The Aurora Witch - Prologue

Looking for feedback on this opening for a middle grade fantasy/realism novel.

Prologue: The Raven at the Window

Dr. Albert Grantham was in a bit of a pickle. At least, that was how his oldest daughter Millie would have phrased it.

He paced in his study, eyes trailing over the towering bookshelves, perfectly organized by subject and then by title. His office was a tidy, austere sanctuary where even the paperclips knew their place.

The only part of the room that hinted at any disorder in his life were the stack of messages on his desk. Physicists from around the world were all reporting the same strange anomaly. And they were all looking to him for answers. The phenomenon bore an eerie resemblance to the ones he'd seen before. Memories he did not like to think about.

It had seemed like magic at the time, but that was to be expected. Young people often turn to mythical explanations when they witness things they don't understand. Now, he was a man of science: of facts and reason.

Sighing, Albert collapsed into a worn leather chair, the stress of the day finally catching up to him. He'd known he'd have to leave again from the very first sighting. But now he had no idea what to do with the children.

Albert had three wonderful children who had the unfortunate habit of scaring off every nanny he'd ever hired. Millie, his oldest, was responsible, clever, organized, and took excellent care of her brothers. The only problem was that no nanny ever did things correctly, and they were quickly exhausted by her constantly showing them the proper way of doing things.

Then there was Oliver. His middle child was an architect of mayhem. Albert often wondered if his son might actually be a genius. He'd never admit this, but some of his pranks were downright brilliant. He'd turn off the hot water whenever they were showering or hide alarm clocks in their room, set to go off every hour after midnight.

His youngest son, Henry, was chaos personified. At seven, he had an uncanny ability to turn up in places that challenged the laws of physics. He was obsessed with the outdoors, with the troubling habit of sneaking every manner of creature into their home. Once, Oliver convinced him one of the nannies wished she'd had a snake farm, to which he'd happily obliged. Albert never did find out how Henry had managed it, only that animal control had to call in reinforcements.

Then there were the strange things that seemed to occur around the children. There were the vines that grew so fast they had invaded the house, even curling around one of the nanny's legs. Then there was the time he'd been called by the fire department, notifying him that Henry had been safely removed from the top of a 30-foot tree. Plants that the nannies were allergic to would suddenly appear in their small garden, ones he'd never even heard of, let alone planted.

Albert attributed these incidences to a series of unlucky circumstances. Unfortunately, they seemed to be occurring more and more frequently.

Now, word of these incidents had reached the ears of every caregiver in the region. No matter how much money he offered, no one would take the job.

So, in his desperation, Albert had done the unthinkable. The one thing he said he'd never do.

He'd called his sister Edith.

Then he called again. And again. And again.

Three days had now passed, and there was still no response. He'd left messages. He'd emailed her. He would've faxed her if he thought she had a fax machine. Yet three days had passed and he had heard nothing.

tap tap

Albert sat up straight, his eyes darting around the room before his gaze shifted towards the window. At first, all he saw was the endless darkness of night. But as he squinted, a small silhouetted form became visible against the glass. Heart racing, he stepped closer.

"What in the world," he breathed.

A large inky black bird was tapping its beak against the window. Not just any bird, but a raven.

After another impatient tap of its beak, Albert opened the study window. He braced for the onslaught of feathers and claws, but the raven remained poised. It stepped onto the windowsill with a grace that seemed unusual even for a trained bird.

Stranger yet was when the raven appeared to lift its leg where a rolled-up piece of paper was attached.

He stilled as the raven peered at him expectantly before untying the message.

It only took one glance at the spindly handwriting etched across the paper--no, not paper: parchment--for Albert to know exactly who this was from.

Dearest Albert,

I have received all twenty-seven of your messages and am happy to keep the children for as long as you need. There is plenty of room here at Juniper House for the children as well as any plants, insects, or pets (except for parrots, as they irritate the ravens). June 1st is set to be a lovely day with clear skies perfect for travel. If this day works for you, simply write "yes" on this parchment and send it back with Edgar.

All my love,

Edith

Albert stared at the raven, blinking for several moments.

The raven blinked back.

"I guess you're, Edgar."

And there he was, talking to a bird, after one day of resuming contact with Edith.

Of course, naming him Edgar was undoubtedly the kind of thing she would find amusing. He wouldn't be surprised if she also had ravens named Allan and Poe.

Edith had always been strange. For years, he'd indulged her unusual beliefs. But now he had real-life responsibilities. With his late wife gone, he had three children to raise all on his own. Then there was his work, his students at Harvard. And now, possibly, a whole world to save.

Below her message, Edith had written her home address:

112 Juniper Road

Whisper Hollow, Maine

Albert wracked his memory for what he remembered of the small town of Whisper Hollow. There were shops, a beach, and beautiful wooded areas with streams and natural waterfalls. There were of course the residents to contend with who shared Edith's childlike beliefs. But Albert's children were not like other children. They were too bright and pragmatic to fall for whimsical tales. Whatever strange ideas she filled their heads with would quickly fade after the summer's end.

Reluctantly, he took an ink pen and scribbled "yes" onto the parchment before he tied the parchment with the leather cord and fastened it to raven's leg.

There was flutter of velvety black wings and before he could decide if what he was seeing was even real, the raven vanished into the night.

*****