Promise Keeper

She no longer could remember what her name originally was.

Everything was a blur before Mary Lou. She could remember her siblings and her parents—their loving embraces and all the time they spent together—but their faces had long since gone. She had only been four when her parents had decided to sell some of their children to better ensure their futures. Though she couldn’t understand their reasoning, she couldn’t resent them. She remembered how poor they had been, with her older siblings often sacrificing food just to ensure the little they had went to their younger siblings. But sometimes she wondered if she would have been better off if the name Barebone had never entered her life at all.

She had a name before that, but after Mary Lou purchased her off that rainy street corner, she had never heard it again—so she quickly forgot it. All she knew now was Modesty.

Modesty, go collect the firewood. Modesty, go hand out the pamphlets. Modesty, go round up the children.

Modesty, don’t ever behave like your brother.

She hated the name, even though it was the only one she had ever known. It rippled off the tongue like a curse. Every time she heard someone call her, it felt like a mock, even if it wasn’t. She hated hearing anyone say it, especially the woman who used to call herself her mother.

Mary Lou Barebone was certainly a force to be reckoned with. Modesty learned that very early on, despite her young age. Step out of line—bam! Act anything other than how she expected you to—bam! There were strict rules that had to be followed when living with Mary Lou, and they were not always clear-cut.

“Modesty, I expect you to act like your namesake,” is what she recalls her “mother” telling her often. The girl had no idea what that meant, and sometimes she wasn’t even sure if Mary Lou did. Her idea of “modesty” always seemed to be changing, and it was up to the child to read her mood and act accordingly. Thankfully, she had always been good at reading people. Being the youngest of eight children gave you that talent. Even at the tender age of four, she could read everything as clearly as a book on people’s faces. Her mother was never to be openly disobeyed. Her sister was not to be trusted, as she was their mother’s carbon copy. And Credence….

Credence had been with Mary Lou the longest. She had gotten him when he was just a babe, while Chastity and Modesty came either during their toddler years or soon after. Perhaps that was why Modesty and Chastity could adapt, but Credence could not. He was always—unknowingly—angering their mother in the worst ways. One wondered why she adopted him considering she didn’t seem to harbor any feelings besides hatred towards him. Perhaps there was a time when she loved him, but Modesty had never known that time, and she doubted it had existed. Her brother had witch blood in him, their mother knew that for certain. So from the very start, she saw him as the embodiment of all she hated.

Modesty never knew exactly why her adoptive mother hated magic so much, she wasn’t even all that convinced it existed. Until that fateful night.

She shivered in her tiny bed, clutching the blankets closer around her body. Not that it mattered, anyway. The room was so cold that she could see her breath in the air. She didn’t understand how the air in the orphanage could be so frigid and damp at the same time. It was no wonder so many children were getting sick. Although she wasn’t sure if her shivers were due to the cold or memories of her brother.

She often thought about Credence.

He had been special to her.

From the moment she had been brought into the family she had been drawn to him. He was so quiet, his eyes never looking up from the ground. As the youngest in her family, she was used to being taken care of, but she had seen her fair share of other people taking care of others too. Despite being older than her, Credence had triggered a protective instinct in Modesty that she recognized from watching her biological family. So she stuck to his side. That is what led her to realize the truth behind Mary Lou’s feelings towards her son. To her, he was a walking mistake—a walking omen that should be continually punished for just existing. That’s why Chastity and all the other children went out of their way to avoid him, but not Modesty. Even at such a young age, she felt like she had to take care of him. To protect him.

It often felt like just the two of them against the world.

He made her feel like she had a family. That she wasn’t alone and had a place she could call home. Even if her new home was a volatile one. They had leaned on each other so much during that time. They were pretty much everything to each other.

Which is why their last encounter haunted her.

She didn’t mean to turn away from him. She wasn’t scared of him, there was just so much happening that she didn’t understand. Up until that point, she thought her mother was delusional, although she had a sneaking suspicion that maybe there was some truth to her ramblings. But to find out in such a way—watching her mother and sister die in front of her—was too cruel of a way to learn. Even though she knew in hindsight that he only did it to protect her and that their sister had just gotten mixed up in it all, it still overwhelmed her at the time. All she could think at that moment was to flee. Flee back to the home that had once felt safe, no matter how blurry it all was now.

It was a miracle she still remembered the address. She doesn’t exactly remember how she managed to run barefoot from the Barebone church to her former home in the slums, but she was there before she knew it. Of course, her family was long gone, having either sold all their children and left for better job opportunities or died in this house—she wasn’t sure which. All she knew now was that the home was old and dilapidated, with no living soul inhabiting it. She recalled her blurry-faced older sister holding her close as they hid under a desk during hide-and-seek. They were always the last to be found, despite their failed attempts at stifling their giggling. That had been a sanctuary to her once, and it would again.

She had just been so frightened of everything at that moment. It was all too much. It wasn’t Credence’s fault, but she couldn’t help it. When that man arrived with Credence and that…thing inside Credence resurfaced, she cringed away, unable to move out from under the desk but wanting to get as far from him as possible. No, not him. That thing. That thing was what truly scared her. It couldn’t be controlled. Credence got upset with their mother, so that thing lashed out uncontrollably. That’s why Chastity died, and she feared that the unpredictable monster would lash out again and she’d find herself caught up in the crossfires.

