Bitter Fruit

Glancing around, I doubted we were in the right spot. Everything about the locale felt off. The atmosphere was heavy with a depressing melancholy. I glanced up. Thick dark clouds hung low over the tall buildings—each one adorned with red, black, and white banners. I’d seen those before. When my gaze landed on the swastika, my throat tightened.

“Merritt, where are we exactly?”

“We’re supposed to be in Crowley during the year 2018. This is wrong.”

The building before us resembled the Museum of Science & Magick, but the name on the gold and black placard was different. It read the Museum of Banned Sciences & Magickal Arts. Not knowing what was going on in that time period, I waved a hand and instantly changed our clothing into unassuming jeans and T-shirts. I could only hope the wardrobe was accurate as I silently prayed I hadn’t upset the balance by using magick.

Merritt suggested, “Perhaps we should go inside and see it for ourselves.”

“Wait.” A little voice of reason warned me that entering the building would be an ill-fated strategy. “Let’s go for a walk. Maybe we can determine what has changed that way.” Butterflies fluttered through my stomach due to the precarious situation we were in.

The next thing that wasn’t right was the statue near the museum. It was supposed to be of the twin brothers, Aradius and Devanus. The one in its place depicted a man with a flat hairstyle parted on one side and a short rectangle of a mustache. Panic swelled inside me, threatening to swallow me belly first. If that was who I suspected, Arabella did more than just tinker with history. She upended it and put all of us at risk.

Merritt and I walked as quickly as we could without attracting unwelcome attention. We didn’t stop until we reached the building for the Abra Guild, magickal society that governed Spelltwisters. Only, the name on the structure had changed. It was now the Guild for Magickal Disobedience. What did that mean?

The nymph tugged on my hand and led me to a wall with posted handbills. I scanned the various printed sheets, and my heart nearly stopped—Don’t Let Your Neighbors Be Magickal! Turn In A Spelltwister And Receive Your Reward! The Führer Disavows Magick!

The more I read, the more disheartened I became. When Tamara and I traveled to 2017, I’d learned that Adolf Hitler was a dictator who believed in a pure race of people. It didn’t include anyone who didn’t fit his mold—blond hair, blue eyes, and the right heritage. Those who didn’t measure up were exterminated. In the discombobulated history Arabella created, Hitler was a man against the practice of magick. My stepsister might have written our death warrants.