“So…you killed a kid.” Helga said with very little concern for the action. “Surprising, all things considered. Even murdered spirits usually aren’t so powerful.”

The boys didn’t explain immediately and instead exchanged conversation between glances, save for Roman who rested his head on the table. Tracing his fingers around the table, Sam carefully considered his options. The worst had already been revealed, he wasn’t sure what exactly about the odd occurrences that he didn’t want to voice but there was something off with Helga. Her eyes seemed shifty, unfocused as if she was looking for something.

“Well, that’s not all.” Fletcher started.

In the most inexplicable way Fletcher explained the strangeness of their lives. Everything from the fairy circle up to the truck's brakes not working was covered in detail. The information did not provide any relief for her, rather it seemed to make things worse. She began fidgeting with her hair as the two went back and forth with questions that seemed like semantics given the topic. Her entire body stiffened as she looked at Sam.

“So, it is an issue with the Fae which makes it harder to tell what the spirit is looking for. Revenge is possible but more likely his spirit is being tormented by the Fae and he’s looking for help out of it.”

Great, so not only did we kill a kid, we sentenced him to eternal torment; fun! Sam thought to himself. Pulling on the sleeves of his shirt, he watched as Ellis processed the information. First, he gave his skeptical stare, then he scoffed and tilted his chair back before he finally laughed like everyone else was beneath him. The arrogance of Ellis knew no bounds.

“Are we done here? I’m certain if any of this is real that we can do a quick exorcism and be done with it.” Sam was surprised at Ellis's tone; A mixture of ignorance and fear.

“You’ve all probably dealt with some unexplainable stuff. Like the brakes in the truck. Strong spirits have a way of manipulating guilt into some…how should I put it? Physical danger.”

“Like something pulling me under the water?” Fletcher asked.

“Pretty much. Given that I know how, I can solve it but freeing anything from the Fae can take time. Leave it to me.” She stood up and clapped her hands together. “I need you guys to either come to terms with your guilt or avoid any places where you could experience the antics of a vengeful spirit.”

“This is total bullshit. Roman and I haven’t dealt with any of this guilt tripping ghost nonsense.” Ellis waved her off.

Wordlessly, Roman got up from the table dragging his feet across the floor until he reached the couch. His undereye circles began to resemble that of a raccoon. If he cared to hear what anyone was saying, he didn’t show it. Tucking his head underneath the throw pillow, he let out a small groan.

“Don’t count Roman out. I mean he shoved the kid in the box. Tight confined space? Sounds like claustrophobia, anyone?” A small smirk grew on Sam’s face.

Helga reiterated her point; Everything would be fine if they simply did nothing. It was a fact Sam did not trust. In truth, he couldn’t quite place why he even agreed to tell her the story of what happened in the first place. Something about her was disarming him but as she got ready, he could feel his walls rebuilding. Regrets swarmed his mind telling him exactly what he shouldn’t have said. His eyes flickered back to where the shadowy figure was earlier, but the man was long gone. Logic said she knew more so they should trust her but his instincts told him they would need to sort it out themselves.

Her hand was inches from the door knob before she stopped and turned to face the living room. With her attention fixated on the bookshelf, she slowly made her way towards it with one hand reached out. Brushing her fingers over the spot where the spell book they had found used to reside, she starts to move her lips as if she was speaking to herself. Peeking out from the pillow, Roman watched her half-heartedly but made no motion to object.

“Who’s cabin?” She asked in an almost trance-like state.

“My fathers.”

“Your last name?”

“Davenport.”

Tilting her head back, she seemed displeased by the notion. Pacing, she started to make note of the cabin’s layout. Each photo, decoration and piece of paper became something for her to study. The boys exchanged a look that said what the hell? Grabbing a small framed photo of the wall, she stared deeply into it before she started to speak.

“Sam, are you by chance related to Alden Schuyler?” She turned the frame to show the photo of the four boys around the age of ten. “I assume this is you, but you look a lot like him.”

“He’s one of my older brothers.” Hesitantly, Sam spoke.

“What is your last name?” She said pointing at Fletcher.

“Yates...how did you send those pink adverts without knowing-”

“Tracking spell. Your mom's maiden name?”

“Beaudelaire.” Fletcher’s answer provided her with some relief.

With a quick smile, she put the frame back in its place before shifting her attention back to the kitchen. Sam would have guessed she wasn’t the most observant person seeing as she had been there for nearly an hour before she noticed her surroundings. It was the book on the table that caught her attention. The smile slowly dropped from her face as she motioned for Fletcher to hand it to her. Within a second of her look at it she started to panic.

“You didn’t read anything from this right? Like out loud?”

“We did.” Honesty was Fletcher’s most unbecoming trait.

