Frog Hollow (Witches of Sanctuary Book 1) (10 page)

I’m suddenly reminded of Julien’s geography lesson from the cliff’s edge. How the property lines of Frog Hollow, Raven Ridge, and Shadow Bend all join together like three slices of a very large mountain pie. Except Frog Hollow is twice the size of the other two portions.

“When an ailing widow, Alphine Daniels, adopted two daughters to inherit Frog Hollow upon her death, Luther Prescott, of Shadow Bend, convinced the young Estelle Cote of Raven Ridge that it was time they took matters into their own hands. Luther planned to marry Estelle, combining Raven Ridge and Shadow Bend, which meant, to gain the ultimate power they both sought, they needed to dispose of the young girls. Without Daniels heirs, Luther and Estelle would use their combined wealth to outbid any opposition when Frog Hollow was auctioned off.”

“That’s horrible,” I say mildly, treading lightly not to offend Julien’s family.

“It is horrible,” he agrees, squeezing my hand. “And it gets worse. One summer night at dusk, when the sun and the moon shined together in the sky, Luther Prescott and Estelle Cote found the two young girls playing just inside the borders of Frog Hollow. Violence. Greed. Lust. It consumed them both to their very cores. Just as they stepped into the light to complete their evil deed, something happened.”

We both pause. “What happened?”

It’s almost dark now as Julien veers us off the road and through a thicket of trees to our right. “You’ll get a different version depending on what eager gossipmonger you ask in this town. Truth is, we don’t know what happened that night, except those two girls, the Innocent, were given powers so they’d never fear an adversary ever again.”

Julien gazes over at me, and I point a shaky finger at myself.

He nods and continues. “Luther and Estelle weren’t so lucky. From that night forward, Luther would be a slave to his own greed, wasting away into a madman, blinded by his own fruitless ambitions, as would every son who followed after him.”

My eyes widen as I whisper Ezekiel’s name.

“And finally,” Julien says, his voice even and flat, “Estelle would be a slave to her own lust, plagued by unrequited infatuation, leading her to kill the one she loves most.”

“And every heir after her?” I guess.

He’s quiet. I know I’m right. We step out of the thicket of trees into an open area. I look around, my eyes homing in on a large iron gate in the distance, and I realize Julien has led me to a cemetery. I’m surprised, not by the destination, but by the end of his story.

“We are all products of the curse,” he says with a hasty sigh. “We’re just on different ends of the spectrum. However, I am no more a monster than Ezekiel.”

I sigh, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear. “It all makes sense now,” I say. “There were two girls, two lines of descendants.” I absently play with the necklace around my neck again, still wondering about my other half.

It seems almost surreal to think I am somehow linked to this legend, that Julien’s ancestors wanted to kill mine. I wonder if my mother’s death is somehow connected to the story and if that’s the reason why Reid distrusts Julien so much. I look at him, trying to decide how much I trust him. “Why did you bring me here?”

“I want to show you something.” He pushes open the creaking gates. “However, we need to wait until dark.”

I slip inside the gate and take his hand, freely this time.

“I know a good spot.”

I follow him, tiptoeing around the graves. Each one is outlined with tall, ornate statues, and some even hold mausoleums. I stumble, catching myself against his arm, but he is quick to steady me.

“Be careful. The ground is uneven. Just follow behind me.”

We continue through the long rows of graves, climbing steadily over a small hill and down into an open valley beneath. The light of the moon shines against the pale gravestones, making it seem as if each one is glowing. Julien begins to slow down, allowing me to inch up closer behind him. He pulls me around to his side. “I’m guessing you haven’t been here yet?”

“No.”

He squeezes my side, motioning for me to stand still. He walks over to one of the old magnolia trees outlining the fence and plucks two white blooms from a low-hanging branch. As he walks back toward me, he holds his arm out, and I rush to him. He sees the confusion on my face and gently places the flowers in my palm. “There is something we need to do first,” he says. “Something someone should have brought you to do already.”

I stare blankly at him until he points at something in front of me. When I look up, I find we are standing in front of a statue of a beautiful white angel. I know then, without reading my mother’s name engraved along the stone, what Julien means. I suck in a breath and clutch the flowers tightly in my hand.

“I can give you a moment.”

“No,” I plead. “Please, stay with me.”

Emotions tighten my chest. I’m shaky when I kneel down in front of the statue, running my fingers across her name and the year of her death. “Everything has been so crazy. I didn’t think to ask if she was buried nearby.”

I feel him close behind me, his hands on my shoulders. He leans forward, placing a chaste kiss against my neck. It’s comforting.

Tears streak my cheeks, and Julien falls to his knees, hugging me against his chest. With slow, precise movements, I arrange the blossoms along the bottom of the gravestone. When I speak, I do not look to the ground but rather to the sky. “I forgive you. I forgive you for not coming after me and not calling me back here sooner.”

My voice cracks, and I know I can never say everything that I need, not now when the emotion is still so raw inside me. All the stories, the lectures, the mending can wait until another day. So, instead, I say the one thing I want to tell her most of all. “I love you too. Always.”

My fingers leave the flowers, and I turn around, burying my tears against Julien’s chest. He rocks me back and forth, soothing me as the night falls deeper into darkness around us. He eventually falls back on the ground, pulling me to sit in his lap. He whispers my name, coaxing me to look up at him. “I chose this place for a reason,” he explains.

“What do you mean?”

“I know a spell. A very old spell that might help us figure out what happened to your mother.”

I look up at him, my eyes swollen and red. “A spell. I can’t do spells.”

“You are an Innocent. You are capable of being many things.”

I study him for a moment, deciding whether or not to believe him. “What kind of spell is it?”

