A big burly man tied Mac’s hands to the back of a wagon that materialized from the edge of the group. Horses with fur covered feet were harnessed to the front of it, stamping impatiently, their breaths misting on the black air.
“John,” Mac said weakly. “Why?”
“Because you dallied with a witch, brother,” the big man said. “You are as evil now as they are. Your seed has been passed to the devil.”
Mac’s head hung, but his biceps tightened where his fists clenched inside the ropes. “I am all the better for it,” Mac said. “She was right, and I was a fool.”
I fell in love with this man then, this broken man who, even in this moment, didn’t turn his back on Eta. It would be his death.
“Are you better for it?” John sneered.
Mac looked up, his cold, grey eyes hard. “I am much better for it. You can kill me, brother, but you canna destroy my spirit.”
John spat in Mac’s face. “Now!” John ordered angrily.
The driver of the wagon snapped the horses’ reins. I looked away as Mac’s body was dragged behind the conveyance. I never heard him scream.
The wagon stopped, and another wagon came up behind it, facing in the opposite direction. My hand came up to cover my mouth as Mac’s feet were tied to the new vehicle. They were going to tear Mac’s body apart!
“Any last words, brother?” John asked.
Mac couldn’t lift his head, but his voice was clear when he said, “If I am a sinner, then so be it. A plague on you all!”
The reins on both carts snapped.
I sat up, my scream loud.
A hand went over my mouth. “Shhhh ... wake up, Monroe,” Luther’s voice said in my ear.
My eyes went wide. The room we were in was dark, but it wasn’t the cabin in the Scottish forest anymore. It was a bedroom, a nice one with modern furniture, a roll top desk in the corner, and a large fire in a gas fireplace in front of the bed.
“We traveled while you slept.”
Luther answered my unspoken question, his hand still against my lips.
“We are in Salem, in the home of a seer. Belle is downstairs with Lucas. Bernice is asleep in the room next to yours.”
Luther’s explanation did nothing to calm me. The dream was still too raw, a vivid memory now etched into my brain. I tried backing up and froze when my arm hit my backpack.
My eyes traveled to the bed as Luther’s hand slipped away from my face. The blankets over my legs were thick and warm and smelled faintly of Gain laundry detergent, but the pillows were gone, replaced by my backpack, the same backpack that held the grimoire. I didn’t look back up at Luther.
“You put the grimoire under my head?”
My words were more an accusation than a question. I was a visionary. I knew now why I’d had the newest vision, knew now it was because Luther had let me sleep on the book.
“Getting inside your family’s head is the best way to figure out where they went wrong, and you are the key to that. The Demonic portion of the book is opening to you,” Luther said.
I still didn’t look at him, a tear working its way from the corner of my eye to my chin. It hung there.
“You suspect the Ayers summoned a Shadow, don’t you?” I asked. “You think that’s why we are connected to Demons. That we summoned one the same way you were summoned.”
The conversation and kiss I’d shared with Luther at the lake was as fresh as the vision I’d just had. Things Luther had said to Hannah ... it all made sense.
Luther shifted. “It’s one of the more obvious reasons for your family’s connection to Demons.”
My hand lifted, and I placed it against the backpack, on the figures standing arm in arm across the front. The tin man, the cowardly lion, the scarecrow. One looking for a heart, another a brain, and the last for courage. The book lay beneath. My heart bled. Mac.
“It doesn’t explain Bernice,” I said.
Luther didn’t answer me. He knew I was right. My hand tightened against the backpack.
“Eta took over the Coven after her father’s death. She was pregnant. She was in love. And Mac ... “ my voiced cracked. “Mac died for her.”
“I know,” Luther said, and I looked up at him, at his strong face where the firelight played across his features.
“Why?” I asked. “Why do I need to relive it all?”
Luther’s head lowered. “Because your powers are tied to theirs, Monroe. Because the visionaries before you suffered, because they saw things that led to this moment, to whatever it is that cursed your family.”
I knew Luther had been in my head. Not only did he have to posses me for my supposed own good, but I knew he’d want to see what I saw, that he had seen what I had seen. It was in his eyes.
“Do you feel nothing?” I asked him. “My heart ... it hurts.”
