Young Writers Society

October 1 • Tuesday

1:52 pm

1 New Message

To: Finnley Bale

From: Dr. Lark

"Hi Finnley,

It's been a while. I noticed you've sort of stopped writing blog posts, and I'm worried about you. Remember our deal? Writing the blog can only help you, but not the way you're doing it now. Philosophy, poetry, whatever it is that you write- that's great. Fine. But you need to start opening up about your sister. Can we talk?

Yours,

Dr. Lark"

Finnley skimmed the message and deleted it. Dr. Lark hadn't contacted him in a long time, and he wasn't interested in talking to her now. He'd thought he'd left her behind when he moved, but of course she's kept track of the blog. She would always try too hard to be motherly around Finnley; only, Finnley had a mother already. What he needed was his father. His sister.

That had seemed so huge, so entirely life consuming. And it still hurt, only now things were going completely pear-shaped, and with the existence of magic and monsters, the loss began to fade. Now Finnley was concerned about Monica, trying to find out who or what she really was. Luckily, she was at school that day, though she avoided looking at Finnley every time he tried to catch her eye.

The end of school came quickly, like how the floor seems to rush up to meet you when you fall. Finnley truly felt like he was falling; if he unfocused his eyes, he began to feel dizzy. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him as he grabbed his history textbook from his locker and he turned to see both Monica and Mia. The two were laughing and talking animatedly about something.

"You seem to be in high spirits," Finnley observed, and Monica looked away for a moment. Finnley turned to Mia. "You... are you coming with us? Did Monica tell you about Mr. Vaughn?"

"Yeah, she did," Mia said, shaking her head with a smile. "And I'm here at her request for moral support. I can't believe you didn't tell me! Well, I mean, I sort of understand why you didn't. So thanks for that. I appreciate it."

Finnley felt his face soften. "I'm really sorry, about everything. How's your mom?"

"Better; she's doing better," Mia said, nodding along to her own words. "I think she'll be home soon. I hope we'll all be home soon- they've been working day and night on our house. Luckily, the damage wasn't as bad as it looked. We should be able to move back in in a week or two."

"Do you... do you want to stay with us?" Finnley asked, twisting his hands.

Mia hesitated for a second. "I think... Well, we're still working out some things with Uncle Fred. I don't want my parents to get more freaked out about the whole magic Mr. Vaughn thing, you know? And... we don't want to be a burden on you and your mother."

She said the last part terribly quietly, and Finnley knew that it was the real reason behind it all. Not that they would be unwelcome- they would be a financial burden. What hurt the most was that Finnley knew she was right. He and Mrs. Bale simply couldn't afford to have the four of them stay at their house for weeks or maybe even months. They didn't have nearly enough space, or money for food and other necessities.

Finnley's mouth formed a small 'o', but he didn't say anything. After a few moments of awkward silence between the three of them, he said "Well, come on then," and headed out the door. Outside, the weather had turned a bit sharper, and the three friends walked close to each other. Monica was wearing a hat which looked rather warm, but was perched carefully on her head and didn't even cover her ears, giving her an artsy look. Monica and Mia had now linked arms, and Finnley, feeling left out, held out his arm to Mia. She accepted it and became the center of their little group.

Mr. Vaughn's familiar shop soon came into view, and they entered single file with Finnley in the lead. The little bell above the door tinkled, as if signaling that they were entering a world entirely different from their own. The two girls looked around the room in wonder, though Monica had taken off her hat and was twisting it nervously in her hands.

Mr. Vaughn slowly creaked down the stairs, saying nothing until he was feet away from them. "Ah," he finally said. "You must be Mia." He shook hands with Finnley's scheming friend before turning to Monica, who was closely studying a rather uninteresting old paint can. "And you... You're Monica."

She finally turned around to face Mr. Vaughn, staring him in the eye unflinchingly. He nodded slowly. "You know what I am?" Monica asked, chin held high even as her hands were trembling.

"I knew as soon as I couldn't see you in the reflecting plate," Mr. Vaughn said gently, though Monica took a step back. "Child, why are you here?"

"Because I need to be," she said forcefully, though all the while she was wringing her hat. "I'm supposed to be here."

"Hm," was all the old man would say. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"I'm helping him!" Monica cried fiercely, flinging her hand towards Finnley, and Mr. Vaughn turned his inquisitive eyes in that direction.

"She did help us to defeat the demon," Finnley said doubtfully.

"It's more than that, Finn." Monica was whispering now, and a tear was hovering at the edge of her eye. "I- there are things I'm supposed to tell you. But I'm not ready for that yet. I've hardly begun to sort things out for myself. Just seeing you completely disarmed me. These things- I can't talk about them yet." Monica's eyes were pleading, and Mr. Vaughn's face softened. Finnley felt an aching in his chest, a feeling of such empathy that it almost hurt.