Spells: A Bayou Magic Novel Page 6

  “Aren’t together,” I finish for him and drag my hand down my face. “I know.”

  “And until you are, you run the risk of losing.”

  “It sucks when humans with free will are stubborn.”

  Dad tips his head back and lets out a loud laugh. “That’s for damn sure. The trick here is to be patient, Lucien.”

  “What if I can’t be too patient? What if he ups the timeline on us, and there’s just no time?”

  “It’ll all happen the way it’s supposed to this time around. This part is your and Millie’s journey. What happens after this isn’t entirely up to you.”

  “I need the circle to close this time,” I murmur.

  “I know.” He reaches out and pats my shoulder. “And for your sake, I pray to the goddess that it does.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Keep me posted. It’s fascinating. And I’ll ask your mother to help me dig into some more reading this evening. We may find something to help you.”

  “I’ll take all the help I can get,” I reply as a text comes in. “Looks like Cash is ready for me to take the second bloodstone.”

  “Looks like we’d both better get back to work.”

  * * *

  It’s been a hell of a day.

  I’m finally home, but I’m restless.

  The second bloodstone has blood from the same source as the first.

  It came from the same person.

  What does that mean? Is the person still alive? Or is Horace holding the blood somewhere and using it for the stones?

  Of course, no one wants to say this is Horace yet. But I know it is. This isn’t the first time he’s done this.

  I’ve just sat down at my desk with a book that I borrowed from Miss Sophia when I feel her. She didn’t call or text, but Millie’s on her way here.

  A few seconds later, my doorbell rings.

  I’ve lost my touch. I used to know she was coming to me before she did.

  But we’ll get there.

  I open the door and smile, but then everything in me stills when I see the fury on her gorgeous face.

  “What’s happened?”

  “Can I come in?”

  I step back and gesture for her to come inside. “Of course. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  “I’m so mad,” she says. Her hands are in fists as she stomps around my living room. “And I can’t talk to my sisters about this because they’ll just try to be reasonable and defend her. And I get that. I do. But right now, I need to be angry and vent a little bit, and I don’t know why, but you were the first person I thought of.”

  I smile as I internally dance a jig. Finally. “Of course, you thought of me. I’m the one you should vent to, sweetheart. What are we talking about?”

  She blows out a breath and sits on the edge of my sofa. “My mother, the same woman who beat me with a broom handle for having the audacity to ask if the spirits I saw at night were real, or ask if there was something different about me. She tormented my sisters and me mercilessly.”

  She blows out a breath and starts to pace again.

  “What did she do?” I ask.

  “She’s a witch,” she says as she turns to me. “Now that she’s clearheaded, she’s talking about reading my grandmother’s grimoire and studying, talking to Miss Sophia. Lucien, she’s a fucking witch.”

  I want to hold her. To pull her in and soothe away this pain, because I can see that it’s tearing her up inside.

  But I sit on the arm of the sofa and let her rage, allow her to talk it out.

  “She was possessed,” I begin, but Millie turns to me, her eyes flashing.

  Goddess, she’s magnificent.

  “No. You don’t get to be the voice of reason. Because I already know that. But first, I get to be angry about all of the lost time. I was supposed to learn the craft from my mother, not be punished by her for what I am. All three of us deserved so much more than what we got. We were terrified for more than a dozen years, Lucien.”

  My stomach rolls at the reminder.

  “I understand.”

  “No.” She shakes her head. “You don’t get it. You have parents who helped you learn. Who were gentle with you and kind and encouraged you to seek out your truth.”

  “You’re right. I actually spent time with my father today, and it was exactly what I needed. I hate that you don’t have that with your mother.” I stand and take her shoulders in my hands. “But you can’t change it, Mil. All of this anger and grief, which you’re entitled to, won’t change it.”

  She deflates and rests her forehead on my chest. “I know.”

  Her voice is small. I mourn for the little girl who just wanted her mother’s love and guidance. Millie and her sisters needed that, and they were robbed of it.

  But we’re going to get justice.

  I tug Millie into my arms and rub circles on her slender back. “All you can do is move forward. Defeat that piece of shit and establish a relationship with your mother from here. If that’s what you want.”

  “What if it’s not?” she asks in a small voice.

  “Then you don’t have to.”

  She lets out a shuddering breath and then looks up at me as if she just remembered something.

  “You got me out of jail.”

  And here it is. I set her away from me, too vulnerable when it comes to this to have her touching me—at least for right now.

  “You said that earlier,” I reply.

  “Yeah.” She nods and tilts her head, watching me. “I’ve had dreams, like I told you before, most of my life. It’s like I’m remembering something from long ago but I don’t recognize anything.”

  “You are remembering,” I say calmly. “Tell me what happened.”

  “When I fainted today, I had a crazy dream that I was being arrested in Salem, Massachusetts. I was being tried for witchcraft and put in a cell. And you were there.”

  Her eyes cloud over as she thinks back.

  “You told me not to worry, but I was so worried because I was sure they’d hang me. And we had childr—”

  She blushes and presses her lips together.

  Yes, we had children in that life. Four. The youngest had just been born.

