Chapter 14 - The Magician’s Childhood

Johann had kept secrets from his family for too long. It was time to reveal the events that shaped his childhood, causing him to flee his mother’s house, never to return.

Table of Contents:
1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13

Recap: In the previous chapter, Mr. Orville Shelley asked Marjorie if he and his wife could accompany her to the ball, which was to take place at the house where they once lived.

Meanwhile, Johann the wizard and potion-maker retreated to prepare for the next morning.

He was to see his sister again for the first time in nearly two decades.

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The next morning, Johann sat at the kitchen table, staring into a cup of coffee. Even its earthy fragrance did not help to lift his spirits.

This was a day he never imagined would come. Astrid would be at the door in just a few moments—the sister he had wronged, the sister he’d been hiding from. The sister he’d hoped never to hear from again.

Is that true, though, really? Johann wondered. Buried underneath his guilt, could there have been a part of him that wished to speak with her?

It had never crossed his mind that they would meet again, much less that she would come to him. Perhaps there remained a bond between them, after all. Perhaps it would benefit the entire family, if they formed a connection with her.

Abruptly, Nina took the seat across from him, dropping a cube of sugar into her cup.

“I won’t ask if you’re ready,” she said matter-of-factly, “because I know you aren’t. I only wish to say that I’m proud of you. Though you did not summon her here, you were penning a letter to be sent her way. You had it in your heart to reach out; that speaks well of your character.”

Johann thought of his letter to Astrid, tucked away in the writing-desk. In it, he’d written many sentiments he would struggle to say aloud. He wondered if it might be useful to simply hand his sister the letter; she could read the words, and he would await her reaction.

Perhaps he would finally shed the burden he’d carried for so long.

I’m not ready, he thought, but I’m tired of hiding. I don’t wish to leave my house. If Astrid thinks she can save it, I will open the door to her.

Nina pushed a plate of toasted bread across the table. “Eat,” she said. “You need to be prepared. We don’t need you fainting during this visit.”

Though his stomach felt hollow, Johann reached for a piece of toast.

He heard Marjorie’s light footsteps as she hastened downstairs to join them. It had not escaped his notice that Marjorie was eager to meet her aunt, even if she was too prudent to admit it.

“Good morning, Mama, Papa,” she said, taking a seat and reaching for his other piece of toast. “I’m afraid you’ll need to pry Adam out of bed; it seems he has slept in.”

With a sound of impatience, Nina stood and hurried to the stairs, leaving Johann and Marjorie at the table.

“Papa,” said Marjorie, once her mother was out of earshot, “what did you mean by saying you must apologize to Aunt Astrid?”

Johann looked up sharply. She had asked a question he’d dreaded for years, but it had been bound to surface eventually. Margo was clever, and now she was also his pupil; she ought to know the truth.

All the same, her question nearly bowled him over.

For one dreadful moment, he was once more a boy, the young Johann Brahms. Gone was the title Bamoy, as well as the townsfolks’ admiration. A terrible vulnerability set in; he feared that a word would shatter him when he most needed strength.

Marjorie’s expression became uneasy; she must have perceived his discomfort, the moment after asking her question. Johann managed a halfhearted smile, attempting to ease her nerves.

He’d kept secrets from his family for too long. It was time to reveal the events that shaped his childhood. It was time to tell her why he’d left the Brahms house in the Black Forest, never to return.

Johann glanced once more at the window. The path was empty; Astrid had not yet arrived.

Drawing in a breath, he began: “You asked me recently if I would tell you about my family.”

He closed his eyes and pictured it: the old Brahms house in the Black Forest, hidden by majestic, ancient trees. As a child, he’d regarded them with awe.

To this day, he missed those trees. In dreams, he visited that forest, where he wandered through the untamed wood, inhaling the magic surrounding him.

“I’m going to tell you before she arrives,” he continued, clasping his hands on his lap. “I never met my father. I was born in a remote Bavarian village. It was small, not unlike how this place might have looked when the Shelleys were alive. There were farmhouses and marketplaces, all very far from Mother’s house.

“Her house was the biggest building in the area, concealed by the trees. It had been built by my grandfather, for whom I was named. Grandfather Johann.”

A sad smile crept onto his face as he thought of his grandfather, the only kind adult he’d known as a child. How he had wept, that dreadful morning when Grandfather breathed his last…

“As a young lady, my mother was wooed into a coven of very…specific witches. I do not know much about them—they kept many secrets—but one of their tenets was that daughters preceded sons in value. As a result, my mother only wished for a daughter.” Johann swallowed, pushing away the sense of rejection he thought had long faded. “She didn’t marry Astrid’s father. I wear my mother’s surname, because I do not know my own father’s.

“After the birth of Astrid, she was content with her daughter. Astrid was to be her heir in the coven; she had no plans for more children.

“However, twelve years later, she had a bit too much to drink, and I came to exist. My mother had met a handsome traveler who identified himself only as Wolfgang. He was, as you can guess, my father. I honored him by naming my cat after him, though I do not think the cat likes the name.

“My birth did not bring Mother an ounce of joy. She’d become infatuated with a mysterious stranger. As result, she now had a son. But that’s not where it began.”

“What do you mean by it?” Marjorie asked.

Johann replied at once: “My mother hating me. It began before I was born. The man who sired me, this Wolfgang, stole from her an object of great importance on the night they spent together. Its power is equal, if not superior to, that of the Grimoire. It was an amulet that allowed the wearer to walk into Fae-land without being charmed by Elfin spells.

“When my mother’s sisters—for her mother was long dead—discovered that the amulet was not in her possession, she had no choice but to confess. She told them it had disappeared after a dalliance with a stranger. My mother was shunned by every one of her sisters. She kept the grimoire, only because she was the eldest; it belonged to her by right.

