Happy March!

Mercina(Mercy)Keenan, Folly Beach SC, July 2020

Everything changed the day I saw my brother die.

I was in the kitchen helping Daddy cook when the fight for my life began. I could still smell the melted butter and vanilla bubbling away on the stove and my mouth watered at the memory. I loved being in the kitchen with Daddy. Cooking was our shared passion. We whiled away many an hour together, pouring over recipes. That day, we baked a pecan pie. I’d watched in fascination as he finished stretching and rolling the dough, turning the lump of flour, water, and lard into a smooth, round disk.
We made the pie for Mom, to surprise her after a long shift at the hospital. A top heart surgeon at the medical university, she was in high demand.

“Mercina, we need a little more flour so this doesn’t stick to the pastry board. Can you hand me the bag over by the sugar?”

I crossed to the center island and picked up the large sack of the King Arthur Daddy always used. Unfortunately, at that moment, the all-too familiar tingle of a vision came on. The flour slipped from my hands, spraying the room in white, powdered snow. I watched in horror as a strange man carved a triangular symbol into my twin brother Milo’s forehead with an oddly-shaped blade. Red blood dripped to the floor. My gaze lingered on the man’s hands as they pulled at Milo’s skin; tugging at the symbol he’d just marked him with. Milo was so pale; his eyes, now glassy, had changed color, as if they’d been painted over with a shiny metal coating.

“Milo, no!” I screamed as the evil creature, an ebony-skinned male with stony grey eyes ripped at Milo’s third eye, pulling threads of a honey-colored light from his mind. The golden filigree swirled and twirled like smoke before being consumed by this enormous being. Milo went limp, and the thing grinned, revealing pearly white teeth. I shrieked, and the vision vanished.

Daddy shook me. “Mercy? What is it, lass? What’s wrong with Milo? Talk to me, what do you see?” His brows furrowed in deep concern. My visions were known for their accuracy and my parents took them seriously. As much as Mom and Daddy tried to control the magic in this house, my second sight was not something I could turn off.

I sensed Milo’s pain, the agony of it. I shut my eyes for a moment, hoping to snuff it out before answering. “He’s being attacked,” I whispered hoarsely. “We have to find Milo. Now!”

I pulled away from Daddy’s embrace and raced for the stairs, stumbling. Daddy would first check one of Milo’s haunts, the nook under the staircase. Daddy and I were kindred spirits—sometimes I knew what he would do before he did.  Milo often liked to curl up and read in the big overstuffed chair, hidden away from the world, I prayed Dad would find him there, unharmed.

I leaped up the stairs, two at a time. Out of breath on the landing, I yelled for my brother. “Milo! Milo! Where are you?”

I wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts, listening for any sign of disturbance. There was no way to perceive if my vision occurred in real time or if I still had minutes to save him. I shivered, remembering the wicked man. This vision had been different, darker than others. I’d never seen anyone die before–a tough thing for a ten-year-old to deal with. My brother, my whole entire world, appeared to be in deep trouble.

When Milo didn’t answer my cries, I ran up the next flight of stairs to the attic loft, now a playroom. Milo’s favorite place to go since Great Granna’s office had become off limits. Mom never gave details about why we couldn’t play there; she always said ‘because I said so’ and that ended it. I learned only later the office led down to a secret room. Nobody talked about it, but it was there. Since the age of five, I’d had the same vision, again and again. Mom is down there, panicked, holding a mysterious magic book, and then it disappears, and she goes crazy looking for it. She never finds it and I see nothing else.

I told Milo about it once and suggested we sneak down there and take a look.
He’d said, no way. That’s where we differed. I was fire and Milo calm. He wanted to do what Mom said and leave magic alone. I desired to embrace it with both hands and have fun. If anybody should be in trouble with a bad guy, it should have been me.

By the time I reached the doorway of the playroom my legs wobbled like jelly, and I had trouble getting air to my lungs. I took deep, gulping breaths, my heart pounding in my chest like a jackhammer.

