“I was just thinking that,” I murmur. “It looks like little squiggly lines.”
“No, that’s not it.” She gets closer and suddenly reaches out a hand for the bloodstone.
“Stop.” I take her hand in mine. “You can’t touch it, Mill. It has a spell on it. It’ll shock you again.”
“It’s the weirdest thing,” she says, shaking her head. “It puts me in some kind of trance. I want to reach for it.”
Fascinating. I’ll have to do some research on that.
“Keep your gorgeous hands to yourself.” I kiss her knuckles and then focus back on the foot. “I wonder if that’s supposed to be words.”
She bends closer and then gasps. “It’s the number six, Lucien. Over and over again. You know, like off an old-fashioned typewriter.”
I look closer and see that she’s right. “He branded it with the head of a type bar. The number six from a vintage typewriter.”
She nods and sits back on her haunches. “That had to hurt.”
“Probably not as badly as having the whole foot cut off,” I reply just as Cash walks around the side of my house.
“Please tell me neither of you touched it.”
“Ew, no,” Millie says. “You know me better than that, brother-in-law.”
“At least this time you aren’t unconscious.” Cash looks down at the foot. “Christ Jesus.”
“So, Lucien found a foot,” Millie says, gesturing dramatically. “As you can see.”
“Are you always a smartass in the morning?” Cash asks.
“Yes,” we both say at once. Millie raises a brow at me, and I just shrug.
“Tell the ME to pay extra attention to the brandings on the skin,” I suggest to Cash.
“Brandings?” he asks and takes a closer look. “Fuck, it’s tiny sixes all over.”
“That’s what I see.”
“What else do you see?” he asks. Cash is married to Brielle and has been a part of this since the beginning when Horace started making himself known to Brielle last year. I know I can be brutally honest with the other man about what I see, either with my eyes, or my mind.
“Not enough,” I reply in frustration. “I’m only picking up on impressions here and there. An urgency. I think he’s only going to escalate from here. We need a meeting with all three sisters this morning.”
“Agreed,” Cash says. “Just when I thought the spooky, psycho shit was done for a while, here we are. The ME’s on his way over now. I’m going to record the scene, and then we’ll be out of your hair.”
“I’ll call my sisters,” Millie interjects.
“Looks like we’re having a family meeting today,” Cash says. “I wish it was about something happy. Like Christmas.”
“Me, too,” Millie replies.* * *“With there being a dead foot on the back porch, I was a little preoccupied, but I caught a glimpse of your garden this morning,” Millie pipes up from the passenger seat as we head to Daphne’s shop. “I’ve heard some of the other witches talking about getting clippings from your plants, but I had no idea it was so…amazing back there.”
I grin and reach for her hand. I find myself constantly reaching for her, needing to touch her. To reassure myself that she’s here, and that she’s whole.
“Thanks.”
“You just planted it out of the goodness of your heart for other members of the coven?”
“Yes, and no. My property is quite big, and I’m not the type who enjoys mowing the grass all the time.”
“You planted special herbs and flowers because you don’t like to cut the grass? I might have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night.”
I laugh and make a right turn. “I don’t want to freak you out.”
“Now you don’t want to freak me out?”
“Okay, point taken. You’ve planted a garden like that one many times over the past several hundred years. I know what you prefer to grow, where you like it, and I planted it myself because I hoped that the day would eventually come that I’d share my home with you again. And, if you want to get extra weird, I will admit that the house I live in now is the same one we lived in together. Before.”
I risk a glance in her direction and see her staring ahead, likely processing what I’ve told her.
“Whoever owned the house after us tore out your garden, but when I bought it back, I replanted it.”
“Why can’t we be a normal couple?” she asks. “Just a normal, run-of-the-mill couple, who likes to have sex all the time and watch old eighties movies. Maybe pick up a hobby together, like bowling or skiing.”
“There’s no skiing in Louisiana,” I remind her.
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t know why. And, honestly, I wouldn’t change it. Because I think you’re amazing, and spending ten lifetimes with you is more than what most people get with those they love.”
“You’re quite sweet,” she says. “In every memory I have, you’re protective and affectionate and just good to me.”