Spells (Bayou Magic 2)

Her lip trembles, and she has to sit on a chair. I cross to her and take her hand in mine.

“What happened to me?” I ask, but I already know.

“You gave yourself up for me. Exchanged your freedom for mine. And I watched you die.”

A tear falls from her brown eye, and I catch it with my knuckle. I remember seeing her face, her beautiful brown eyes until the gallows opened, and I fell in—and then everything was black.

“But it was only a dream, right?” She looks up at me and must see the truth on my face. “That’s the same look you gave me when you told me you couldn’t go home with me. In 1692, Lucien.”

“You were remembering a past life,” I reply.

“Do you remember it?” she asks.

I bring her hand up to my lips for a kiss and then sit across from her on the coffee table. I knew we’d have this conversation sooner or later.

“Yes,” I say. “But it’s more complicated than that.”

“Okay, explain it to me.”

“You’re clairvoyant,” I begin, trying to describe it to her so she can understand. Not because she’s not intelligent but because even I have problems understanding sometimes. “When your shields are down, you can read thoughts, spirits, that sort of thing. It’s your gift.”

“Yes, just like Brielle’s is being a medium, and Daphne’s is psychometry.”

“Exactly. I’m sensitive to some of those things. I can feel spirits, and I’ve always sort of known things that others don’t. I can reach out with my mind to see things. I guess you could say I’m a bit of a Jack of all trades when it comes to being psychic. But that’s not my main gift.”

She shifts in her seat. “What is?”

“I see the past, Millicent. I can remember every lifetime that you and I have spent together, down to every single detail.”

She blinks and sits back but doesn’t recoil.

“Has it always been that way?”

“Meaning in every lifetime?” I ask.

She nods.

“Yes. I’ve always had this ability.”

She licks her lips and looks over my shoulder as if gathering her thoughts.

“And have I always had the same abilities?”

I smile. “Yes. And you’ve always been a hedgewitch.”

Her lips tip up in a smile. “I like that. But I don’t know that I like that you’re able to remember every detail of our past lives, Lucien. That must be horrible.”

“Not all of it is horrible. I remember each time we met and fell in love and got married. I remember our children, when they were born and how it felt to hold them. I remember making love to you. We’ve shared so much good over the millennia we’ve been linked, Millie. I’m glad I remember it.”

“But I saw you die just one time, in a dream, and I couldn’t bear it,” she says, her eyes filling with tears again.

“And I’ve watched you die over and over again,” I reply, running my hand over her soft hair. “And I’m going to be brutally honest here. I refuse to do it again, so we’re going to kick that bastard’s ass in this lifetime so I can finally grow old with you, Millicent.”

“It seems odd that we’re talking about growing old together and we haven’t even been on a first date.”

I laugh and then think back. “Our first date was in 998 A.D. in what is now Wales in the United Kingdom. You were sixteen, and your father arranged with my father to marry you off to my brother. The minute I saw you, I spoke to my father—who is still my dad in this lifetime, by the way—and told him you were meant for me. So, your sire permitted me to walk with you to the village where we bought some potatoes and wheat, and we talked the whole way. We were married a month later.”

“Wow, we moved fast.”

I snicker. “Most people back then didn’t exactly date.”

She chuckles. “No, I suppose not. But we haven’t had a first date in this lifetime, and I’m still a woman, no matter how many times I’ve been betrothed to you.”

“That’s true. I’ll take you on a date this weekend, if you’re free.”

She smiles triumphantly. “Isn’t it handy that I am free?”

I drag my finger down her soft cheek. “I’ve missed you, Millie.”

“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to wake to the truth. I was just afraid. I didn’t have anyone to explain things to me. Which only circles me back around to being angry at my mother.”

“Rather than being angry, why don’t we try this?”

I close the distance between us and brush my mouth over hers. There’s no hesitation in her lips as they move beneath mine, and her hands glide over my shoulders and into my hair as I lift her from the couch, sit in her spot, and plant her on my lap.