  “Keep going.”

  “I was so scared and sad. Confused because I always did everything right to make sure no one suspected that I was a witch. And then you came and opened my cell and said I was free to go. But you weren’t. You—”

  Her lip trembles, and she has to sit on a chair. I cross to her and take her hand in mine.

  “What happened to me?” I ask, but I already know.

  “You gave yourself up for me. Exchanged your freedom for mine. And I watched you die.”

  A tear falls from her brown eye, and I catch it with my knuckle. I remember seeing her face, her beautiful brown eyes until the gallows opened, and I fell in—and then everything was black.

  “But it was only a dream, right?” She looks up at me and must see the truth on my face. “That’s the same look you gave me when you told me you couldn’t go home with me. In 1692, Lucien.”

  “You were remembering a past life,” I reply.

  “Do you remember it?” she asks.

  I bring her hand up to my lips for a kiss and then sit across from her on the coffee table. I knew we’d have this conversation sooner or later.

  “Yes,” I say. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

  “Okay, explain it to me.”

  “You’re clairvoyant,” I begin, trying to describe it to her so she can understand. Not because she’s not intelligent but because even I have problems understanding sometimes. “When your shields are down, you can read thoughts, spirits, that sort of thing. It’s your gift.”

  “Yes, just like Brielle’s is being a medium, and Daphne’s is psychometry.”

  “Exactly. I’m sensitive to some of those things. I can feel spirits, and I’ve always sort of known things that others don’t. I can reach out with my mind to see thi
ngs. I guess you could say I’m a bit of a Jack of all trades when it comes to being psychic. But that’s not my main gift.”

  She shifts in her seat. “What is?”

  “I see the past, Millicent. I can remember every lifetime that you and I have spent together, down to every single detail.”

  She blinks and sits back but doesn’t recoil.

  “Has it always been that way?”

  “Meaning in every lifetime?” I ask.

  She nods.

  “Yes. I’ve always had this ability.”

  She licks her lips and looks over my shoulder as if gathering her thoughts.

  “And have I always had the same abilities?”

  I smile. “Yes. And you’ve always been a hedgewitch.”

  Her lips tip up in a smile. “I like that. But I don’t know that I like that you’re able to remember every detail of our past lives, Lucien. That must be horrible.”

  “Not all of it is horrible. I remember each time we met and fell in love and got married. I remember our children, when they were born and how it felt to hold them. I remember making love to you. We’ve shared so much good over the millennia we’ve been linked, Millie. I’m glad I remember it.”

  “But I saw you die just one time, in a dream, and I couldn’t bear it,” she says, her eyes filling with tears again.

  “And I’ve watched you die over and over again,” I reply, running my hand over her soft hair. “And I’m going to be brutally honest here. I refuse to do it again, so we’re going to kick that bastard’s ass in this lifetime so I can finally grow old with you, Millicent.”

  “It seems odd that we’re talking about growing old together and we haven’t even been on a first date.”

  I laugh and then think back. “Our first date was in 998 A.D. in what is now Wales in the United Kingdom. You were sixteen, and your father arranged with my father to marry you off to my brother. The minute I saw you, I spoke to my father—who is still my dad in this lifetime, by the way—and told him you were meant for me. So, your sire permitted me to walk with you to the village where we bought some potatoes and wheat, and we talked the whole way. We were married a month later.”

  “Wow, we moved fast.”

  I snicker. “Most people back then didn’t exactly date.”

  She chuckles. “No, I suppose not. But we haven’t had a first date in this lifetime, and I’m still a woman, no matter how many times I’ve been betrothed to you.”

  “That’s true. I’ll take you on a date this weekend, if you’re free.”

  She smiles triumphantly. “Isn’t it handy that I am free?”

  I drag my finger down her soft cheek. “I’ve missed you, Millie.”

  “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to wake to the truth. I was just afraid. I didn’t have anyone to explain things to me. Which only circles me back around to being angry at my mother.”

  “Rather than being angry, why don’t we try this?”

  I close the distance between us and brush my mouth over hers. There’s no hesitation in her lips as they move beneath mine, and her hands glide over my shoulders and into my hair as I lift her from the couch, sit in her spot, and plant her on my lap.

  I’ve waited a hundred years to have her back with me, just like this.

  I cradle her cheek in my hand and settle in to enjoy her, right here, for about a decade. The way she’s pressed against me, the little murmurs and moans in her throat, all of it stirs my blood. My hand drifts down from her cheek and moves over her neck to her firm breast, still covered by her purple dress.

  She shifts, straddles my lap, and continues kissing me like her life depends on it.

  The lights flicker.

  I hear a car alarm going off outside.

  But I can’t stop indulging in her after being away from her for so long.

  She hitches up her skirt until it bunches around her waist and then presses her center against me. Suddenly, my living room window breaks.

  No, it doesn’t break. It shatters.

  We jump, and I pull Millie to me, shielding her from the glass and the horrible wind suddenly blowing through the room.

  “What’s happening?” she yells.

  “Seems we’ve pissed off a dead dark witch,” I reply.

  Chapter Eight

  "The words, 'I'm sorry' will never come out, for they would be a lie.”

