“From the beginning,” Miss Sophia says calmly. “I think, in order to make sure we’re all on the same page and understand exactly what we’re up against, we need to start at the very beginning and work our way through what we know so far. Brielle, why don’t you begin?”
And so, we do. I hear the same stories they told me the other night at Witches Brew, with new, remembered facts thrown in.
Oliver wraps his arm around Miss Annabelle when she gasps in horror and has to wipe tears from her gorgeous brown eyes.
When the story winds its way to me, I share about the visions I’ve had, and Daphne and I piece together what we know about what’s happened over the last few days.
“Has anything happened to either of you since the lights flickered last night?” Gwyneth asks as she takes notes in her notebook.
“No, ma’am.” I turn to Daphne for confirmation, and she nods silently.
“Well, we’ve been a busy bunch, haven’t we?” Miss Sophia sighs and pours a fresh cup of tea.
How the kettle stays full when we’ve all poured out of it is a trick I’ll have to learn another time.
“Wait.” All eyes turn to Daphne, who licks her lips and fidgets with her teacup. “Something else has been happening with me. I didn’t tell the others because I didn’t want to scare them, but maybe it’s tied to this.”
“Daphne,” Brielle whispers in surprise.
Daph cringes, bites her lip, and then squares her shoulders.
“I’ve been dreaming about…well, about Daddy.”
It’s as though the air is sucked right out of the room.
“No,” Millie says and closes her eyes. “Oh, Daphne.”
“He was gone for so many years,” Daphne continues. “The spell we worked with Miss Sophia sent him away, and I didn’t dream about him for a long, long time. With all of the manipulation and scare tactics that Hor—he has used this past year, I’m not convinced that it’s actually Dad in my dreams now, or if it’s merely an illusion meant to mess with me.”
“Either way, it’s fucked up,” Brielle says, anger hard in her voice.
“Agreed,” Millie jumps in.
“It could be both,” Miss Sophia says, speaking slowly as she thinks it over. “I can rework the spells I cast before. Strengthen them. But, Daphne, part of this will be up to you.”
Daphne leans in, listening. “In what way?”
“You have to stand up to him. I know he frightened you when you were children, but you’re not a weak child anymore. You have tools, and you have grit. You don’t need anyone’s permission to stand up to him and tell him that he’s not welcome in your head. He has no control over you. No power when it comes to you.”
Daphne blinks rapidly. “Why didn’t I think of that? It’s always been an immediate reaction to be afraid.”
“Because when you see him, you’re that little girl again,” Miss Annabelle adds. “And that’s normal, if you ask me. But Miss Sophia is right, child. You need to stand up to that bully and tell him to get the hell out of your head.”
Daphne takes a deep breath. “Just the thought of it makes my hands sweat, but you’re right. Except, what if he does have power? What if he can still hurt me?”
“I think scaring you was always his primary goal,” Aiden says, jumping in for the first time. “You said that he’d laugh or smile?”
“Yes.”
“Then the fear is what drives him. Show him that you’re not afraid of him.”
Daphne laughs shakily as Cash’s phone rings. He stands to take the call in the kitchen. “Even if I am afraid of him.”
“You’re standing up to a bully,” I remind her. “Dead or alive, he’s still a bully. Tell him off. You’ll feel better.”
She nods. “Okay. I’ll do it.”
Cash walks back into the room, his expression grim.
“What is it?” Brielle asks her husband.
“They found the second victim,” Cash says with a sigh and pulls his laptop out of his bag. “She was in Shreveport. A buddy of mine from that PD is sending me images from the scene.”
He punches some keys and then rubs his hand over his mouth as he examines the screen.
“I’m not showing this to you,” he says and closes the laptop.
“Did she electrocute herself like the first?” Millie asks.
“No.” He swears under his breath. “God, I feel sick.”
“Take a deep breath,” Miss Sophia suggests. “What did he do to her?”
Ruth offers Cash a glass of water. He takes it and drinks deeply. “He cut her up. Cut her up really bad.”
I scowl. “So he’s back to doing things himself then?”
“No,” Cash says, shaking his head. “There were no other prints, no signs of another person being there at all.”
“Maybe he cleaned up after himself,” I suggest, but Cash is already shaking his head.
“There was so much damn blood. There’s no way another person was in that room,” he says, his voice growing harder with anger. “She cut herself up.”