“I like to have picnics, right here, in this spot. I’ve always felt drawn to it.”
Lucien, who’s been quiet since we arrived, takes a deep breath and then looks down at me. “Would you like to know why?”
“Sure, tell me why I’m randomly drawn to this part of a random park.”
“Well, the arbor was right here,” he says, pointing to a specific spot on the grass. “And the chairs were set up over there. And right where you’re sitting is where we stood and exchanged vows, roughly one hundred years ago.”
I feel my jaw opening and closing like a fish out of water, but I can’t make my brain engage.
“Your hair was shorter then, but it was the roaring twenties, and that was the style. And your white dress was beautiful.”
“We got married, right here,” is all I can say.
“Yes.”
I look around and feel sudden, intense sadness. My eyes fill with tears, and suddenly, Lucien’s holding me, rocking me back and forth.
“I didn’t mean to make you cry, darlin’.”
“I wish I could remember. In all the years I’ve been having the dreams, I only see the bad things. The scary stuff. I don’t get to see the joy and love we shared. I feel robbed.”
“I can see that,” he says and kisses the top of my head. “Maybe we can figure out a way for me to show you sometime.”
“The spell you conjured this morning might let me see your memories.”
“It’s worth looking into. But for now, let’s enjoy what’s happening today, Millicent.”
“How long were we married?”
“Which time?”
“All of the times? How long did our marriages last? In Salem, I remember thinking that we’d been married for almost ten years.”
“I think the longest was about thirty years. The shortest, a few months.”
I sigh and kiss the middle of his chest before pulling back and looking up at him. “But we never parted of natural causes, in old age.”
“No.” He brushes his thumb over my forehead. “That’s my goal in this lifetime.”
“My stubbornness cost us some time.”
“No, things are happening the way they’re supposed to. You’re not yet thirty. These days, that’s not old to marry.”
“It’s a far cry from sixteen,” I say with a laugh, remembering that he said I was that age the first time we met, all those centuries ago.
“Very true. I think that’s a step in the right direction for feminism,” he says. “By the way, do you have plans for your birthday next week?”
“How did you know—?”
He raises a brow, and I blow a raspberry through my lips.
“Our birthdays are always the same? My goddess, are we just living the same lives, over and over again until we get it right?”
He doesn’t reply, just frowns and looks down at his shoes, and I know I’ve just hit the nail on the head.
“Lucien.”
“I think that’s the case, yes.”
“Well, damn. That’s heavy.”
Lucien pulls me in for another hug, and we simply stand here, in this special place, breathing each other in. And it’s in this moment that I decide to not waste any more time. I want to be with this man, as much and for as long as I can. He’s meant for me. Just like Cash was meant for Brielle, and Jackson is meant for Daphne—although those two have some work ahead of them.
Stubborn pride has no place here.
Life is too precious.
Love is too sacred.
“I want to take you home,” he murmurs. “To my home, if you’ll let me.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
I feel him grin against my hair, and then we walk back to the car.
Suddenly, as we approach his little white sports car, he pushes me behind him as if to protect me from something.
“Are we being mugged?” I ask and peek around his shoulder and then feel my stomach roll. A smear of blood runs along the length of the pristine vehicle. “That fucker.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Lucien says. “It’ll wash off.”
“After you collect samples and run tests, of course.”
“That goes without saying, darlin’.”
“Should we call Cash?”
“I’ll do that on the drive home.”
* * *
Lucien waves Cash goodbye and then leads me into the house. Cash wanted to come see the blood and take some photos, so it’s been a long evening of sexual tension and frustration regarding a certain serial killer that won’t go the hell away.
“He’s just taunting us,” I say as I slip out of my boots. “Because he’s a sick son of a bitch who likes to play games.”
“And as of right this instant, we’re not giving him any more space in our evening,” Lucien declares. As soon as we arrived, we cast a spell on the house, an extra layer of protection, just in case. “The rest of this night is just for you and me. There’s no room for anyone else here.”
“I like the sound of that.” As he takes my hand, the lights in his old house in the Garden District house dim. “Did you do that on purpose?”
“No, I can’t control electricity. Only fire, the way you control the wind and air.”
“I’m an air sign, you know,” I say.
“Oh, I’m aware. Our connection affects the energy around us. Electricity is energy. We might blow a fuse or two tonight.”
“Fun.” The laugh dies in my throat when we walk up the stairs and into his bedroom. With the snap of his fingers, at least fifty candles come to life around the room, one at a time, in a domino effect. “Wow. And, clearly, you’re a fire sign. And a Sagittarius, through and through.”
“How did you know I’m a Sagittarius?”
“I—” I stop and shrug. “I don’t know how, or how I know that you’ll be thirty-seven on November 27th, I just do.”
“You remember more than you realize.”
He reaches behind me and flips off the light switch, bathing us in candlelight.
“A few hundred years ago, it would have been within my rights to kill any man who looked at your skin right here,” he says as he drags
