Magikal Molly Day

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

To Christy Holy and Sabrina Jenn Johnson, the two who first read my book and offered expert guidance from the well of their unending wisdom. Thank you.

To David Reynolds for his skilled editing and proofreading, tidying up my book to its presentable self. Thank you. To Tara at Draft2Digital for her patient and generous help to me.

To Christiana Miller for her generosity in guiding me through self publishing and for being an all around amazing spirit. Thank you.

To Jill, Griffin, Carrie and all the merry magic makers at The Green Man . My work could not have been so complete without your wonderful classes and guidance. Many thanks to all of you.

And lastly to the unseen world. Though at first I was resistant to writing such a painfully honest story, I know without a doubt this book was written with your help. And curiously in the writing of it, it healed me.

Enjoy.

DEDICATION

In life there are two things: the light breakers and the light makers.  And most of us are a little of both.

I think the heart has its own virginity, but it works in reverse. Withstanding all kinds of damage and ruin, we still spend our days looping it around hoping to bring the pieces back together and sometimes if we are very lucky they finally re-meet, hobbled together, in the middle. Light shines through even the smallest of cracks.

This book is dedicated to everyone who knows no matter what happens, they are still amazing.

And you are.

You are.

For the ninth time that morning Serena Devon dropped her hair clip into the sink. She was anxious about getting to the train station on time for the 11:38 to Boston. Word had been sent that her great Aunt Emily had died and her belongings were entrusted to Serena. She regarded her self-described mousy reflection in the mirror and stuck her tongue out. One day I’ll start caring about my appearance. One day, she promised herself as she did -daily. Fishing the hair clip out of the sink, Serena grabbed her keys, a scarf, and flew out the door.

Fall was ushering herself in on this crisp October day. As she walked towards the train station she opened the letter that had arrived yesterday.

Dear Ms. Serena Devon:

We are sad to inform you that your relative Emily Anne Campbell died peacefully in her sleep. She was beloved here at Midland Homes and we all will miss her terribly. Our records show you are her benefactor. Please make arrangements to come to Boston as soon as you can.

Aunt Emily, I haven’t thought about you in years, Serena had remarked when she opened the letter. Still, her impact on Serena’s life was tremendous.

To understand Serena you need to understand her family. The Devons were a nasty bunch, to put it mildly. They were a well- to-do family that made their home in Salem, Massachusetts. Serena was the one kind link in a chain of raggedly mean spirited people. Her mother, Lissanne, had died when she was 20 and her father, Stephen, when she was 21. Her sister, Codetta, barely spoke to Serena, maintaining she found Serena to be icy and not a team payer. Translated, this meant Serena refused to be sucked into the tempestuous and cutting snobbery of her elitist family. Her father, Stephen Devon, owned a fur company and had made himself a tidy billion dollars by the time Serena was four years old. It was obvious to Serena he loved his money more then he loved his family. Some say that was the beginning of his decline.

In Salem, the Devon family parties were famous and everyone wanted an invitation. Entire buses full of staff were hired just for these lavish events. Her father would spend $100,000 on fresh flowers alone. Oh, and there was more. When they weren’t hosting million dollar parties, the Devon family traveled and traveled everywhere. By the time Serena was nine years old she had visited Africa, Kuala Lampur, Thailand, and the Fiji islands. But the old adage applies most sharply here- money doesn’t buy happiness. It buys many expensive things, yes, but what her father provided materially never compensated for what he failed to provide emotionally. Serena would have traded all those trips and trinkets for a day with her father where the two of them sat and talked, talked about anything, it didn’t even matter. The price for that was too high and such a day never came.

Her outgoing sister was the party favorite. Both her sparkling green eyes and graceful dancer body drew admirers from every corner. Codetta was a classic beauty with sculpted features and a twinkling personality or so everyone thought. Serena had inherited more mild looks. Her black hair was shoulder length and simple with straight bangs and her features unremarkable. She was of average height and weight and leaned towards pale, almost ghostly colored skin. Her mother often referred to her as the pasty daughter with flat brown eyes. But her heart was honest. Unlike her sister’s.

