The Dark Side of Eleanor Warwick
MADELINE

A flick of the switch illuminated the traditional kitchen.

Madeline walked in and tossed her handbag onto the granite-topped island. Kicking off her patent leather pumps, the teenage sorceress swung open the freezer and retrieved the gallon of Dutch chocolate ice cream. Smiling at her good fortune, she moved to the cabinets for a spoon.

A slight scrape of wood against the floor caused her to pause. With a smirk, she picked up a second utensil. “You don’t have to scurry like a rat. Mom and Dad are still at the ball. It’s just us.” Madeline turned to the nearby antique table. She sat the ice cream down and took a seat. After waiting a moment, she sighed. “Well, I guess I’ll have all this ice cream to myself.”

After another moment, her little sister popped her head up from under the table. Hazel eyes darted about like those of an alert deer. An eyebrow arched, Madeline slid the second spoon across the tabletop. Jessica slowly eased into the opposite chair. The eleven-year-old gingerly lifted the silverware and scooped out a bite of the dessert.

Madeline smiled and tasted a bit herself. “Hmmm,” she hummed. “Good, right?” Jessica stared, only offering a slight nod. Madeline leaned forward. “I can only handle one silent sibling at a time.”

After a deep breath, Jessica answered. “It’s good.” Her voice came out raspy and weak.

“Was that so hard?” Madeline asked with a grin.

The kitchen went quiet as the Blackwell sisters enjoyed their ice cream. After a few spoonfuls, Jessica swallowed hard before speaking. “Did you leave the party early?” Her sister answered with a nod. “Why?”

Madeline smiled but snorted in derision at the same time. “It’s just always the same.” Pulling the pin from her hair, she let her raven locks fall, giving them a tussle. “Everyone wants into our House. Every repugnant mouth-breather and varsity team troglodyte is thrown at me by his worthless, social-climbing parents. I walk into a room, and every son, and even a daughter now and again, are pushed toward me like casino chips. And when I do happen upon a boy I like, he soils himself when he hears my last name.”

With a regretful sigh, Madeline tapped her spoon on the lip of the container. “Dad doesn’t help, of course. He has the natural fatherly disposition of contempt toward anyone who shows romantic interest in me. But even more, he’s very cautious as to who might try to marry into our House. He has preferences and aggressively steers me toward them. If he tries to set me up with that obnoxious Nathaniel Rooney one more time...It’s just so aggravating. I swear, I sometimes think you’re the lucky one.”

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, she regretted them. Jessica looked up with wide eyes. Her hazel gaze was strange. Like she wanted to be angry, but didn’t know how to be anything but scared. They’d been sitting there for several minutes, but Madeline just then saw what she didn’t want to see at first.

Dark bags hung underneath her little sister’s eyes. An involuntary twitch shook the silver spoon in her hand. The family’s dark hair draped down onto her shoulders, a ratty mess. Bandages wrapped her right arm, the result of their mother’s bloodletting, no doubt.

Grimacing, Madeline slowly slid her arm across the table and clutched her sister’s hand. It was cold to the touch and lay limp for a moment. When it tightened, the grip surprised her. It wasn’t a grip of strength or power but of terrified desperation. The kind of grip a drowning man would possess.

The sisters stared at each other, water touching both their eyes. Madeline wished there was something she could say to make Jessica feel better, but she knew there wasn’t. Her sister led a painful, miserable existence. One in which she was complicit.

The sound of the door opening gave Madeline a start. She quickly released Jessica’s hand and turned in her chair to look down the hallway. The hushed voices of her parents were barely audible. “They’re back,” she warned. “You- .”

She turned back to replace herself alone at the table.

With a deep breath, she wiped the tears from her eyes and composed herself. She returned the ice cream to the freezer, picked up her shoes, and left the kitchen.