“Don’t I?” he asks, but I see it then, a flicker of fear that wasn’t there before. My body knows what it is, though, that part of him—of men like him—that can’t allow for a woman who does not flinch. “You are a midwife, a trafficker of potions and unnatural remedies. Remedies men don’t have names for. I’ve heard whispers of you throughout the village. I know what you are, and I know what you have done.”
His words are cruel, but they don’t shock me.
“I am not a witch, but a woman. A healer. I have buried this village’s babes in the earth while their mothers cried out over their bloody bedsheets. I have returned home to work our fields and harvest food to feed my own daughters, and my hands have been raw from both labors. I have sat at sick beds and birth beds, holding hands and whispering prayers. I have washed blood from my skirt and the skirts of others, and prepared soup for weary souls. I have done all of this because it is what my mothertaught me and her mother before her. If that is what you call the work of a witch, then you should know there are witches all across this land from Windsor to Hartford. A witch is sure to have brought you into this world, and your family must be mighty grateful for it.”
I pause, studying his haggard face. “Call me a witch if you must, but I tried to save your daughter,” I whisper, a plea to whatever humanity might still exist in him. “I tried.”
He lifts his hand, his palm coming down over my cheek before I see it coming. Anna whimpers, burying her face against my back. I glance down, squeezing my eyes closed until my tears dry, then look back at him, my cheek burning as hot as the fire in our hearth.
“You are a witch, and you’ll die like a witch,” he says, lips curled up with pleasure.
“And you,” I say, taking a step toward him, “are a coward who creeps into a woman’s home under the cover of darkness. You are not wanted here, nor are you welcome.”
He lifts his hand as if to slap me again, but the secret door behind me is caught by a sudden wind.
THUD.
It slams shut with a powerful gust that blows from me toward him—a gust so strong it pushes me forward.
“Black magic…” he mutters, stumbling backward, eyes wide.
I know what will come of my refusal to argue, to explain that it was merely the wind, but I can’t. To protect Anna, I will let him believe whatever he must.
His boots are already retreating toward the stairs when he speaks again. “Your magic won’t save you, witch. Nor your child. They will come for you. They will burn your house to ash and your name will be but smoke in their mouths, a whispered warning to those tempted to do devil’s magic. You’ve lain with the devil, and now we shall banish you to hell.”
I don’t answer him, because I have no answer to offer. No amount of pleading will save me now. I have made my choice, and I will not beg for understanding, for he has none to give. He flees up the stairs and the door above us slams shut. I hear him sliding the old cedar chest on top of it, and I know he thinks he has us trapped down here, but he knows not of the ways Foxglove will provide for us, the secret passages we can take that will set us free.
At last, Anna wraps both arms around my waist, gripping my skirt so tightly her little fingers turn white.
As I hold her, I am struck by the undeniable fact. She is old enough to prepare for a husband, for the life she will have after I am gone. I must start telling her things. I must get her ready.
I press her face to my chest, stroking her silky hair. “Hush now, my darling. He is gone, and he will not be back tonight. We are not broken. He will not break us.”
She cries against me, wetting my dress, and I don’t dare stop her. Not tonight. Weeping in the way she is, releasing so much all at once, is a sort of prayer from your soul to the earth.
I do not know what the morning light will bring, or if I’ll be given even another fortnight with these hearts that walk around outside my body. I do not know if I made the right choice, if I should’ve said or done more. If I should’ve killed him.
All I know is that I faced the darkness tonight. For it is he who is the devil, not I. And I would do it for her again, any number of times.
Foxglove will protect us as she always has, and I will protect my daughters.
Let them come if they must.
We aren’t going anywhere.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CORINNE WILDE - PRESENT DAY
After the rattling of the doorknob starts, I hear my name. “Corinne?”
My stomach does a little flip.What the hell?
It’s impossible and yet…
I whip the door open in a blur and stare into a face I shouldn’t be seeing. “Lewis?” I hiss his name, and it feels like a curse and a blessing all at once. “What are you doing here?”
His eyes scan my face, then my body, before surveying the room behind me. “Are you all right? What’s going on?”