  -- Joe “The Cannibal” Metheny

  How dare she?

  Rage consumes him as he punches the wall in his little house of fun. He’s been trying to teach her a lesson, and that little slut just won’t listen. She’s too stubborn. She’s too attached to that man, and all of the visceral pleasure he brings her rather than listening to the lessons he’s trying to impart.

  And Horace’s anger grows by the day.

  “She thinks she can ignore me?” he yells as he stomps back to his new playroom and throws open the door. Three toys are shackled to the wall. The fourth, the newest one, is in the bathtub, being saved for later. Still, he stomps into the disgusting bathroom to make sure it hasn’t already died of hypothermia.

  That wouldn’t do.

  “Good,” he says, his chest heaving. “This space heater is doing the trick.”

  “What’s wrong with you, you sick piece of shit?” the toy demands, snot running from his nose as he cries. “I’m cold, and I want to go home.”

  “Oh, Lucien.” Horace clucks his tongue and shakes his head, almost feeling pity for the toy. “Surely, you’ve learned by now that I’m in charge. I’ve been proving that for a millennium. I run this show, and you’ll go home when I say it’s time.”

  He tilts his head, watches the toy as he thrashes about. Horace tied his hands above his head so he couldn’t try to drown himself. So although sitting naked, he’s partially out of the water.

  Which is why Horace brought in the space heater. He couldn’t have the toy dying before his time.

  “You know, maybe it’s your turn today, after all.”

  The toys behind him moan, some in relief and others in despair. The poor toy missing a hand surely wishes he was dead. The burn on his arm where his hand used to be must hurt.

  He’ll let that toy live for a few more days. He deserves the pain.

  The one he’s had the longest is covered in cuts from where he’s been bled out, almost to the point of death. It’s so interesting to see how much blood a human body can live without before they die.

  That’s a mistake Horace won’t make again.

  “You’ve angered me, Lucien,” he says as he approaches the toy in the tub. “You think you can just have her? SHE’S MINE!”

  The angry scream is shrill and right in the toy’s face, the flesh now covered in his spittle and coated by his horrible breath.

  “I have a plan, and you’re fucking it all up. That won’t do. I think it’s time I teach you a lesson.”

  He reaches for his favorite knife, the one he took from a shop in the Quarter, and lets the blade glide down the man’s torso but not cut.

  No, not yet.

  “Please,” the toy whispers. “Don’t do this.”

  “You’re going to learn that you’re not in control, Lucien.” He tips the toy’s head back, pulls out his tongue, and cuts it from the toy’s head with one slash. Blood spatters the wall, covering the stains from the previous toy as screams fill the air. “Ah, yes. Yes, that’s better.”

  Chapter Nine

  Millie

  “Oh, it feels so good to get some fresh air,” Mama says from the back seat. Her window is down, and the wind blows over her smiling face. Her blond hair, streaked with very little gray, blows in the breeze.

  “They let you enjoy the courtyard at the hospital, don’t they?” Brielle asks from beside her.

  “Oh, yes. And it’s very nice, but this is better. I know the hospital is my home for now, and I quite enjoy it, but it’s lovely to get out and about, too.”

  “Have you made friends there?” Daphne asks as she drives to the bayo
u so we can meet up with Miss Sophia. I was finally able to reach her yesterday after trying for almost a week. Until I made contact, I was becoming more and more frustrated, feeling like we were running out of time for some reason, though nothing specific happened to give me that impression.

  I’ve hardly seen Lucien this week either, and that could account for some of my moodiness. Now that I’ve learned more about him, I look forward to seeing him, but we’ve both been busy with work this week.

  Tonight is our first date, and I can’t wait. I just have to get through this afternoon with Mama and then I can spend some time with Lucien.

  “She looks a lot like Millie.”

  “What?” I turn and look at Mama. “Who looks like me?”

  “You always were a daydreamer,” Mama says and pats my shoulder. I want to recoil at the touch. She doesn’t know me well enough to know what or who I am. “I was just telling you girls about a friend I made at the hospital. She has blond hair and brown eyes like yours, and she sometimes reminds me of you. She’s a sweet woman. Sad backstory, but I suppose we all have those if we live there, don’t we?”

  I nod and breathe a sigh of relief when Daphne pulls into Miss Sophia’s driveway. Her cottage in the bayou has always been a haven for me. I’ve learned so much from her, spent many hours studying and talking with her. The cottage is neat with flowers and herbs planted all around the house, filling every inch of space with color and happiness.

  Despite the warm fall we’re having, a thin trail of smoke trails up from her chimney, signaling a fire in the hearth—most likely with something cooking there.

  Miss Sophia is a modern witch, but still utilizes old-fashioned tools of the trade.

  My gut tells me that she has something in her cauldron on the fire.

  And I can’t wait to find out what it is.

  The front door opens as we all exit the car, and Miss Sophia walks out onto the porch and smiles down at us. She’s a petite woman with titanium-colored hair and gray eyes, wearing jeans and a red sweater. I rarely see her dressed casually. When we’re working together, she prefers to wear flowy dresses that remind me of Stevie Nicks.