Her eyes met Credence’s as she attempted to shield her body away. Only for a moment, but she would never forget those eyes for as long as she lived. He saw how she was scared, how she looked at him. She knew what she looked like at that moment. Her face mirrored Credence’s when he faced their mother. She was equating him to their mother, and that hurt him.

He fled, and Modesty never saw him again. She remained in her hiding spot even after the man left chasing Credence. Stayed there for the remainder of the night, into the next morning, through a rainstorm, until somebody must have reported the destruction and the police arrived and found her. She told them what happened, but of course no one believe her. The destruction of her old home was contributed to a faulty pipe, and the death of her adoptive mother and sister were blamed on Credence, who was now considered a fugitive.

“Should have known this would happen,” one of the policemen said, “Boy was clearly a freak.”

“The whole lot of them were freaks,” the other said, before chuckling “But he was a freak among freaks.”

Hearing them talk about her brother like that snapped Modesty out of whatever she was feeling.

No. They didn’t know her brother.

He was not a freak. He was quiet and timid, but sensitive and kind. He was the one who taught her the hopscotch song, endlessly singing it as the two skipping playfully outside. He was the one who knew she hated thunderstorms and would sneak into her room and comfort her when there was one. He was the one who read her stories at night, both of them breaking the rules by telling stories of magic. He was the one who came to her after a beating from mother. He was the one she wanted to protect so desperately.

And she had abandoned him at his weakest moment.

Guilt hit her all at once, and even now, years later, she still felt it painfully. She had made a promise to herself in that moment, though. She had to find Credence. He was a boy witch, wasn’t he? So there had to be people to protect him. Yes, there had to be. Someone would find him and take him in. He would learn how to control his powers, and then maybe he would come back. Even if their last encounter wasn’t the best, they still had meant so much to each other—there’s no way he wouldn’t want to see her again. Just to make sure she was okay. And when she saw him again, she would make it up to him.

She’d hug him and tell him she was so sorry. That she wasn’t frightened of him—she knew he wouldn’t hurt a fly—but that thing inside him, even though she knew now he couldn’t control it. He’d forgive her, no doubt he would, as he always had a soft spot for her. Then they’d talk about all they had been through in their time apart, and while she didn’t expect him to take her with him, she hoped that they could at least stay in touch. Then she’d have her brother back.

Which led her to where she was now.

They hadn’t been able to track her biological family after everything had happened, so she had been placed in Sister Martha May June’s Orphanage for Wayward Souls. She had been here for years now, and things still weren’t easy, but the thing that kept her going was the hope she’d seen Credence again. Until then, she could never leave the city.

She heard a bird coo outside her window. Accepting that she would not be falling back asleep, she got up out of bed, shivering in her thin nightgown. She walked past the rows of children sleeping in run-down bunk beds and made her way towards the window. The chill nipped at her heels and made her speed up, although nothing would change if she arrived at the window faster. She tried to remain as quiet as she could. Although the nuns were not as strict as Mary Lou, they were still quite strict. If she was going to be up so early, then they would reason she should be put to work.

She reached the window and placed her hands on the glass. It was as cold outside as it was inside. The sky was grey and cloudy, and she could see from the trash moving on the street that the wind was blowing harshly. Another dreary day. She inwardly sighed. Today would be another day of chores and laundry, of putting up with the other children teasing her over her name and belief in magic, of wistfully staring out of the property lines waiting for her brother to appear, and formulating all the words she would say to him.

Her heart thumped. Deep down, she knew the truth. She didn’t want to admit it, but she knew her brother was never going to come back. He could be dead for all she knew, and if he wasn’t, after how she had treated him in their last encounter, she didn’t blame him if he never wanted to see her again. She felt tears well up in the back of her eyes. She leaned her head back in an attempt to prevent them from falling down her face. Not even for her biological family did she mourn this much, because, to her, they were just blurry faces she barely knew. Credence was the only real family she had, and she had pushed him away.

Oh, how she wished she could go back in time and change things. Perhaps she would hug him and calm him down, maybe the two could have run away from that bad man together and figured out how to live on their own. It would have been rough, but at least they would have been together. Even if there was a monster inside him. But that would never happen. He was gone to her. Forever. She should just learn to accept that.

She looked out the window again and nearly jumped out of her skin. On the tree branch in front of the window was a snow-white owl. She had never seen one before. Memories flashed of one of the stories Credence used to tell her when she was younger.

“Owls are the familiars of witches,” he whispered to her one night, as they were quietly huddled in blankets next to her bed, trying to keep their voices down.

“What’s a familiar?” she had asked.

He thought for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think they’re like guardian angels. So whenever you see an owl, a witch is bound to be not far behind.”

She had giggled with him back then. Magic had not been so scary to her back then. It felt distant and ridiculous like their mother’s lectures. She often longed to go back to those days—minus their mother.

Now, she was looking at a white owl a mere inches away from her face.

“Owls are familiars of witches,” she muttered to herself, awestruck. “If you see one, a witch is not far behind.”

As if she had uttered some magical spell, the bird flew off the branch and into the air. She watched as it slowly disappeared into the horizon. She smiled to herself and her eyes lingers on the skyline.

She had a feeling today was going to be different.

Today was going to be magical.