What is wrong with you? Everyone in town wonders. You don’t make friends, you don’t date... don’t you care what people think of you? You should. It matters, Codetta would lecture her as they dressed for another Devon extravaganza.

Does it? How do you know anybody truly likes you? At least I know who I am and ...

Codetta turned sharply around to face her.

Our family has a reputation to uphold. I have to keep up appearances, whether or not I want to. Help zip me up. Serena walked slowly over and looked at her sister through the mirror.

Do you want to Codetta? Doesn’t this phony life ever depress you? Codetta smoothed out her dress and grabbed her purse, moving towards the door.

No. You depress me. Why do you question everything and refuse to ...

Refuse to what? Serena rubbed off her lipstick and flopped back down on the bed.

Refuse to act like everyone else. It is embarrassing for me, for all of us. Never mind. I don’t care. I am going to have fun tonight. Codetta flounced out the door, but her face held a look of quiet strain. Serena stared at the ceiling and sighed. She pulled herself up, re-applied her lipstick, and joined the party.

Though it was hurtful, she was right. Serena did have a lot of trouble socializing. It was in those painful moments of memory that she was most grateful for her great Aunt Emily. Her aunt lived with the family for many years before moving into a retirement community. She was pure love and saved Serena from going completely crazy. In photographs they shared the most family resemblance.  Both had long hair the color of night, deep set eyes the color of caramel, and mouths that curled ever so slightly to the right when they laughed. And that is all fine and good, but as our story unfolds, Serena Devon inherited from her aunt something much more valuable.

Don’t listen to them, dear Serena. You hold more light than most people could ever imagine, Auntie would whisper in her ear every time they were together. It was no surprise that Aunt Emily entrusted Serena as her benefactor. She was her favorite. Serena smiled at the thought of having something precious Codetta could never touch.

Glancing out the train window as the trees whirred by, she sang quietly the song her aunt would sing to her.

"Come by me, sweet child of light,

Come by me, in the dark of night,

Let your heart whisper free,

I see all that you can be." And she did. She loved her. The next sound was the train conductor announcing her stop.

***

She gave away most of her stuff when she moved to the home, Ms. Childress explained as she neatly re-arranged the paperwork for Serena to sign. In fact, one of those boxes, the smaller one with the star sign on it, no one was allowed to touch. I don’t even know what’s in there. Oh, and we need one more signature here on the x, dear.

And with the swipe of her pen Serena had all that was left of her great Aunt in two boxes. The next train wasn’t until 5:30. Behind the home was a wide, clean park and it beckoned her for a walk. She bought some peanuts from a vendor and found a bench. There she placed herself and her boxes down for a brief rest. Her eye kept returning to the funny star shape on the small box. The ink was purplish and something else, was it glitter? It still had some shine after all these years. Serena ate her peanuts and relaxed. More memories of great Aunt Emily returned.

On Sunday mornings she had a special play date with her aunt. She looked forward to these days more than anything. It had been an especially chilly winter the year she turned nine and not just because it was often 20 degrees below. This one particular morning Serena’s parents had been fighting something awful. Correction. They didn’t fight loudly like most people; they fought with icy, clipped words.

Lissanne, you bore me with these childish tirades, her father had uttered with great calm as he picked up the broken vase her mother had just hurled.

Oh, aren’t you the successful businessmen, so above it all aren’t you Stephen? Who was she this time? Lissanne hissed.

Though Serena was only nine at the time she knew this was not love. It couldn’t be. When the doorbell rang and auntie came to take her for the day, she tore out of the house barely holding back the tears and leapt into the car. Aunt Emily drove one of those fabulous big old mustangs. It was avocado green with bright silver chrome and mustard colored bucket seats. The rear view window had a clear stone hanging from it.