Fletcher flipped through the book back to the Latin they had read what felt like lifetimes ago. Every movement she had made before was meticulous, perfectly calculated and now it was like watching someone drown. With flailing arms, a trembling voice and an anger Sam had only seen in especially peculiar teachers, the sort who really shouldn’t work with children, she began to make demands. First, she wanted to know the exact date and time. Being normal people, they boys had no idea what time they had read the book but they did know the date. Although hearing it didn’t change anything. Even stranger, she wanted to know the weather that night which Fletcher had recalled although Sam was certain that was only because of how cold and wet he was.

“Okay, so you read a spell that can only work on a new moon and during a storm…which you must have succeeded at.” She gritted her teeth before Ellis interrupted.

“It’s not like we know Latin.” Roman sat up and scoffed like he knew more Latin than the few words he actually knew. “Besides, Sam remembered it from some notebook that his dad had. And it was in English-”

“Magic doesn’t have a language barrier! Besides you all just unbound your powers. Congrats, you are officially witches.” She didn’t even wait for the questions to start before she continued. “Davenport’s, Holloway’s, Cadière’s and the Schuyler’s are the founders of Emmerson and they were extremely powerful witches. When the witch trial bullshit happened, they all bound their powers to prevent being executed. So, the three of you are now ticking time bombs.”

“But I’m fine?” Fletcher asked.

“How is it dangerous?” Roman chimed in.

“You can’t actually expect us to believe you.” Ellis snapped.

“Fletcher, you are fine. Roman, you’re dangerous because you have no idea what your branch is and Ellis, I told you before I don’t care if you believe me or not. Check the town archives if you want proof, I’m sure they have your family history documented there.”

“And what pray tell is a magic branch?” Ellis asked.

“Basically, a branch is like a section of magic each witch has. Usually, they can do something unique that only people with the same branch can do. I can talk to wildlife amongst other things” if Sam was to wager, the appearing out of a swarm of birds thing was part of it.

“Can we rebind them?” Fletcher asked, getting directly to the point.

“I don’t know, can you unring a bell? No, you can’t! I have no means to tell you what branch you are…This changes things. I have to work fast.” Pausing for a brief moment, she furrowed her brows and began to speak very slowly. “Don’t do anything stupid. In fact, don’t do anything.”

Without so much as a goodbye or leaving a contact number, she whisked her way out of the cabin. Two flicks of her arms the swirling flock of birds she had arrived by took her away. Fletcher, unlike the other boys, didn't seem to have any questions about the odd women. His focus was on the book and solely the book. Sitting on the back of the couch, he held the book in front of Roman and began asking for translations. A fruitless endeavor really, at his best Roman knew a few words but with the concussion it was a surprise he could even read. Ellis had returned to sneakily trying to use his phone although Sam didn’t understand what he was trying to hide.

The revelation of being witches didn’t stun anyone apparently. Although Sam was certain Ellis had written Helga off and Roman wasn’t exactly mentally present at the time. Slowly, Sam looked out to where they had seen the figure earlier. It was all hard to believe but evidence supported what Helga said. Sam wasn’t so easily convinced though; he would need to confirm what she was saying before moving forward.

“So do we believe her?” A simple enough question that only gathered halfhearted responses. “Okay, so we should at least confirm what she’s been saying. Fletcher and I can check out the archives, confirm the lineage. Ellis and Roman can talk to Mr. Davenport about exactly why he’s got these books and figure out exactly which Holloway you need to talk to about witchcraft.”

“No.” Ellis replied with an aloofness akin to an absentee parent. “I am not bringing Roman anywhere near my family. You take him, I get Fletcher.”

“Sure, whatever.”

***

The Emmerson archives were a long narrow basement just below the town hall. Dust collected everywhere, lining the cabinets, shelves and anything else it could find. Cobwebs wove around any corner of the room. Thin wiry overhead lights let out a small bit of light, just enough to actually read the documents. It was clear the archives were not a place meant to be inhabited but rather a place to store things that no one could quite dispose of. After a few hours of being there, Sam had become numb to the musty, mildew odor that encapsulated the room.

Sam turned the tops of three short file cabinets into a makeshift work desk for himself. Large stacks of files sat in front of him, each corresponding to the families Helga mentioned. The Schuyler’s family was of particular interest. Comparatively it was a smaller stack, but the name appeared more often in other people’s documents then he would have expected.

Checking his watch, Sam let out a long groan. He should have known when agreeing to be partner with Roman that he wouldn’t show up on time. Or at all apparently. Roman was over two hours late and in his typical fashion, wasn’t answering text messages or calls. If Sam heard his phone crackle out Roman Davenport. Leave a message or don’t, I won’t call you back, one more time he was going to throw it across the room.

As he reached into the Cadière’s pile, he found a very thin and fragile piece of unlined paper. The cursive writing made it hard to decipher but from what he could make out, he was holding a death warrant signed by a Schuyler. The crime in question being witchcraft. That doesn’t make sense, if my family is magic why would they burn other witches? Sam wondered.

