Five days ago...

After sealing the final box, Helena stretched, relieving some of the dull pain in her lower back. She wiped the sweat off her forehead and surveyed her old bedroom. It was nothing more than an ocean of pale brown boxes and suitcases.

Double checking her things one last time, she closed her eyes. The sound of her beating heart enveloped her as happy memories merged with the familiar smell of rose scented candles on her windowsill. From downstairs, muffled voices of her mother and Richard floated up. This is where she grew up—a home she would miss.

Her fingers itched with anticipation and a smile tugged at her lips. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she reached under the pillow, retrieving a journal. She rested the two-inch-thick bulk on her lap. It had been on her mind ever since she rummaged through the dusty attic last night. Once she had laid eyes on the leather cover with carved fern leaves, she wanted to know the secrets held inside. Yet, priorities such as packing were paramount. If not done in time, she would be forced to listen to Laura's complaints until her ears bled.

She peeled back the jacket, revealing the first aged, yellow page. A list of names presented itself to her. They appeared handwritten by different people, possibly multiple owners of the journal. One name caught her attention. She skimmed through the strange diagrams and drawings of plants, recognising a few from her grandmother's garden when she was little. Faded, an archaic language filled the worn pages. She didn't even try pretending to comprehend it.

Beautiful curving letters sparked recognition and her hand froze. Her grandmother had been the last owner of this journal. Helena smiled at the bittersweet memory of them spending time together. The old woman read stories to her of witches battling against the dark forces in the world—tales she would never forget.

Her grip tightened. The calm, happy memories decayed as the tragic episodes unfolded in her mind once more. Her mother's version was simply a story of a loving grandmother turning into a crazed woman as she ended her life by setting fire to their home. Yet, those fragments of her childhood remained a knot she couldn't unravel no matter how hard she tried.

Michael's words sprang into her mind, making her jump. "Sasha is finishing the preparations. You should change."

"I'm busy," she replied.

"This is your last night here. That thing cannot be more important than spending time with your parents."

She slammed the journal shut. "Fine!"

Standing, she cast a fleeting glance to its hiding place under the pillow and walked to her wardrobe. A set of clothes she had prepared for tonight's dinner awaited her on the top shelf. She changed out of her sweat-tinged tracksuit and into a baggy t-shirt with a pair of jeans.

As she opened the door, a delicious aroma greeted her. Her grumbling stomach led her downstairs where she found an excessive amount of food spread out on the round oak table. Her mother went overboard with preparations as per usual. Nonetheless, Helena refrained from pointing it out and took in an appreciative whiff of the roasted chicken.

Her step-father's salt-and-pepper hair bobbed as he battled with a bottle of wine. His two large brows scrunched, creating an impression of a dark unibrow.

"Don't just stand there." Her mother's underlying Russian accent never failed to show when she was anxious. With a huff, she piled plates and cutlery in Helena's hands and rushed back into the kitchen.

Helena set the table mumbling, "Well, hello to you too, Mom."

As Richard settled the bottle on the lacquered surface, his shoulders slumped. The small cork got stuck halfway in the bottle's neck, unwilling to move in either direction.

"We haven't had champagne in a while," Helena said.

"You're right. I think Sasha bought one for the occasion."

When he left the room, her mother reappeared, and two brown eyes zeroed in on Helena. Her fingers raked through her short, platinum hair, as she commenced the emotional bombardment. "Are you sure about moving out? You can stay with us until you finish studying or—"

Helena crossed her arms. "Mom, we had this discussion last week."

"Yes, we did."

She wanted to kick herself—upsetting her mother was not something she enjoyed. It would be easier for her to travel to and from college if she moved in with her friends. She glanced at the kitchen door. Richard was taking longer than he should have. So, she tapped her foot to try to melt the silence growing between them.

Her mother's transitory act of sadness disappeared, and she squared her shoulders, disapproval remained etched into the frown lines on her face.

"I know you're worried, Mom, but I'll be with Laura and Andrew."

Sasha relaxed her stance and hugged her daughter. "You are my only child. I can't help worrying."

Helena patted her back, unsure of what to say or do next. Thankfully, the heavens answered with a loud pop coming from the kitchen and a faint clinking of glasses.

Richard strolled into the room with a grin, revealing his pearly teeth as he held up an opened bottle of champagne and three champagne flutes. "I take it you two are doing well?"

"We're fine," her mother replied. She pulled away from Helena, folded her apron over the back of her chair, and took her seat.

Following Sasha's example, Helena sat next to her mother.

Richard poured each of them a drink and joined them at the table. The instant he took a sip from his glass, he cringed.

Helena glanced at her thighs to hide her snort. She loved her step-father. Even though he was busy as the Head of the Science Department, he remained a family man. He never complained and took care of her and her mother after her real father vanished from their lives without so much as an explanation.

"Did you finish your registration?" Richard asked.

Helena raised her head. "Yeah, the second I got accepted."

"I'm concerned by your choice. Becoming a doctor or a lawyer would pay better than a—" Her mother waved her hand in the air, searching for the right word. "I don't even know what you can call your degree."

Helena looked away. Her mother's stony eyes held enough disappointment to drown an army. The silence continued to spread, and Helena clutched the cutlery. The metal warmed in her palms. "If I get bored, I will choose something else."

"Bored?" Sasha's voice rose.

Finished with the conversation, Helena switched her attention to her food.

Richard cleared his throat. "I heard there'll be quite a downpour tomorrow. Hope it won't hinder your move."

Her mother gave Helena a fleeting glare as if telling her their conversation wasn't over and faced her husband. "How bad will it be? I have to meet with the girls."

