Mack's words rang in Claire's ears over and over again. "He decided to pretend that you didn't exist. He gave up."
He gave up on the life of his child. She wanted to ask a hundred more questions; how long did he look? Where did he look? Did he really pretend that she didn't exist? When was the last time he thought of her? Did he still love her? Did he ever love her?
Claire hated how these thoughts wormed their way into her brain and tried desperately to block them out. All her life, her birth father had abandoned her birth mother. He had been a selfish specter, but not a haunting one. To say that he had occupied even the back of her mind offered him too much credit. But now, seeing a pair of eyes that looked so much like her own, she suddenly needed to know him.
Mack watched his niece silently, allowing her to process the information. He couldn't imagine the thoughts flying through her head right now. He personally had his own questions, but he was unsure if he even had the right to ask them.
"What do you know about the spell May put on me?" Claire asked suddenly, breaking them both out of their trances.
Once again, her uncle shifted uncomfortably in his wooden chair. Claire couldn't tell if he knew the answer and did not wish to share it, or if he was just as clueless as she and did not wish to admit it. Mack rested his elbows on his knees and placed his head into his hands. After Claire had had enough of his self-pity, she snapped, "Well?"
Mack looked up, and Claire was shocked to see that tears had filled his eyes. He blinked them away and began quietly, "When a witch first starts to show magic, the Priestess of the coven will access their abilities, to help figure out what kind of training is needed, so on." He smiled softly at Claire, looking nostalgically at his memory of the child he knew. "You first started showing your powers so young, your mom didn't even believe it at first. She thought it was just sleep deprivation caused by an energetic toddler. How much do you know about magic? Specifically, the magic of witches?"
Claire ducked her head down slightly, embarrassed. She knew very little about her heritage. She could never focus on the books Elias had; she wondered if that had been part of her mother's spell.
Mack nodded knowingly, confirming her suspicions. "Witches' magic comes from nature first and foremost. A witch's connection to the Earth is what decides their abilities. The most common connection is one of the nine universal elements. Others have connections to plants, animals, or even to the weather. It is not uncommon to have multiple connections; but generally, they go together: plants and earth, air and weather." A flash of pride crossed his face. "We were sitting on the porch drinking tea, and this little three-year-old came to tell us that Maisy the cow said that barn got a bit chilly at night. The Priestess came that very day. Claire, before you could read, you had shown four different connections; plants, animals, water, and earth."
He paused, letting the information sink in. Claire didn't say anything, although she wanted to jump up to her feet and yell at him, "I can't do any of that!" But she was too weak to do more than simply process what she was told. She was almost scared of herself, holding so much power without an ounce of knowledge of it.
"Jocelyn wanted to move you and May to move in with her," he began again.
"What about Robert?" Claire interrupted.
Although he tried, he could not suppress the angry expression that crossed his face. "Your father-"
"My dad passed a few years ago. Robert is not my father," she replied firmly.
Mack nodded in approval and explained, "Robert was in a relationship -- not that either of us knew about it. By the time you showed your magic, they were engaged. Elena was sweet to you and May; they even became friends."
Claire expected those words to hurt more. She thought that they should hurt more. However, they rolled off her like oil on water; her feelings on her birth father were decided the moment he silently watched her life be threatened.
Her uncle watched his words bounce off her. He wasn't sure if he was glad or nervous about her lack of reaction. Did she not care about Robert or not care about anything? She seemed to care about that wolf. With a cautious glance at her blank stare, he continued, "I was living with you at the time, helping May out. But after you moved in with your grandmother, I couldn't see either of you often. After a few months, she showed up at my door, crying. You were passed out asleep in the wagon." He swallowed, staring at his hands as if they were holding something precious. "She told me that she had come back from work to find Jocelyn yelling while you were in tears because you wouldn't kill some mouse. You were screaming at her, saying that you wouldn't do it. And then she slapped you so hard, you fell and hit your head on the ground."
Claire racked her brain, searching desperately for the memory Mack described. It seemed like the kind that would stay in her brain. But all her memories felt like chewed gum; sticking onto everything but ripping whenever she tried to pull harder. The fog, the same one that clouded her mind whenever she read about witches or simply tried to remember her birth mother's face, returned. It was met with a sharp pain in the open wound again.
"Why did she want me to kill some mouse?"
Mack sighed as if he did not want her to ask the obvious question. "Apparently, you had begun to show signs of a fifth connection: spiritual." At her blank face, he expanded, albeit unwillingly, "You can -- control isn't the right word but frankly it's all I can think of right now. You can control living things. Change moods, encourage actions. Like the way a vampire can mesmerize a human. Except, this goes deeper. You connect to the spirit, the soul, of the person."
"And Jocelyn wanted me to…" she paused, hesitant.
"She wanted you to kill the mouse with its own spirit."
"But why?" Claire pressed shrilly, exasperated; Mack only answered the exact question she asked, not a word more. And each time she asked the obvious next question, he did not seem to want to answer.
Mack shrugged, clearly frustrated as well; though not at his niece, but at her situation. "Why does anyone do anything? She wants power, and you could give it to her."
They sat in silence again. For the first time since they started to talk, Mack saw his words affect Claire. He watched her stare at her hands and wonder how many lives she took without remembering. He watched as she curled into herself, tucking her own dangerous limbs into her body. He watched a new sense of hatred for the Priestess burn within her. He watched as she realized what her final question would be: "What happened next?"