Chapter 3:

Sam POV-

"Sam are you okay?" Danny asked, again, as I poked at my Nasty Burger salad.

"Yeah, you see kind of…off," Tucker added.

"Will you guys just stop, I'm fine okay?!" I snapped, my voice coming out much harsher than I had intended.

"We're just trying to make sure you're alright," Danny added, more softly. I sighed and looked up at my two best friends.

"I'm sorry okay, I just…I'm really stressed out right now," I told them. Danny smiled in understanding.

"Stressed? What are you stressed about?" Tucker asked, followed quickly by a loud "OUCH!" as I'm assuming, Danny kicked him in the shin.

"Sam you know you can talk to us about it right?" Danny reminded me. I smiled at him.

"Yeah, I know, it's just some usual family stuff, you know?" I half-lied to him, Danny accepted my excuse, because I often have problems with my parents, and continued to eat his fries.

It wasn't that I didn't trust them with the information I had just found out (then again, I'm not sure that Tucker wouldn't run up to Paulina saying that I'm a witch or something), it was that I still didn't know exactly what had just discovered. Before I told them, I wanted to make sure I had all the facts right and maybe do a little more research on my family history.

When we had finished our lunch, we headed outside and started walking back to Danny's house where the two boys were going to play video games. Normally, I would be right beside them, kicking their butts, but today my heart just wasn't in it as my mind kept flickering back to the leather-clad book under my bed.

"Hey," I told them, "I'll see you guys later, I really should go home." Danny's eyebrows furrowed in confusion or maybe concern but he didn't argue or press for more information.

"Okay," he said finally, "See you later, Sam." I smiled gratefully at him and started off in the other direction to my house. My parents had finally come home, but I really didn't feel like a confrontation with my mom right now, so I snuck in the back door, which was mainly used by the maids and other servants.

Creeping up the back staircase to my room, I quietly closed my bedroom door behind me, locking it.

I pulled the book out from under my bed and stared at it, flipping open to the first couple of pages. The commands of the spells were all in Latin or something, but the explanations were in English. I skimmed over the pages and was surprised to see that most of the spells were for some kind of healing or earth magic, and the ones that weren't were for simple things like object levitation. The more pages I flipped though, the more I began to realize that I had not found anything that could be used as something evil. There were no spells to control or possess others, nothing to bring spirits back from the grave, nothing to make contact with the devil. In fact, everything I found seemed much more like Wiccan magic than witch magic.

'So maybe Bridget wasn't a witch after all, maybe she was a Wiccan or a healer, who was just misunderstood,' I thought to myself, 'But how does that explain all of the voodoo witch stuff of my great aunt that I found in the attic?'

I didn't have the answer to this question until I flipped to the furthest back section of the book, the part where the pages were black. As I read the spell description, I realized this is where the evil magic was contained. There were splatters of blood on the corners of the pages as I flipped through, tentatively.

I gulped as I realized how dangerous this information could actually be if it fell into the wrong hands. Nevertheless, I continued reading. Then another picture fluttered out. I plucked the picture off of my bedspread and studied it. It was the same as the old family photo I had found earlier, except, in this photo, everyone but Christian had been scratched out of the photograph. This was the point that I realized that maybe it had been Christian who had begun to dabble in dark magic.

That information scared me.

Seeing the photograph with my family members scratched out, I wondered that if Christian had ever actually succeeded, would my grandmother be dead? And for that matter, would I have even be born?

This was almost too much information to take in, I slid the photograph back into the pages and closed the book. Putting the book where my parents, and even my grandmother, would not find it: underneath a few loose wooden panels in the floor.

I looked at the clock on my nightstand. The glowing red letters red 9:30, so it was still relatively early, and plus, tomorrow was a Sunday so I wouldn't have to wake up early, so I decided to take a bath.

I filled the bathtub with scented soaps, running the warm water and allowing the bathtub to fill with bubbles. I wanted to light some candles, but after what I had just read, I immediately decided against it. I slipped out of the jeans and t-shirt I was still wearing and slid into the bathtub, feeling the warm water already beginning to wash away my stress.

'Tomorrow,' I told myself, 'I'll do a little more research on Christian and how she died.'

When the water started to cool, I got out of the tub, and realized that I had been in there for an hour and a half, it was now 11:00. I slipped into my silky black pajamas and crawled into bed. I didn't realize how exhausted I was until my head hit the pillow and my body immediately surrendered to sleep.