Thunder clapped loudly in the sky. I jumped nearly three feet before settling back down on my toes. One of the frequent afternoon thunderstorms was rolling through the Low Country. It was common to have storms at the height of summer in South Carolina, but I didn’t appreciate it right now.

I opened the door. Milo sat his back turned away from me, cross-legged on the braided green circular rug in the center of the room. The stormy sky outside cast dark shadows against the wall and I shivered.

“Milo?” I whispered tentatively. I swallowed hard against the terror clawing at my throat. Had I come in time?

“Milo? Did you hear me? We have to get out of here. I had a vision.” I crept closer. He didn’t answer. “Milo?” I hovered behind him now.He looked okay from my vantage point; maybe I’d panicked for nothing. Puzzled, I moved forward to stand in front of him. I spread my feet in a wide stance, hands on my hips, about to give him a talking to about ignoring his sister. But all I could do is stare catatonically into my twins face.

A cold fist closed over my heart and I struggled for breath. I gulped air furiously, feeling strangely semi-present.

A hole gaped between my brother’s eyebrows, oozing like a festering sore. His eyes were open and empty; his small hands clenched into tight fists. His body sat stiff and oddly upright. His Wolverine t-shirt, smeared in his own blood was almost unrecognizable. His familiar white Converse sneakers were spattered with what looked like a bright red paint.

Even at ten, I understood he was dead. But I was a kid; I could be wrong. Maybe I could bring him back. Any second now, he would pop up and say, “I’m fine, Mercy, Mom said you shouldn’t believe all your visions, remember?”

I dropped to my knees and grabbed his shoulders, shaking him. “Milo? Milo wake up!” I cried. I shook harder. “Milo!”

I screamed so hard I thought my voice would break, then collapsed, sobbing, into his lap.
I recall little after that. Hands picked me up and dragged me away from my brother’s body. I remembered Daddy murmuring in my ear with choked sobs that he would protect me with his life.
I used to believe him when he said that, but in that moment I realized he couldn’t. I always thought life wouldn’t change, that Mom, Daddy, and Milo would always be my world. My safety. My haven.
But there was a hole in my belly, a sickness that now lived in my gut. It had stayed with me since that day, like an unwelcome guest, haunting me with its pain.

My grief was so deep and intense I didn’t want to feel anything anymore. I decided right then and there, I wouldn’t let anyone get as close to me as I had been to Milo. If you gave people your heart, they hurt you, abandon you. Better to be in control, keep your distance.
Even before the vision, I’d had the sensation of a trapdoor suddenly opening in my belly and invading my stomach when I thought of Milo. I ignored the warning. I wanted to cook with Daddy. Besides, I didn’t think bad feelings added up to much. I didn’t know it was possible for ghastly things to happen to me or Milo.

But now my brother was dead, murdered in cold blood and I could have stopped it.

I would have to live with that for the rest of my life.

I was no longer “two halves of a whole” as Mom used to say about Milo and me. It was only me.

An only child.

Mom and Daddy put me in a figurative cage after that.

They saw me differently, too. Treated me differently.

Maybe that’s why I fought so hard for my freedom and the magic.

Being on my own would be better. I couldn’t hurt anyone, and they couldn’t hurt me.

Thank goodness I wouldn’t have to suffer like that again.

Or so I thought.

Little did I know that before the year was out, I would meet a boy that would start to chip away at the wall I had built around my heart.

—–

Want to read more? 🙂 You can get RING OF FIRE here:

Amazon US
PRINT
Amazon Canada
Amazon UK
Amazon Australia
Apple
Kobo
Barnes & Noble

Okay guys, I better get back to editing. Hope you have a wonderful rest of the week.

Love,
Genevieve  Xoxo
Author of the Argos Dynasty Series

P.S What are you guys reading right now? I just finished Victoria Aveyard’s Red Queen Collection. I’m not sure about that ending….anyone with me on this?

P. P. S.
If you want to catch up before you read the last book of the Argos Dynasty, you can get the first two books here:
The Soul of the Sun
The Power of Alchemy