Page 58 of A Lullaby for Witches

Her hand stills, the hairs on her neck rising. She lifts her gaze, searching for the source of her disquiet, and oh, but I can almost taste the air that passes through her parted lips.

It is said that youth is wasted on the young, but I believe that it is life that is wasted on the living. IfIhad a body, I would not starve it or deny myself any pleasure. I would fill it with food, savor each and every little miracle that the universe saw fit to bestow on me.

And so I shall.

31

Augusta

Augusta had never really been one to hum before, but as she let herself into Harlowe House the next day, she realized she was humming. It wasn’t one of the tunes that seemed to haunt her dreams, but a song from the car ride with Leo last night. Even though it had been well after midnight when she’d finally gone to bed, she was feeling light and alive and full of hope. She waved to Reggie, who was making coffee in the kitchen, then headed upstairs.

Jill was in her office with the door open, and Augusta paused outside for a minute, debating going in and talking to her. Would she and Leo have to disclose their relationship to everyone else at Harlowe? Were they evenina relationship? She was getting ahead of herself. All they’d done was share a couple of kisses, albeit steamy, beautiful, perfect kisses. They weren’t dating or anything. Yet somehow, she knew that what was between them was more than just hormones flaring under a romantically starry sky.

It would have been easy to push everything else out of her mind in favor of just reliving the previous night over and over, but if she was going to face Margaret, she wanted to get it over with. The sooner she could go back to normal and focus on her job and Leo, the better. He wouldn’t be happy when he found out that she’d gone ahead and contacted Margaret without him. After all, he’d specifically asked her not to. But then, she had a feeling that Margaret wouldn’t come if there was anyone besides Augusta. Continuing past Jill’s office, she grabbed a flashlight from her desk and headed to the place where she’d had her first vision.

Augusta felt her as soon as she walked into the old kitchen and snapped on the flickering light bulb. “Hello, Margaret,” she whispered into the musty air.

There was no answer, but she hadn’t really been expecting one. Setting down her flashlight, she kept Ellen’s words in mind. Margaret wanted only to be heard, to have her story told. Augusta had nothing to fear from her, even if the episode was surreal and made her feel as if she wasn’t in control. Making sure that the door was closed behind her so she wouldn’t be interrupted, Augusta sat in the middle of the room on the hard dirt floor and closed her eyes.

Nothing happened. Blinking her eyes open, she looked around. If Jill or Reggie came in and saw her, she was going to have an interesting time trying to explain what she was doing. Since the previous episodes had all begun at innocuous moments, Augusta instead forced herself to do some work.

No sooner had she picked up her pen, then she felt the hairs on her neck all the way to her scalp stand up. “Margaret,” she whispered. In answer, the room shifted and blurred, taking her back to a different time.

32

Margaret

She became a corpse, a corpse all in the ground

And he became the cold clay and smothered her all around.

—“The Two Magicians,” Traditional Folk Song

See what Isee. Feel what I feel. Be what I am.

I am not a gentle tide ebbing and flowing, but a violent undercurrent, sucking and grabbing and dragging down until I get what I want. And oh, how sweet is my reward. I am many things, but I am not your friend. I have been weak before, and I paid with my life. I will not be weak now.

She does not fight this time. She comes meekly and gladly, as if a lamb to slaughter. Good heart, gentle heart. Perhaps I should, but I can feel no guilt for one who lives only a half a life.

“Show me, Margaret,”she says. And I am only too happy to oblige.

Jack was at their old meeting place on the rocks, and broke into a hesitant smile when he saw her. She had sent him a note, telling him to meet her there. And while she hated having to swallow her pride to send for him, at least it would be for the last time.

The air hung heavy with mist and the rasping call of crows. What little remained of her broken heart throbbed at the sight of him, dark and handsome and belonging entirely to another woman.

The charm burned the skin beneath her bodice. She imagined feeding him the concoction of deadly nightshade, the color draining from his face as his jaw locked, his eyes went wild. She imagined cradling his lifeless body in her arms, the moon casting him pale and beautiful in death. It was no less than he deserved, yet she could not bring herself to say goodbye quite yet.

“Are you all right?” he asked, moving toward her.

She stepped out of his reach. “What a question! Of course I am not all right. Where did you tell Lucy that you were going tonight?”

He pressed his lips, and a dark look crossed his face. “You know that we don’t live together.”

“I know nothing about you or your affairs, clearly.” If she was to give him the poison, then she had to at least make an attempt at luring him into a sense of security. She could not be angry, brash. But her fury burned too bright.

“Let’s not speak of it,” he said. Pulling her toward him, he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. She could feel every inch of his long body against hers, the heat of him searing her with desire.

She let him kiss her, and before she could help herself, she was returning his kisses with equal vigor. She vowed that this would be the last time she allowed him such liberties, that it would be the last time she allowed him to breathe, but for that moment, he was hers.

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