“Out of it. Her voice was strange, and after it happened, it was as if she woke up. She didn’t remember a word she’d spoken.”
“Tell me.”
I repeat the lines.
“Hmm. It’s nothing we didn’t know. We haven’t been able to tap into the site in decades.”
“Is that a good thing?” I ask.
“I’m not sure. Change is coming whether we like it or not. The only thing we can do is hunker down and make the best of it. If this happens again, you need to come to me immediately. Some predictions are time sensitive, delivered in hopes of preventing a catastrophe, and others are more general.”
“How can you tell which is which?”
“You can’t always.”
***
I leave the house conflicted. Confusion, disappointment, and fear blend together to muddy my brain. How could the wise, generous, loving woman I adore commit such a heinous act? To strip her kin of their magic and force them from the only home they’d ever known took a level of cruelty I wouldn’t have thought her capable of. Not when it was directed at her own family.
My entire life she’s preached tolerance, family values, love, and strength in numbers. Was it a lie? A carefully constructed persona she used to gain our loyalty and obedience? Or was the binding really her worst mistake? She seemed genuinely apologetic and regretful. At the same time, her confession was poorly timed and linked to a questionable request.
Did absolute power really corrupt absolutely? Was it a ploy to soften me up? Am I looking at an inevitable future? No one’s perfect. Logically, I understand that. It’s the viciousness of the situation and her solution to it that disturbs me.
My brain threatens to shut down, and I run to the one place where I can escape all things witchy and lick my wounds?the mansion. I could never imagine the day my family home would feel like a prison. I park the car in the driveway and follow the link to our room.
Stepping into the suite, I pause at the sight of the open suitcase. My mood plummets.
“Are you headed off for business?” I ask as I step inside and close the door behind me. The four-poster bed has been lonely without his presence.
“No, but we are leaving.”
“We?” I smile.
“Mmm-hmm.”
“May I ask where to?” Intrigued, I watch as he packs enough for a few days.
“You may, but I won’t tell you.”
I frown. “Cristobal, you know how I hate surprises.”
“Only the bad ones.” He shrugs.
I laugh. “No, those I hate more than the other others.”
“You like mine, though.” His arrogance never fails to astound me.
“I like any time I get to spend with you, and I humor you about your surprises.”
“Now you’re just playing hard to get.”
I roll my eyes. “So full of yourself.”
“No, I’m confident. I promise you, dove, you’ll enjoy this. We’re both in desperate need of time away. Everything can hold for two days while we take this break.”
I sink onto the edge of our bed. “I can’t—”
“You can, and you will. You’re no good to anyone exhausted with a muddied mind and a broken spirit.”