He pushes my hair away from my face. “When I lived in Charleston before my mother’s death, I used to play along the streets outside one of the cemeteries. One night, on a dare, I hopped the fence. As I prowled through the rows of mausoleums, I suddenly came face to face with an old woman. She had dark skin, wrinkles around her lips from years of laughter, and she wore a distinctive purple hat with yellow feathers. That night, I met Priscilla DeMarci.”

I stare at him, waiting patiently for his story to make sense to me. “Priscilla was a ghost. Her spirit was revealed by a spell performed by her great-great-granddaughter. She was one of the Innocent.”

“She told you that?”

“Yes. After the initial shock, and Priscilla’s revelation that I also am not entirely human, she became my friend.”

“You think we might be able to find my mother’s spirit,” I say, sensing the doubt in my own voice.

“It worked for her granddaughter.” He shrugs. “It’s worth a shot, right?”

I scramble to my feet. “And you know this spell?”

He stands, dusting himself off. “Of course. I wouldn’t have dragged you all this way for nothing.”

He holds up his finger, signaling for me to wait. He walks over to an adjoining grave and picks up some dirt off the top. “You need dirt forged through sorrow,” he explains, holding his hand out for me to see. “And then you add a drop of blood, your blood because you’re the one with the magic.” Then he flips his hand over, clenching the dirt inside his fingers. “You turn it over, one, two, three times and then...” He holds his hand up to his lips, opens his palm, and blows against the dirt.

My eyes rise, waiting for something to happen, but he only laughs. “Well, obviously, it won’t work for me.” He grins. “But you get the idea.”

“Okay,” I say, rethinking the steps back over in my mind. “Dirt, well, that’s easy.” My stomach churns with distrust as I go on. “It’s the blood part that worries me.”

“I won’t hurt you,” he says harshly, as if I’ve offended him. He backs away from me, putting several feet between us.

“So you didn’t bring a knife?”

He looks angry with himself. He pulls out the blade, flips it around, and holds it out to me, handle first. “I also don’t cut people.”

I back farther away from the knife. “Neither do I.”

He rolls his eyes. “You have to do it, Wilhelmina. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

His lips tighten. “I just told you what happened the last time someone tried to take a knife to an Innocent. Forgive me for being cautious.”

“You’re lying.” His eye twitches with each word, his normally calm features nothing more than a bundle of nerves. “It’s something else.”

“I told you. I have nothing to hide.”

“Then do it.” I hold out my wrist, daring him. “If it’s really only a matter of choice for you to be good, and you can control yourself, then cut me.”

His brows knot together as he studies me. “You’re testing me,” he accuses bitterly.

I give a noncommittal shrug.

He throws the knife on the ground. “Do not tempt me, Wilhelmina Daniels. You won’t like what you find.”

I narrow my eyes at him. “So it’s not a choice. With the right motivation, you could lose control.”

His eyes flash red. “I am not my father.” He forces himself to relax, to look me straight in the eye. “I do have a choice, and I will never choose—”

“Show me.”

“What?” Just like that, he loses himself to the anger again.

“Show me. If what you say is true, that you have a choice,” I hold out my hand toward him, “show me the other side of you. Prove me to me that you have complete control.”

I don’t have time to react, because I’m falling to the ground before I even notice Julien has turned around. I hit the earth softly with his hands beneath my head. However, his touch is gentler than his stare. “I will not hurt you,” he says through gritted teeth, his eyes flashing with the anger they only hinted at before. “I would not lie about that.”

His body is on top of mine, pressing just enough weight on me to make me take notice of exactly how good it feels.

“Words mean nothing to me.” I give a shove, but he doesn’t move. Not even a little bit.

He shakes his head. “Anger isn’t the key, Wilhelmina. If you’re trying to pull it out of me, pissing me off won’t accomplish anything. You would have to physically assault me. I told you the story. If you really want to see that side of me, you know the easiest way to do it.”

My stomach heaves. I do know. Julien’s family is plagued by lust. If I want to trigger that side of him, I know exactly what it will take. However, I’m not sure if I want to see that part of him.

Or maybe I’m afraid I will like it.

He senses my hesitation. “It’s okay. I will always be in control. I just might not be as polite as normal.”

When I hesitate again, he smiles and starts to pull back. “You’re not ready,” he says, but I beat him to the punch.

My finger touches his jaw, tracing a line to his neck. I cup my hand around his back and ease him forward. His steady frame glides over me, resting perfectly on top of me. Suddenly, it’s hard to breathe.

I stop him when his lips brush mine, leaning forward to place a single chaste kiss at the nape of his neck. He laughs, a deep hearty sound. His hand touches my shoulder, pushing me back against the ground.

“See what you cause.” His voice is teasing, but his teeth are sharper now, his accent more defined as his words flow like velvet from his lips. “You and your sexy festive boots.”

His hands grip the edge of my shirt into a fist, and I suck in a breath.

“I have to give it to you, though. No woman as ever garnered this reaction from me so easily. Color me impressed.”

This isn’t Julien.

Everything about this Julien is wrong. That gentle, hurt look in his eyes is gone, replaced by a coldness that sends a shiver up my spine.

“You’re still in control?”

“Definitely.”

He pins my hands behind me. I jerk them free and scoot out from underneath him. “Not you. My Julien.”

He laughs again, his voice lovely and distracting. “Oh, is that what you think? I am your Julien now? You really should have listened to my story more closely.”

“Answer my question.”

He flashes his sharp teeth at me in a perfect, seductive smile. “I won’t hurt you.”

“Not convinced.”

He shrugs. “That’s your issue. Not mine.”

He picks up the knife, twirls it around in his hand with more ease and grace than before, and holds it out to me. I shake my head. “You do it.”

His brows rise in intrigue. “Well now, aren’t you a brave little minx?”