“To what end?” she whispers. “You want to talk about the dreams? Fine. In every single one, no matter what time period we’re in, we fail. I don’t know if they’re memories or a flash of what could be in the future. But every single time, it comes down to you and me, and we fucking fail, Lucien.”
“Because we have in the past.” She stiffens and tries to pull away, but I hold on tight. “You weren’t ready to accept what you saw in those dreams, Mill. I hate that you were afraid and that you didn’t have anyone to help you. To explain it to you.”
“We’ve done this before,” she whispers.
“Dozens of times,” I confirm. “And he defeats us every time. But not now.”
“Why is this different?”
“We’re stronger. We have additional knowledge on our side. And I’m damn pissed, Millicent.”
“But we don’t know that this is him. First of all, Horace kills women who look like us—like me, Daphne, and Brielle. Not men. It’s us sisters that he’s fixated on.”
“That’s true,” I concede. “This could have just been a sick asshole who tortured and killed that man. That case might be completely random. People are murdered in the Quarter every day.”
“Exactly.” She nods.
“But either way, we need to get ready. Because he won’t stay dormant forever. And whether it’s tonight or a year from now, we need to be prepared to deal with him again.”
“I’ve so enjoyed the quiet this past year,” she says and then turns sad eyes up to me. “What did we ever do to set all of this in motion? If it’s hundreds of year’s worth of a grudge, where does it come from?”
“That’s one thing I don’t know,” I admit. “But Miss Sophia might. Or she’ll know where we could look. I know you don’t like me much, but we’re going to be spending a bit of time together.”
She scowls. “I don’t dislike you.”
“You avoid me at every turn.”
She sighs and pulls out of my grasp. I let her go but feel the loss immediately.
“I’ve seen you since I was a child.” She glances my way again. “I even knew your name. It confused and scared the hell out of me. And then, when Miss Sophia invited me to the Samhain ritual when I was seventeen and I saw you standing in that circle under the moon…it hit me like a ton of bricks. I was terrified. I recognized you, and I didn’t know what to think.”
“Why didn’t you ask?” I brush a lock of her hair off her cheek.
“When it first started, I once tried to ask my mother about it, and she beat me with a wooden spoon until I had bloody welts on the backs of my legs.”
The rage I feel is swift and encompassing.
“So I’ve been careful with my questions. Until I met Miss Sophia, who is always happy to answer them.”
“I’m happy to answer them, too,” I reply softly. “Anytime.”
“Good. Because I have a feeling I’m going to have a lot of them. But the first one is pretty simple.”
“Okay.”
“Do you feel like lasagna for dinner?”
Chapter Four Millie
Lucien is sitting at my kitchen island, and I’m bustling about, making us both dinner. I never thought I’d see the day.
Also, the longer I’m near him, the more I feel the chemistry between us. I know we’ve known each other over the course of many lifetimes, but I wonder if we were lovers in those lives, as well?
If the way he looks at me is anything to go by, or how it feels when he touches me, I’d say it’s likely.
He makes me damn nervous. Which means, I can’t stop talking.
“Esme asked for the entire week of Halloween off today,” I say as I brown the meat in a skillet and add in some herbs and spices, along with a little something extra here and there. The noodles are already in the boiling water. “I couldn’t believe it. The whole week, as if I don’t have a festival and our coven ritual that week. Which she should also be at. When I asked her why she needed the whole week off, she said it’s because she wants to take the week for spiritual cleansing.”
I shake my head as I dump jars of marinara into the skillet and give it a good stir.
“I would usually make my own marinara, but I’m hungry, and that’s a two-day process.”
“This smells fantastic,” Lucien assures me. “Can you tell Esme no?”
“I did tell her no,” I reply as I get to work building the lasagna in a pan. “I’m giving her a couple of days off that week, but I couldn’t give her the whole week. She wasn’t thrilled, but she said she understood.”
“She’s young,” Lucien says.
“She’s twenty-five,” I disagree. “She’s the age I was when I opened that shop. She’s a grown woman, and she knows better.”
“You’re right,” he replies with a nod. “Maybe she just seems younger to me. But you’re right. Aside from that, how are things going at the café?”
“Really well,” I reply as I sprinkle something extra-special over the lasagna’s top layer before popping it into the oven. “We’re consistently busy. I extended our hours on the weekends, so rather than closing at three in the afternoon, we’re staying open until six. But Sunday through Thursday, we’re still closing at three.”
“What was that you just sprinkled on?” he asks. “Eye of newt?”
I roll my eyes and laugh as I set the pan in the hot oven. “We don’t use eye of newt anymore, Lucien. Well, not much anyway.”
He raises a brow, which only makes me laugh. But now that I don’t have anything to keep my hands busy with over the next forty-five minutes, I’m nervous all over again.
Bread! I can get the
