Fiction By Erin // 1/3/2011


          “Faye’s godfather?” said Mia, staring at the crazed old man. Then she looked suddenly to Dmitry, understanding.
            “She learned magic from him. So did you,” she said.
            “Faye didn’t do no makin’ of a-magic from me. Faye was makin’ her own magic, she wasn’t needin’ old a-Menfin,” Menfin grunted.
            “What do you mean? What do you mean making her own magic?” Mia asked him.
            Menfin shot a long-suffering look at Dmitry. “How d’you deal with her? All those a-danged questions!”
            Mia gazed at him, open-mouthed. She had never met anybody so rude.
            Dmitry simply shrugged. “I do not mind.” He gestured to the scratched up old table and chairs. “We should sit, Menfin. We have much to explain to Mia.” They sat down. Mia couldn’t help noticing how Dmitry said her name as if it were fragile glass about to shatter, or how strange it was that ghosts—or should she call them spirits?—could sit on solid objects. Or are they solid? She wondered. She was careful sitting down, in case she might fall through the chair, but it was hard wood. Luckily, neither Dmitry or Menfin seemed to notice.
            “Menfin, please tell Mia about her,” the way his mouth twisted and his eyes squinted as though he was in full sun told Mia clearly who he meant by ‘her’.
            “Aye, boy,” Menfin faced Mia, and she saw his features soften. “The girl a-looked just like yeh. How old do yeh be?”
            “F-fourteen,” said Mia. She was trembling with anticipation, though she didn’t know why.
            Menfin nodded. “She was a-bein’ seventeen when she disappeared. And she was a-bein’ older than the boy,” he said, gesturing to Dmitry.
            Mia started and glanced to Dmitry. Faye was only seventeen, and older than Dmitry? He looked at least twenty or more. She opened her mouth to speak, but Menfin was already talking again, and she didn’t want to interrupt him. The question was eating at her like a hungry dog but she just jiggled her thigh and waited.
            “She was a-charmin’, that one. Her da’ left her mumma when she was about five, and her mumma died when she was eight. Now, her mumma, Rosalie, was my student. She had a-quitten magic after she had Faye. But she still was a-visitin’ me until she a-went and died of grief. Faye came and a-lived with me.”
            Menfin opened his mouth to speak again, but Mia cut him off. “Rosalie,” she said ponderingly. “That name sounds familiar.”
            Menfin laughed; a loud, hard, wheezy sound. “Finally, somethin’ a-comin’ from you that ain’t a question!”
            Mia ignored him. “How old was Rosalie when she died?” she asked.
            “She was a-bein’ about twenty nine,” Menfin replied. He licked his lips and blinked rapidly, then looked down at the ground.
            Mia thought for a moment, and then she pictured her Great Aunt Eloise rocking back and forth in her rocking chair, telling the sad story of her sister, the one that had died young:
            Rosalie .
            “She died with a broken heart, poor dear. Heath, her husband, took off with a younger girl to only-God-knows-where, and Rosalie was left with her only daughter. She died a few years later, and I don’t know where the girl went….Probably an orphanage.”
            “Aunt Eloise,” Mia breathed. Just then she noticed that both Dmitry and Menfin were looking at her.
            “Do you feel well, Mia?” Dmitry asked gently. Mia looked at him and nodded.
            “Rosalie was my Great Aunt.”


So she and Faye are related!

So she and Faye are related! (Or were...)

Anna | Tue, 01/04/2011

I have hated the words and I have loved them, and I hope I have made them right. --The Book Thief

I just read through this

I just read through this story today and I really like it -when's the next part coming?

Tahlia Grant | Mon, 01/10/2011

Thanks, I'm glad you like it!

Thanks, I'm glad you like it! I'm not sure when the next part's coming.....I'm working on it, so I guess we'll see!

Erin | Tue, 01/11/2011

"You were not meant to fit into a shallow box built by someone else." -J. Raymond


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