The newspaper clips and journals gave better insight into Emmerson. The Holloway’s unsurprisingly were always rich although Sam did learn they had been accused of witchcraft up into the 1950’s. Odd considering they often served as witnesses to the alleged witchcraft. It was the Davenport’s that actually seemed to have magic lineage. During Emmerson’s not so known witch trials, two young Davenport’s were accused of necromancy and eventually sentenced and released due to them claiming to be prophets of God. Sam was surprised, lying was literally in Roman's blood.

Doubts began to creep in. Some archive papers supported what Helga told them but it was overwhelmingly contradicted by Schuyler’s history. They weren’t witches, they were executioners. Leaning against his makeshift desk, Sam used his phone to see if he could find anything else.

Light beamed in from the top of the stairs. Jerking his head around to see, Sam saw Roman standing at the top of the stairs, carrying a small leather-bound book. As he walked down, Sam noticed his atrocious jacket, certainly something his mom had designed. Sometimes, Sam genuinely preferred when they were all forced to wear uniforms. It saved his eyes from the pain of Roman’s fashion choices.

“Glad you could make it.” Sam checked his watch. “Only two and half hours late this time. Round of applause for you.”

Roman didn’t reply, distracted by the smell in the room. Quickly, he pulled his shirt over his nose, not caring for appearances apparently. Overall, he just looked off. Dark circles highlighted his sharply blue eyes and his skin was almost translucent. By the seams of it, sleep and Roman were no longer on good terms.

“Dad gave some vague answers about the family shit and said he likes history, thus the collection of books. Did give me this journal though, it was written by the French family. Was the name? Cadaver? Callier ?” Roman spoke through his shirt, muffling his voice.

“Cadière,” Sam corrected as Roman tossed him the journal. “Not even going to apologize?”

“Conscience called in sick.” Witty but the joke didn’t change the strong sense of loathing Sam was directing towards him. “Take it down a notch, chief. I had to get my dad to drive me and…”

There weren’t enough words in the English language to describe how much Sam didn’t want to hear about Roman’s familial problems. As it turned out the journal made a lovely prop to ignore Roman with. Diving in, Sam viciously flipped through the pages despite Roman’s pleas to go easy on the book. It may as well have been illegible between the cursive letters and the language. Sam pushed past Roman and went straight up the stairs without an ounce of remorse for the mess he’d left. Twisting through the town hall corridors and straight out the doors. He could hear the pattering of Roman’s feet quickly following behind.

“You got two minutes.” Sam called to him as he got into his truck.

“Until?” Roman asked.

“I drive off.”

Roman bolted to the truck and got in the passenger seat. Taking out his phone, Sam sent a quick text off to Fletcher asking for a meeting. Roman was peaking over his shoulder when he started rambling off questions. Between his quick pauses, he gathered Roman wanted to know why they needed to see Fletcher, what Ellis was doing, where they were going and what exactly Sam found in the archives. Instead of answering, he started the truck. For a moment, he thought about pushing Roman out and leaving on his own. As it turned out, concussed Roman was much more annoying than regular Roman.

“Seriously, what do we need Fletcher for? I thought that’s why we broke up into teams?”

Sam never more hated Ellis and how insistent he was that he got his way. Ellis wasn’t wrong to pick Fletcher. Fletcher was pleasant, laid back, easy to be around and probably a hundred other adjectives that Sam didn’t have the time to list. The point was Fletcher didn’t make Sam feel on edge and he didn’t have chaos following him.

“Fletcher speaks French.” Sam deadpanned as he reversed the truck.

“Your point?”

“The journal is in French.”

“How do-”

“It’s a French last name. Come on, Roman, you’re concussed, not stupid.”

Roman was pouting like a child. Even though Sam wanted to keep his mind on driving, it would drift back to Roman’s antics. In terms of attention, Roman was a black hole. Each micro expression, breath, tilt of the head, anything that he did drove Sam mad. How a person was capable of being the focal point of every room yet kept his own thoughts so private was beyond Sam’s comprehension.

“You’re going the wrong way.” Roman said but Sam couldn’t have been bothered to reply. It wasn’t worth the energy. Roman wasn’t worth the energy. “Fletchers on a study date with Beck back at the school.”

“And how do you know that?”

“He sent me a voicemail asking about something to do with Ellis, I don’t know I tuned out after he mentioned it but he said he would be at the school with Beck and we shouldn’t bother him.” Sure, so he listens to his voicemail, but he can’t be bothered to reply. Great. Sam thought. “We could crash it, ya know?”

“You want to deal with Beck?”

“I’ve dealt with worse.” He lied. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

Without much effort, Roman convinced Sam. It was one of Roman’s more charismatic moments. A cheap smile, a soft laugh and a promise of adventure was all it took for Sam to be pulled back into Roman’s natural gravity. In all aspects of life, Roman lacked passion, save for anything he considered a good time but when he was passionate, he was convincing. Sam was sure Fletcher wouldn’t feel the same way.