nothing could beat live music. As the melody changed to something more lulling I found myself sliding down and onto the floor and before I knew it I was half asleep and only faintly started when I felt someone lift me and carry me cradled in their arms. I felt childlike then, brought back to blurry remembered days of my mother’s smell and soft voice, comfort and safety.

Except this person smelled of cut grass and coffee. Half lucid I heard whispers and felt the person carrying me speak, his chest rumbled gently as seemingly incoherent words left his mouth.

I recognised Greta’s voice, worried and caring and then Theo who sounded oddly strained.
And then I was snuggling sleepily into my cool sheets and sighing happily.

“Goodnight Diana.”

“M…night Alex..i,” I mumbled. A few moments later my bedroom door closed with a soft click and I slipped into the realm of dreams.