“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 things. I