Luther’s jaw tightened. “It’ll heal,” he said.
It seemed so wrong that I was so attracted to this man, this Demon whose hard eyes had probably seen so much more than I had seen in visions, who saw being bad as something good, who seemed untouched by simple moments. But I was attracted to him. There was no way I could deny that, not sitting this close to him.
“I’m not sure I want to see more,” I whispered.
Luther’s hand went to the back of my head. He seemed to have no trouble touching me. I’m not sure he had trouble touching anyone. Luther lived life the way he wanted to live it. No rules. No thought to what was right.
“All of that pain in one witch,” he said. I knew he meant me by the way his red-tinged eyes met mine. “It all leads to you. Even Bernice. I don’t know how yet, Monroe, but it does.”
The interest in his gaze was new. My eyes narrowed. The look didn’t mean he was interested in me. Oh, I had no doubt he was attracted to me, but I’d also seen lust in his eyes with Belle. Hadn’t I? No, this was something different.
“I’m not a favor you’re doing for your brother any more, am I?” I asked.
A smile tugged at Luther lips. “Call it curiosity,” Luther said. “Let’s just say your family has intrigued me.”
And with that, Luther leaned forward, his lips brushing my forehead. It wasn’t a sweet kiss. It wasn’t even romantic.
“Your blood,” he said, “is tempting.”
I pulled away. “I won’t share it.”
Luther laughed. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t love a taste, Witch. You look like an angel, but you smell like trouble. It’s damned intoxicating.”
I pushed the covers away and stepped over the side of the bed. I was tired of the clothes I was in, and I picked up the backpack. Luther was by the door when I turned, his speed both intimidating and a relief.
“There is a bathroom in the hall. Come downstairs when you are done,” he ordered.
I nodded as he moved from the bedroom, the door shutting behind him, leaving me in a room touched by firelight, by images of Mac. My hand went to my flat stomach. Nothing moved within my womb as it had Eta’s. I looked up.
“You are the father of one of my ancestors, Mac,” I said. “And I am proud to know your blood runs within my veins.”
An image of a smiling Mac played behind my eyes as I re-opened the bedroom door and peered out into the hallway before stepping out onto a beautiful wine-colored runner covering deep, mahogany wooden floors. A deep breath, and I closed the bedroom door. Mac’s face disappeared.
CHAPTER 15
Visions are awful things. I say this lightly because, according to my family, it is a gift. Witches with visionary abilities were once considered Oracles in the ancient world. But, if I am being honest with myself, then I must admit that I consider my visions more a curse than I do my Demonic connection. Visions have robbed me of my youth. No one could see the things I do and still feel young. My first vision was of death, the second of my best friend, and since then I have had many dark, frightening visions that make no sense. Like the river I walk to every morning, they are muddy, strong currents that are pulling me under.<
br />
~Monroe’s Totally Wicked Book of Shadows~
I walked out of the bathroom half an hour later with a damp, hastily done ponytail and pink scrubbed skin while wearing another pair of skinny jeans, and an oversized white, off-the-shoulder sweatshirt with an image of a lounging Marilyn Monroe on the front. It felt nice to be clean, but the shower hadn’t helped wash away any of the haunting images I was plagued with now.
Shadows seemed to follow me down the house’s twisted, hardwood staircase, and I glanced over my shoulder repeatedly as I searched the lower floor for Lucas, Luther, and Belle.
The house was old and large, the walls and furniture testament to another time period. There were fireplaces in every room, and old glass lighting. The floors were all wood with sporadic throw rugs that matched the individual rooms; browns, wine colors, maroons, creams.
Something pushed me from behind, and I stumbled into a room I hadn’t seen my first time through. Two brown stuffed leather chairs sat in front of a picture window on opposite sides of a round mahogany end table holding a large, caramel-shaded lamp. Bookshelves lined the back wall, and the center of the room was dominated by a chandelier highlighting a massive pool table.
Luther leaned against the green felt, a cue stick in one hand while Lucas leaned next to him, his lower lip clenched between his teeth as he gazed at the cue ball critically. Belle stood behind them, her arms crossed and her exasperated eyes on the ceiling. It didn’t look like a friendly game of pool.
