The Cursed Blood

my boots spilling my guts about what I assumed would be the worst day of my life, I couldn’t help but note the similarities between our two families. I wondered with a melancholy sigh if their lives and circumstances had been as turned on their heads after seeing me as mine had been after seeing them.
I remember Gramps cursing under his breath after tossing the contents of his coffee cup out past the porch, before stomping angrily back into the house and slamming the door behind him. I was scared. I didn’t know what was wrong or what I’d done or why he was so mad. I just sat there trembling under my blanket, pale and cold, but not from the chill morning as Manx whined and stared at the door.
“He’s not upset with you,” White Owl assured me as he took the last bite of his hash brown, licking the salt from his fingers as he studied me in silence a moment before continuing. “He’s angry at the world, furious with himself, and frightened because he is even now learning as I’d so often warned, that it is far too late to make peace for old sins.”
Utterly confused and more than a little frightened myself, I gawked at our unexpected guest as he lavished scratches under Manx’s chin in an effort to cheer the unsettled Witchound up. As if the universe had decided I wasn’t yet uncomfortable enough, my stomach growled embarrassingly.
White Owl glanced over and sighed as he reached into his lunchbox. He tossed me a warm breakfast sandwich carefully wrapped in yellow paper that I only just managed to catch as Manx licked at his jowls, eyeing the potential treat hungrily.
“Eat. It helps. No spell, potion, or tonic I’ve known comes close to the magic of a good, heavy, greasy meal. The unhealthier by today’s standards, the better. In moderation, of course,” He reassured sagely as he unwrapped another from his seemingly bottomless lunchbox and took a big, happy bite.
And this was the point of my life I blame for my addition to breakfast sandwiches when I find myself at a loss. Something about the toasted buttery English muffin, slightly spicy sausage, melty cheese, and egg seems to set things right back into perspective. Even better with coffee and a nice salty hash brown.
The Master likes to call it “food for thought” and firmly attests that indulging in a good feast is just the thing to help you work through a problem or bad mood. It’s a habit I’ve taken up with gusto. So much so that I think there are some weeks White Owl and I are personally responsible for the inflation of the local fast food places’ franchise profit margins.
A whole day passed of Gramps standing by the phone, making frantic calls in languages I didn’t understand and almost manically pacing as he grumbled to himself. He had poured himself five cups of coffee, all of them sat untouched and stone cold where he had left them about the living room.
Manx studied him mournfully, looking up at him from between his paws and whining from his spot by the crackling fire, while White Owl sat in gloomy silence on the sofa. A pair of gold rimmed spectacles sat at the tip of his rather large nose that he kept pushing back up to the bridge of every hour or so as he flipped pages and grumbled to himself. He was deeply engrossed in the tattered book—despite the fact that it was upside down in his hands—titled: Astrophysics and its Effects on the Philosophy of the Five Realms of Sorcery.
The whole while the ornate, golden faced clock ticked over the mantle, chiming every hour and half hour to mark me sitting there on the sofa sleepy, anxious, and waiting in dread for something awful that I felt lingering in the shadows. I didn’t know what it was, but I had a building fear that it had something to do with my parents. So, I just sat there miserably hugging my knees expecting the other proverbial shoe to drop on my life like an executioner’s axe as Manx snored on his back in his spot by the fire.
It was quarter past nine when the phone rang and was snatched up before the tone could even finish its first note. There were a few moments of cold silence as Gramps listened, then he fell to his knees, utterly inconsolable.
White Owl was almost instantly at his side helping him to his feet and to his favorite squishy leather chair by the fire. That was the only other time I ever saw Gramps cry, and my heart broke for him even as it thundered in my chest with such dread that I could hardly breath. When he finally calmed down enough to speak a few moments later, he tearfully beckoned me over to break the news.

Chapter Five
Breakfast, lessons, and demons oh my…
“I’m sorry to hear about your mum and dad,” the tall, pretty, amber eyed, raven haired teenager (about a year older than myself) in the black dress said as she walked past our booth. Hand in hand (and not looking particularly happy about it) with a lace gloved woman in a scarlet belted dress with a shiny jeweled golden buckle shaped like an elk or stag (I couldn’t tell which). The older woman didn’t even seem to notice her charge had spoken as she all but dragged her to another booth along the many photo hung far wall of the Wayfarers.
I sat there alone at our table. My fork sat poised by my slightly open mouth with a hunk of chocolate chip pancakes dripping syrup back onto my plate (I’m almost positive this was both my first time out of my room and very first meal since I’d gotten the news as I was far too heart sick to be hungry or talk. Right up until then I wasn’t given a choice and it dawned on me that