Helena took the distraction as a reprieve and mouthed a "thank you" to Richard who winked in return.

With dinner out of the way, Helena busied herself stacking the dishes into the dishwasher.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?" Richard's deep baritone made her jump.

She nodded and straightened her back.

"First and foremost, you are always welcome here..." His eyes scanned the kitchen.

Helena looked around with him. When she didn't notice anything out of the ordinary, she couldn't help a smile creeping up. "Um, Richard?"

"Right, well, the second thing is that we love you. If there's anything you need, we will be there to listen." He faltered and spread his arms out, drawing her into an awkward bear hug. His lean body radiated warmth and her heart swelled. "Call us if something happens or—"

"I think I got the point," she mumbled into his shoulder.

He released her and rubbed the back of his neck. "You should rest. It's an early start for everyone tomorrow."

"I will."

Once he left, she sped through putting the remaining dishes away while she analysed Richard's behaviour. Was he worried about her moving out? He didn't seem too concerned until now. So, why act like that all of a sudden? She shrugged and pressed the 'on' button on the dishwasher.

When she arrived at the top of the staircase, faint whispers from her mother's room caused her to halt. She sneaked across the hallway and pressed her back against the wall.

"...you tell her?" Sasha's agitated voice came first.

"I did. You shouldn't worry so much. She's doing great," Richard replied.

Her mother's voice rose. "What if something triggers her to remember?"

"Hush, Sasha. If she hears any of this, she will want to know more. All we can do is keep an eye on her. Restricting her will drive a wedge between you two, and I doubt that's what you want."

Helena clutched at her chest when the conversation ended. She staggered into her bedroom and dragged her feet until she collapsed on the bed. A sigh escaped her as she faced the ceiling. "What are they hiding from me?"

Michael materialised sitting next to her. He tracked her gaze to the phosphorescent stars that fascinated her in her childhood. "I remember the day your step-father glued them on. He fell off this bed twice."

Helena glanced at his broad back. "What are you implying?"

"Do you recall why he did that?"

"Richard said it was because I used to have nightmares when I was younger. Nightmares I don't remember having..."

"You were a child. Think nothing of it."

Helena sat bolt upright. "Are you serious? They're hiding something from me, something important. I can feel it."

Michael shifted, and their eyes met. She loved looking into the azure depths of his eyes. They were like two handpicked jewels. The longer you marvelled at their beauty, the less you wished to argue with the beholder. And, like real precious gems, they held many secrets.

He withheld a lot of information from her. Something was always missing out of the full picture—a forbidden piece of knowledge his angel bosses coveted. He wouldn't tell her anything regarding them either.

"Memory is a fragile thing, especially at a young age."

She glowered at him. "I have a good memory, Michael."

"Do not look at me with such murderous intentions. I have answered your question."

Unable to help herself, she doubted his answer. Her childhood night terrors couldn't be a plausible explanation why her parents were nervous. But, the real answer eluded her.

"You'll get wrinkles if you continue to brood over this."

She fell back onto the bed and sighed. "Okay, I'll let it go, for now."

Michael lay next to her without indenting the mattress. His lack of a physical body confused her to this day. "Rest. You have a lot to do tomorrow."

Not bothering to change into her pyjamas, she climbed under the covers and asked, "No matter what I choose, will you always support me?"

"Good night, Helena."

She ran a hairbrush through her hair for the second time that morning, and their eyes met in the mirror. At least, Michael refrained from popping in when she was in the shower or on the loo.

Her eyes narrowed. "What?"

"It's nothing."

"You've been staring at me since I woke up. Tell me what the problem is! Is it the hair?"

The corner of his lips upturned. "You are nervous."

Helena whipped around. "Any normal human being would be. It's a life-changing decision."

"What happened to the calm, collected, and analytical persona you like to portray?"

She folded her arms over her chest. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"If I had to say something, it would be that Andrew is at the front door."

She glared at her guardian angel and rushed downstairs. Tweeting birds filled her ears, and she grunted. The tacky doorbell was her mother's idea.

On the last step, she managed to avoid tripping over her feet by a mere millimetre. Between ragged breaths, she swung the door open and grinned at her soon-to-be roommate. "So, how do you want to do this?"

Andrew's smile faltered. He tapped his chin with his index finger. "Hum, getting indoors should be my primary task." He didn't wait for her response and stepped inside with a single long stride. "And now we move stuff."

Helena rolled her eyes. "Very funny. I meant is there any particular way we get my things over to the new place?"

"Don't worry, Thorn, all will be revealed in time."

She ignored the annoying nickname her friends gave her in school and peered around him. In her driveway, an unfamiliar chalk-white minivan broke the view of the park beyond.

"Is that yours?" she asked.

"Dad lent me one of his company cars for a day. He specifically told me not to crash it, so I hope your things won't weigh down the vehicle."

Helena hid her irritation behind a false smile. She signalled for him to accompany her. "Let's get on with it."

"Let's get on with it, please."

Less than amused, she stared at him.

"Spoilsport." He ascended the stairs.

They paused at the bedroom door, and he said, "I bet everything in there is pink and frilly."

"The more you talk, the more rubbish comes out of the big hole you call a mouth."

He clasped his hand over his chest in a dramatic manner. "You wound me dearly, Thorn."

With a shake of her head, Helena pushed past him, opening the door.

Andrew assessed the room, his expression betraying a touch of disappointment.

She smirked. "No pinks and no frills."

"Baggy clothes, purple hair, and a dull bedroom... How are you still a girl?"

"Uhuh."