I ignored them all, my gaze on the hallway beyond. Someone had pushed me. I hadn’t seen him, but I’d felt the hands.
“A spirit,” a man said.
I stiffened, my eyes moving to the room. Luther and Lucas had straightened, their focus now on the door, on me. Belle looked relieved.
A thin, scarecrow-like man stepped from the room’s shadows, the faint sun coming through the picture window making his skin seem pale. He had a thin face with short brown hair, and gold wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
“A spirit?” I asked.
The man nodded, his thin lips turned up into a smile. “We have many of them in Salem. You grow used to them,” he said as he approached me, his hand outstretched. “I am Henry. You must be Ellie Jacobs.”
I took his hand, my gaze on my reflection in his spectacles.
“Monroe,” I corrected him. “It’s nice to meet you.”
His grin widened. “Likewise.”
Belle moved around the table, her eyes bright. She had changed while I’d been asleep and was wearing flared jeans, and a fitted red v-neck sweater. Her thick, black hair was pulled back into a ponytail as hasty as mine.
“Henry here can tell the difference between mortals, Angels, and Demons. Something about auras,” Belle said, awed.
I grinned. I had met a seer before, a woman named Maria in Italy, but a seer’s ability never failed to amaze me.
I nodded at Henry. “Do witches have auras?” I asked. I’d always wondered that but had never thought to ask.
Henry gestured at Belle. “No different than most humans,” he answered. “Even those with witch blood.” Belle looked disappointed. Henry stepped toward me, his small eyes larger than they should be behind his glasses. “Except for yours. Your aura is different,” he said.
Luther laid his cue stick down and moved next to me, his eyes on Henry. “How different?” Luther asked.
Henry sighed. “It’s why you came, I understand. And now that I look at her, I see why you’d want to know.” His eyes skirted my figure. “Your aura is red with touches of black.”
Luther’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not possible, Henry.”
The man laughed. “It shouldn’t be, but it is.”
I glanced between them. “Is there something wrong with that?”
Lucas had moved next to Luther, and their eyes met, a thought passing between them.
“I wonder why Maria never mentioned it,” Lucas murmured.
Henry snorted. “Maria Mancini? She is a legend among seers. She is also considered a little odd. A rebel in many ways, even in her old age.”
“And you aren’t?” Luther asked. “The fact that you will even allow a Demon in your home makes you as eccentric as Maria. She kept this from us. Why?”
Henry’s expression became guarded, unsure. “If Maria Mancini said nothing, then I’m not sure I should either.”
Luther’s eyes went red, blood red. “Maria has two advantages you don’t, Seer. She was once my brother’s lover, and she has earned her place by guarding treasures of Solomon with her life. You have earned nothing. It would be wise for you to talk.”
Henry stared. “You threaten me, Demon? Here? In my home.”
Luther took a step forward. “Do you think I care where you die, Seer? I think you mistake me for my brother.”
“Luther,” Lucas warned.
Henry backed away, his skin pale.
“Tell us,” Luther insisted.
The room grew cold, frigid even. My breath misted in front of me. I’d never seen a Demon do that before, and I felt the hairs on my arms stand to attention. Fear coursed through me.
“The spirits,” Henry whispered, his eyes on the air.
There were hands on my shoulders again, and then they were gone. Spirits? Ghosts? Seriously! I glanced around me, but there was nothing. Only cold air and fear.
Luther smiled. “They are lost souls, Henry. Demons can call on lost souls. Do you want to see what I can make them do?”
Henry wheezed. “You have much of your mother in you, Demon,” he gasped.
Luther chuckled. “Yes, I do.”
The Demon made no apology, and Henry moved to the nearest leather chair. He sat heavily, and Belle, who’d been on the side of the pool table nearest the chairs, moved as far away from Henry as she could, her arms folded across her middle. The fear in her eyes was stark.
“I’ll tell you,” Henry conceded. He wheezed again while patting his blue jean pockets. “Just make it stop. Please.”
Lucas placed a hand on Luther’s shoulder. “Show’s over,” he said. “Quit scaring the man.”