“No matter how Mother begged and pleaded, they would not invite her to dinner. They denied her existence. According to her, I was born with features similar to those of Wolfgang, so she couldn’t even resort to pretending it had been another man.

“There I was, proof that she had shamed her family.” A wry laugh escaped him as he added, “Perhaps I inherited something from her, because when I stole Astrid’s grimoire, I also shamed the family.”

Marjorie’s eyes widened at the words stole Astrid’s grimoire, but he did not give her time to ask questions. Now that he had begun to speak, he could not stop, for he did not know if he would have the strength to begin again.

“When I was growing up, my mother made it clear she had only wanted a daughter. She didn’t mince words about how I came to exist, or the consequences of my appearance. Once, she told me that she would have traded me for the amulet, if she could return to her sisters.”

At this point his voice broke; he turned away before Marjorie could see the pain he knew reflected in his eyes.

“On birthdays and holidays, she doted on Astrid. The first slice of cake was always hers; dry scraps were saved for me. I never received a gift for Christmas or on my birthday. As soon as I was able to work, I became the stable-boy.

“I was sent into the dangerous forest for hours to chop firewood. She had no use for a son, she once told me, but if I existed, I might as well make myself useful.

“This went on until I was fifteen. By then, I was angry and exhausted—emotionally and physically. I left that house to find a new job, one that I wanted, with an employer who would treat me with respect.

“When Mother learned I’d found work with a farmer, she told me to leave. So I did…but I also packed my sister’s grimoire. Astrid had yet to leave Mother’s home, busy with her magical training, preparing to join that coven. Nor did she express interest in marriage.”

He drew in another breath, refusing to break down in front of his daughter.

“I stole Astrid’s grimoire while she slept. After that, I did not return to the farmer who had hired me. I found a new village, where I used my savings to pay for lodging at an elderly woman’s home. She had been recently widowed, and needed help managing her bakery.

“Soon, I discovered a remarkable coincidence: this woman was also a magician, and she offered to tutor me in the ways of magic. Her name…” He looked up at his daughter with eyes that shone. “Her name was Marjorie.”

Marjorie gripped the edge of the table, as if she might swoon. She had asked him before why she’d been given the name Marjorie. By keeping silent about his past, Johann inadvertently made her own identity a mystery.

Tears danced in her eyes—tears of joy, as the puzzle-bits of her life settled into place. Johann chose to believe that; he would prefer that her tears be joyful, not due to pity for his own history.

He continued. “That woman, Marjorie, gave me a comfortable bedroom. I still remember it. My favorite feature was a large window through which generous sunlight spilled each morning.

“While she oversaw my magic lessons, Marjorie invested in a tutor to teach me basic skills. I am well-read and can do mathematics because she did what my birth mother refused to.” He looked down at the table. “She gave me a loving place in her heart, but only lived for four years after that. She left me a comfortable inheritance when she died, despite her childrens’ protests.”

“Is that when you began to travel?” his daughter whispered. “After she died?”

Johann nodded. “I had learned a trade by then, as an apothecary. I didn’t make magical brews yet; I wasn’t brave enough to try the rarer ingredients. I found work in Edinburgh—” Marjorie looked up at his mention of the city she longed to visit; he could not resist smiling before he continued. “—in Edinburgh, as the assistant to an apothecary. He was so impressed by my knowledge that he offered good wages. I kept his store tidy for three years before deciding it was time to move on. The owner of that apothecary was named Adam. He died shortly before your brother was born.”

“How did you manage to keep this from me for so long?”

Though there was hurt in Marjorie’s expression, her words were not spoken in anger. Rather, it seemed that she was hurting for him, which was a worse feeling for Johann to bear.

“Because,” he managed, “when your mother and I decided to build a family, we saw no point in bringing along my sad past. If none of this had happened with the Elf, I would have continued to keep my past to myself. It is my wound to lick—my scar to clean and wrap until my heart stops beating. I did not wish for you to shoulder it.”

Marjorie opened her mouth to respond, but stiffened when a knock sounded at the door.

Johann jumped. Astrid had arrived.

He stood and turned to face the door, hands trembling in spite of his effort to keep steady.

Perceiving this, Marjorie said, “I’ll get it. After all, I’ve already seen her.”

Johann nodded, stepping aside and scrambling to get his nerves in order.

Marjorie placed her hand on the doorknob. She hesitated, rearranging her skirts so that there was not a wrinkle in them. Then, she lifted her chin in a manner that made her look charmingly like Nina.

At last, Marjorie opened the door and smiled. A bit of uncertainty shone through that smile.

“Welcome,” she said to Johann’s half-sister. “Come inside; I’ll prepare a cup of tea for you.”

The voice that replied was deep, elegant, sophisticated—and familiar. “Good morning.”

Astrid had lost any trace of a German accent. She could pass as a lady born in New York who had never known anything different.

She continued: “Is your father…?”

“Here,” said Johann, moving forward unsteadily. “I—I am here.”

At the doorstep stood his sister, dressed in silk and a fur cape. Her silver-streaked auburn hair was done up in a chignon—so different from the braids she’d worn when he last saw her! She wore a hat with a purple feather that stood stock-still in spite of the breeze. On her dainty hands she wore white gloves.

Behind her stood a girl dressed in a maid’s uniform. Meek, dark-haired, and with pursed lips, she could not have been much older than Marjorie.

Astrid stepped forward, taking him in with the same shock that he felt. She wore earrings, he noted, amethysts, no doubt a gift from her husband…what had been his name? In his anxiety, Johann might even forget his own name…

“Johann. Brother,” whispered Astrid, reaching a gloved hand in his direction. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Little brother, why did you leave me alone?”

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