Of course, I trust him. Lucien is the love of my life, has been my husband for almost ten years. But how can he get me out of this mess? I just don’t see how it’s possible.
And I don’t know what these men could have found to use as evidence against me.
I’m taken directly to a courtroom, where several judges sit on a platform, clearly waiting for my arrival.
“Millicent Abbott, you’re charged in this court with first-degree witchcraft, which is punishable by death. How do you plead?”
“N-n-not guilty.”
“Put her in a cell where she’ll await trial. Next!”
Trials have been taking months. Some have died while being held.
I have children!
I’m tossed into a small cell with a dirt floor. There’s a bucket in the corner. No bed. I sink to the floor and cry, full of despair.
I’m alone for what seems like hours. The shadows on the ground shift with the movement of the sun. I could open the locks with just the snap of my fingers, but that would surely give me and my abilities away, and I’d be taken to the gallows without a trial.
The moon has just risen, a full blue moon this month. It’s All Hallows’ Eve, and the moon is full. I’m praying fervently to the goddess to help Lucien set me free when I hear footsteps, then keys jangling. Finally, my cell door opens, and the man I love so stands in the threshold.
“You’re free to go,” he says. But the light has died in his eyes.
“Lucien?”
“Go home to our children, Millicent.”
“Why aren’t you coming with me?”
He quickly pulls me to him and kisses me hard, the embrace filled with both longing and regret. When he pulls away, he brushes his fingers through my long, blond hair.
“I love you, a stór mo chroí.”
“I love you, too, my treasure. Come home with me.”
“I can’t.” He swallows hard. “You can leave, but this is where we say goodbye. In this lifetime, at least.”
“What do you speak of?”
“I turned myself in. I told them the truth, that I’m the witch in the family, and you’re the innocent.”
“That’s not true. I’ll tell them—”
“No.” He grips my shoulders. “You’ll say nothing, Millicent. You’ll go home and tend to our children.”
“I won’t let you die for me.” I fall into his arms, sobbing. “Please, Lucien. Please don’t do this.”
He kisses my head. “Don’t worry, darling. We’ll meet again soon, the way we’ve done for countless lifetimes.”
More men arrive, and I’m cast aside as they take Lucien and drag him out of the building and to the gallows.
I can’t let him die alone. I won’t. I follow and stand in front of the angry mob, the residents holding burning torches and shouting slurs at Lucien for being a witch.
His eyes find mine.
And they don’t let go until he’s swinging, and the life leaves him.
The crowd cheers.
And I let out a sob turn to see to our children.
“Come on, Millie.” I smell the salts and open my eyes. “Ah, there she is.”
“Lucien?” I glance up into his handsome face. “You got me out of jail.”
He grins, but then the smile vanishes from his lips. “You passed out.”
I look around, surprised to see the police already here. Cash is scowling, but he isn’t looking at me.
“Oh, goddess, there’s a hand.” I sit up and see the extremity still sitting on the bench, undisturbed.
“Any idea how it got here?” Cash asks me.
“No. I must have walked right past it a little while ago when I went over to Dahlia’s shop to get some flowers for the café. I didn’t notice it.”
“I didn’t see it when I arrived this morning,” Esme adds.
An officer is taking photos, recording the scene. The whole area around the Brew has been taped off.
Lucien helps me stand, and we back up, giving the police plenty of space to work.
Another man arrives, wearing a name badge that says medical examiner.
“Has the scene been processed?” he asks.
“Yeah, you can go ahead and take it.” Cash gestures to the hand. “Be careful. It’s holding something.”
The man frowns, and then recognition dawns in his eyes when he sees the bloodstone.
“I’m fucking sick of serial killers,” he mutters as he removes the hand from my bench, bags it, and takes it away.
The police finish with their questions. Shortly after, it’s back to business on our little street in the French Quarter, as if there hadn’t been a disembodied hand just lying about.
“Come on,” Lucien says. “We’re taking you home.”
“Like hell, we are,” I reply and step out of his reach. “I’m not sick. I’m not hurt. I am a little pissed off, to be honest. But I can certainly work. Besides, I’m leaving early today. Brielle, Daphne, and I are going to see Mama this afternoon.”
Lucien pushes his dark-rimmed glasses up his nose and then shoves his hands into his pockets.
Why are the glasses so sexy? Because they are.
“All right, then. Call if you need me.”
“How did you know this was happening?” I ask before he can turn and walk away.
“I came to see Dahlia this morning, actually.” That comment bruises my ego, although the thought’s completely ridiculous. “When I arrived, I saw the crowd and you reaching down to touch something that sparked. And then I had a mild heart attack when you went down. It’s a bad moment that I’d rather not repeat.”
Okay, ego soothed.
“Same here,” I reply, my voice softer. “I’m going to have some questions for you later.”
“Anytime.” He winks and then turns to walk over to Dahlia’s shop. The crowd has dispersed.
It’s time to get back to work.
* * *
“What are we going to do?” Brielle asks as Daphne drives us to the hospital where Mama now lives.
“We’re gonna go visit our mother,” I remind her.
“No, about the other stuff. Or have you already forgotten that someone left a hand corpse at your place of business?”
“Kind of hard to forget,” I murmur. “But frankly, I only have space in my
