I turn back to my father, anger and hatred bubbling up inside me. “I’d rather be a witch than a pathetic excuse of a man like you.”
He backhands me, making my head bounce off the wall. I should have expected it, but whatever drugs are coursing through my body have slowed my reactions.
Dale steps closer. “Be careful, or it will be impossible to sell the story. It’s gonna be hard enough as it is, given the state of her.”
“Ye of little faith,” my father hisses before he takes a gun from the back of his jeans and presses it to my temple.
The house vibrates with urgency.
“Do it,” I hiss. “I dare you.”
“If I thought it would help, I would. But I know you’re linked to this place, and I’m not finished with it yet. On the contrary, I’m only just beginning.”
He swings the gun and hits me on the temple with it. I slump to the ground, my hands pressed to the wood as the house tries to tether me to it. I don’t know what to do other than feed it my regrets and sorrow before pushing my love into it, for this place and the land, regardless of the man who taints it.
I whisper my apologies before I hear a gunshot.
I jump, waiting for the pain, but unconsciousness pulls me under. When I feel a gun placed in my hands, I have the vaguenotion they’re going to make it look like a suicide. A finger presses against mine, pulling the trigger.
The last thing I remember is Dale’s panicked voice. “9-1-1? I’d like to report a murder. My boss is dead, and I just watched his daughter kill him.”
Chapter Four
FIFTEEN YEARS LATER
Now
Iturn the page, pretending to be absorbed in my book as I hear someone approaching my cell. I don’t look up, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to myself. But when I hear a key in the lock, I admit defeat.
I close the book when I realize it’s the warden himself with Middleton, one of the guards.
“Good morning, Hart,” the warden greets me politely, before sitting in the flimsy chair next to the desk. It groans under his weight, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
“So, one week to go. Any issues? I know other inmates can cause problems when they realize someone in their midst is leaving.”
“None, sir.” And it was true. I’d been fortunate that most of the inmates were pretty friendly toward me, protective even. Itdidn’t hurt that I was still a child when I arrived here. Many of them stepped into maternal roles, but none quite so much as Mama Ray. My chest squeezes at the thought of her. The memories are too fresh and raw to dwell on. It had been three months since she’d died, peacefully in her sleep. After spending fifteen years with her, my tiny cell had never felt so lonely.
“That’s good. Now, it’s my understanding your lawyer has discussed with you what you need to know once you leave here?”
“She has, but I’m due to see her again today. She said she needed to finalize some things.”
“Excellent. I wish all my prisoners were like you.”
I look at him like he’s a fucking idiot. Even the guard looks at him with a frown. Realizing nobody finds his comment amusing, he coughs and gets to his feet.
“Right, well, good luck, Hart. I hope we never see you again.” He winks and walks out. Middleton shakes her head. Her lips twitch as she looks at me before she turns and walks the warden back to his office.
I lie down and stare at the top bunk, not sure how I’m supposed to feel about all this. I imagine most people would be jumping for joy at the prospect of getting out of prison, but after fifteen years, this place has felt more like home than Crowhurst ever did.
I rub my thumb absentmindedly over my birthmark. The once-red mark is now completely black, resembling a tattoo more than a mark I was born with. It’s the mark that started it all. Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. Funnily enough, fifteen years gives you a lot of time to read and study, and what I found made sense as much as it blew my mind.
Turns out, witches are real. Each bloodline displays varying degrees of strength that manifest in a variety of ways. For most, a witch will find they have an affinity—or a stronger aptitude, if you like—in a specific area. Like my ability to manipulate theweather. In others, those with a diluted bloodline, gifts might not be so obvious, but they often show strengths in other areas. Like having a sense of danger, or supercharged gut instincts. The strongest families—which I couldn’t find much on, probably because they liked to keep their abilities closer to their chests—could show strengths in more than one area. I couldn’t find enough information to understand how that worked.
My lawyer had done her best to find me dozens of obscure books over the years. I’d taken a bunch of history, literature, and women’s studies courses to explain away my need for them. She never batted an eye at my unusual requests. Most people would have looked at me funny, but not Jen. Of course, if anyone bothered to read through the tomes of information I had, they would have likely written it off as nothing more than make-believe.
But not me. Even without my father confirming it. I’d had too many strange encounters to believe anything but the truth. I’m a witch, just like my mother was, and her mother before her.
My mood still affects the weather patterns, but I’ve developed in other areas too. Areas I’m still mostly hiding. A prison cell, surrounded by dozens of other women, is not the place to start experimenting.