And so it shall be, when your hour is most dire

A hero of old you shall summon to your side,

To fight back against the forces of evil

And reclaim what is yours.

“What does dire mean?”

“It means really really bad.”

“I ran out of salt. Do you think sugar will be ok?”

“Sure why not? It’s white and grainy. The only difference is the taste.”

“You don’t think this guy is going to lick it off the floor do you?”

“Ugh gross!”

“That would be weird.”

On and on the stream of chatter amongst the siblings continued. The eldest stood on a box at an oversized lectern, coaching her brothers on how to make a summoning circle. Her age and superior adult vocabulary made her the de facto leader of their operation. A role that she took seriously judging by the pinched expression on her face.

Crouched on the ground spilling an enormous bag of sugar in a lopsided circle, was her first brother (four years younger). Tongue between his teeth he tried to make his line of sugar as straight as possible. Following behind him, was the youngest brother, age 6. His job had him hopping in and out of the circle placing mismatched candles at intervals. All three children had unruly black curls and mischievous gleams in their honey hazel eyes.

The unusual color of their eyes was a source of contention in the young trio’s lives. The elderly crossed themselves if they made eye contact. Witch eyes, people whispered. Windows to the Void. Able to see the Unseen. That was total hogwash in the girl’s opinion. If her eyes were actual witch eyes, she wouldn’t have to wear massive glasses with coke bottle lenses. They didn’t even transition. It was a bit of a sore point for her.

The eldest boy stepped away from the sugar salt circle with a flourish.

“Behold my masterpiece!” he declared with outstretched arms. “You’ve never seen anything so-”

“Yea it looks great,” his sister interrupted, earning her a scowl. “Get over here. We need to finish this before they find us.”

The boys needed no further prompting. Scrambling behind the lectern the boys pressed against their sister’s back. Craning their necks to peer over her shoulder they teetered on the edge of the box they were now all balancing on. The girl eyed each of her brothers sternly.

“Remember if something goes wrong….Kick it in the shins and run. Got it?”

They nodded, nerves sealing their mouths. Their parents warned them of the risk. They just didn't have a choice. Squaring her shoulders the girl dragged a massive text closer to her. Swallowing hard she began chanting.