The room returned to its normal temperature, but Luther’s eyes stayed red, his body rigid. Whatever spirits had been floating among us seemed to retreat and Henry’s breathing returned to normal. Or mostly normal anyway.
“Was that necessary?” Henry asked, his hand going to his chest. “I have asthma, you know.”
Luther’s eyes glowed, and Henry waved his hands.
“Never mind.” Henry wheezed, his gaze moving to me. “The black in Monroe’s aura is the mark of a Demon. All Demons have a black aura. But the red ...” Henry’s eyes went to Luther. “I have seen the red in mortals, but not the red I see in Monroe. I’ve only seen the kind of red in Monroe’s aura once before.”
Luther leaned forward. “I’m not going to like the answer, am I?” he asked.
Henry placed a hand on the chair’s armrest. “I suppose that depends. I have a feeling you already know the answer.”
Luther swore and looked away as Lucas strode forward. “Enlighten those who don’t know,” the fallen Angel insisted.
Henry looked at the floor, his hand tightening on the chair until his knuckles were white. “I’ve only seen that color with the Demon Lilith.”
I gasped. I couldn’t help myself. “Oh, my God!”
Belle was confused. “Lilith?” she asked.
I swallowed hard. “In myth, Lilith was the first wife of Adam,” I explained. “She refused to submit to Adam, and she fled the Garden of Eden, eventually becoming a succubus she-Demon. Later, she lay with the cursed Cain and together they beget many half-breed or hybrid Demons.”
“In myth?” Luther said with a laugh. “If you’d been suckled by the bitch, you wouldn’t call her a myth.”
My gaze went to the Demon. “Luther is one of her children,” I told Belle.
There was silence then, a long silence, broken only by the tick, tick, tick of a clock somew
here in the house. I hadn’t noticed it before, but now it distracted me. Tick, tick, tick.
I inhaled. Tick, tick, tick. My aura contained the same red color as Lilith’s? What did that mean? I exhaled. Tick, tick, tick.
“And this red aura means what?” Lucas asked, his question finally breaking the silence.
Henry stood, his stance unsteady. “It means Monroe is connected somehow by blood to the she-Demon.”
Luther swore again.
Lucas coughed. “By blood? You jest! As in related?”
I still hadn’t spoken. I couldn’t. It was taking everything I had just to breathe.
“She’s not Lilith’s child,” Luther stated, his tone adamant.
Henry nodded. “The Demon is right. Monroe doesn’t have Lilith’s attributes. It’s very unlikely she was sired by the Demon.”
I finally found my voice. “Then how?” I breathed.
Henry’s gaze moved to mine. “Someone in your family is a lilim.”
“A what?” I asked.
Lucas laughed. “I never would have thought ...” He shook his head.
Belle glared at us all. “What the hell is a lilim?”
Luther turned, his eyes on the room’s entrance. I glanced over my shoulder, my gaze following Luther’s. Bernice was on the staircase beyond, her eyes wide behind her glasses. Her rigid posture and her glassy stare was eerie. All of this was eerie.
I glanced around the room at our group—a seer standing shakily by a chair, a fallen Angel laughing at the irony of it all, a Demon with reddened eyes, and three witches without a clue.
“What is a lilim?” Belle asked again.
Luther’s eyes moved to mine, his face unreadable. “Lilims are children of Lilith,” he said. “But not by blood. Of blood. They are women who worship her.”
My heart sunk.
“They are women,” Luther added, “who trade their souls to her for something in return.”
CHAPTER 16
I’ve begun to teach myself a little about Hell. It seems foolish not to when I’m constantly haunted by Demons. There is much I already know. I know there are hybrid-Demons, the children of Demons and humans. And I know there are special hybrid children, the sons and daughters of the immortal Cain and the she-Demon Lilith. They are always twins, one of them evil, and the other not so much. And there are many of them. So very many of them. But it is their mother who scares me the most. The she-Demon Lilith is a nasty Demon. I’ve faced her once when Dayton and Marcas battled Lucifer. My amulet had kept Lucifer from possessing Luther, and Lilith had attacked me. Only Luther jumped in front of me, and my life was spared. But I’ve thought often on that night. I’d seen a possessive look in Lilith’s eyes that still terrifies me.
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