Just as I keep my own from him.
With tears sliding down my face, I flip the page and read Petra’s next passage.
February 12, 1926
Nestor asked if I wished to have another child. He said he wants to be present for the pregnancy and the birth this time.
What did he expect me to say?
We have not been intimate since he returned home.
He has never tried, andneither have I.
Each one is more heartbreaking than the last. It’s clear she held an immense amount of love for Nestor, but it simply wasn’t enough after he came back.
There’s still so many questions I have, and her journals are only adding to my confusion. Every night, I read three to five more—not able to take the despair that hits me on her behalf—but I wake up with more questions than the day before.
Yet I can’t stop.
It’s been three days since Nestor found me and I saw the deadwalkers. I’m still trying to convince myself that it was exhaustion and paranoia. Some moments I almost believe myself.
On the bright side, there haven’t been any more hallucinations. Sometimes it feels like one is about to happen, but it never does. Instead, I’m left with the growing anxiety of waiting for my brain to play a cruel trick.
As I expected, Nestor becomes more sentient by the day, and he’s growing increasingly agitated. He pops in and out of rooms when I’m alone, now hovering by the window and staring outside. It’s easier to hide himself from the other witches, since I haven’t told them about him. He’s been calm today, which is a stark contrast to how I’ve been feeling since I woke up.
One thought has been popping into my head and leaving an unsettling pit in my gut:they’re on their way.
I didn’t bother telling Rowyn or the Foxglove sisters. There isn’t any reason to worry them, especially because I’ve never made an accurate prediction in my life–not even when I was young and my magic was chaotic.
The most logical explanation for my spiraling thoughts is anxiety—or that’s what I am trying to convince myself of.
Nestor is now standing in the corner of my room, watching me with his head tilted. He hasn’t gained any more of his corporeal body, so he’s a thin wisp of smoke in the shape of a tall man.
Glancing down at the journal, I skim over the words before I notice a new name—one that hasn’t been mentioned before.
“Nestor,” I call out, even though he can’t respond. I’m not even sure he can hear me. “Is this important?”
Since he isn’t going anywhere, I’ve taken to talking to him throughout the day. My hope is that I’ll get more comfortable with his presence, but it hasn’t worked yet.
“This one is dated March first of 1926,” I say. Clearing my throat, I read the passage. “‘Today is Barrett’s twenty-seventh birthday. Nestor planned an entire celebration with many beautiful women invited. Each mention of it is a sharp wound to the heart. And yet I know Nestor does not do this to hurt me. He only wishes the best for his friend—convinced that Barrett is lonely, and it is time he settled down. It is not a wound any of those random women can heal.’”
“Barrett,” I say aloud again and look at Nestor in the corner.
His apparition flickers, looking more corporeal for a second before fading. It looks like his body is vibrating, which worries me. I’ve never seen any ghost or spirit do that. I’ve summoned my fair share of ghosts, and this is new behavior.
“Did he…” I start before scooting toward the end of the bed and asking gently, “Did Petra have a history with this man? This—your dearest friend?”
In the blink of an eye, Nestor’s body morphs into a small, bright orb of light that shoots around the room. He bounces off the walls, knocking old frames to the ground and sending glass vases across the room.
“Nestor!” I shout, crawling off the bed, quickly grabbing Hexate and protectively holding her to my chest. Standing in the middle of the room, I shout, “Stop,please. I didn’t mean to upset you!”
The orb pauses for a second before shooting through the bed’s canopy, pulling it to the floor.
Suddenly, the door flies open and Rowyn steps inside. Clover and Clementine are hot on her heels. The concerned looks from them make me stop in my tracks, momentarily forgetting the ghost in the room.
“What’s going on?” Rowyn asks in a panic.
“I—um.” I try to find an explanation—anything that makes sense but doesn’t cause a panic. My mouth opens and closes, at a loss for words. Vaguely, I feel Hexate slither down my body.
