“Do you know anything about your past? Names, histories, and the like?”
“I know some things,” I say.
“Did your father tell you that I was born in a small village in Slovenia? That we met when I was on a visa here in New York working for a modeling agency when I was nineteen? That your grandmother’s name was Valentinja, and that I was born in the same small cottage she was born in—the same one my grandmother was born in, and hers before her? I was the first woman to leave our village, to come to America; the first woman who dared to achieve her dreams in New York.”
Tears burn my eyelids as she recounts the few facts my father has always shared with me. “I—I thought there was a fire—”
My mother shakes her head, sadness drawn on her features. “There was never a fire. That’s what your father told everyone—that I tried to set the house on fire while everyone was sleeping. It was a lie.”
“So... you brought me into The Society for what... to help you get revenge on him?”
She doesn’t answer, but her dark, expressive eyes tell me all I need to know.
“For all these years I thought... I... I thought my brain wasbroken.He made me believe that you and I are the same, that it was only a matter of time before mental illness swallowed me, took my life, made me...unworthy.”
“He violated your trust and I’m so sorry for that,” Kat says. “The truth is that mental illness doesn’t run in our family, Elyse. The truth is that your lineage is one of strong, smart women who stand up for what’s right and good. Your grandmother and great-grandmother went against the grain in times when women were expected to obey, and that made them unpopular, especially among the men that were unfortunate enough to encounter them.”
She continues: “The witch hysteria ripped through Slovenia just as it did the rest of Europe and America, and one of your ancestors was accused of witchcraft when she helped her cousin abort a pregnancy after she was raped by her husband. Your ancestor’s name was Marija and she was tortured and then drowned in the river alongside dozens of other women from ourvillage. You know, men didn’t burn witches, El—they burnedwomen. Thinking, feeling, loving women, because they feared our intuitive power. I see you for who you really are, my precious daughter, I see the purity of your heart and the awareness in your eyes. The truth is that wearethe same, you and I. And it’s time to step into your birthright. Yourtruebirthright, not the lies you’ve been told in an attempt to dim your light.”
Aubrey’s palm rests on my back, rubbing slow circles in a gesture of comfort. “I’m sorry you were fed so many lies. Our intention isn’t to hurt you, but I know this must be hard to hear...”
Kat nods. “Justice is never straightforward. The abuse you’ve suffered runs deeper than you know, and the only way to reveal it to you was to show you. You never would have believed us if we’d just confessed everything from the beginning. Actions always speak louder than words, and taking back your power is a messy process that isn’t without casualties.”
“Do you believe us?” Aubrey whispers.
I blink once, twice, trying to let the truth settle in. I finally reply, “I believe you.”
“So you understand?” Kat’s eyes burn with promise. “Why what we do is important, why your next target makes sense?”
“I do.” I nod.
“Perfect. I knew you were one of us.” A slow smile lifts her lips. “Like mother, like daughter.”
Thirty-Four
Ellie
“What are you thinking?” Aubrey asks the moment we enter her apartment after leaving Kat’s West Village townhome. I thought about going back to my own place, but the possibility of seeing Jack sets my blood on fire.
“I’m wondering if I married a monster, of if he became one the longer he worked for my dad.”
“Both, maybe,” muses Aubrey, who’s wasted no time in pouring us each a glass of wine. “Evil runs through the heart of all of us, it just takes the right set of circumstances for it to show itself. Greed, power, money... name your poison.”
“Optimistic.” I can’t help the snarky tone of my voice.
“Life is messy, dark, dangerous. And it’s made all the worse when powerful people get away with despicable things.”
“I wonder how many other secrets Jack’s hiding. I wonder if he’s ever had an affair,” I say, thinking out loud.
Aubrey lets my question linger in the air before she finally replies, “Maybe. Men like him are used to getting what they want. Do you think he has?”
I think for a few long moments. “I don’t think so. I think...maybe only after my emotional affair last year. That’s when things really seemed to shift between us. He worked more; we talked less. Things fell apart.” I sip my wine as I think about everything Jack and I have been through. “Have you ever been in love?”
“No.” She swirls her wine, watching the red liquid coat the inside of the glass. “Honestly, I don’t think I can be. I know it sounds weird, but I was raised in a home where love just wasn't a thing. Some people might call my mother neglectful, but I just think she was a pragmatic single mom. She put herself first always—there were no hugs or after-school-special, heartwarming talks. I used to be so jealous of my friends who had loving families, but now I think my mom made me who I am—ruthless and calculating, but also strong and clever and controlled. I like who I am—maybe kids and a white picket fence aren’t in my future, but I’m okay with that. I like being driven and commanding. You heard what Kat said about the women in her family: men will take what you give them and run with it. I refuse to give any man any of me. I’ll never have a real love story, but I’ll also never know what I’m missing because I never had it to begin with. How could I miss something I’ve never experienced? I’m just not built for connecting like other people are. What about you?”
“I like being in love,” I admit. “Even if it’s the watered-down Disney version, I like havingmy personwith me. It’s nice being a family.”
“Even if it’s a false sense of family?” she asks, genuine curiosity sparking in her eyes.
