Page 69 of A Lullaby for Witches

“So you think to diagnose me? That doesn’t seem very professional. You hardly know me.”

“I don’t think I need to know you, to be honest. Leo’s told me everything and there is nothing that even remotely suggests a personality disorder. I think you’re just out to have a good time and Leo can’t see it because of his infatuation. And this isnotmy professional opinion—this is my sister opinion. Leo is my little brother and I love him to death, but he hasawfultaste in women. I’m not going to stand by and let him become collateral damage again by someone who is on a destructive path.”

“My, my. I hope you don’t speak to your patients so flippantly.” I take my time examining the elegant ovals of my fingernails, each with a perfect moon crescent, while Lisa glares at me. “What will you do?” I finally ask her.

She blinks. “What will I do about what?”

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with me from a medical stance, but Leo is worried for me, and you are worried for Leo. So,” I say, spreading my palms, “what will you do?”

The look that Lisa levels at me is so caustic that it confirms everything I already suspected about her. Ellen may see me for what I am, but this woman is a doctor, a scientist. She would never believe the truth about me, would never even fathom it. She can posture all she wants, but I have nothing to fear from her. Leo is mine.

When Leo returns with Ellen, his face is ashen, his gaze erratic and unfocused. He looks like a man who has just received a death sentence. I sit through a silent dinner with both his parents and his sister, his father the only one oblivious to the tension stretched around the table.

After an abbreviated dessert, Ellen embraces her son. “Goodbye, sweetie,” she says. “Remember what we talked about, and be careful.”

Leo flicks an uneasy glance in my direction before nodding and returning his mother’s kiss.

His bearing is stiffer as he guides me down the steps and out to the car, and I have to wonder: Just what did they talk about? Just what kind of love does Ellen think will save her son and Augusta? Whatever it is, it is no match for my powers, forged in the blood of generations of women before me.

38

Augusta

The ride back to Massachusetts was a silent one. This time there was no stop at the hill, and definitely no kissing. Augusta guessed she should be grateful for as much, but she was having difficulty mustering anything other than a numb sort of hopelessness.

She had thought that Ellen would have done something once she realized what was going on, but she hadn’t even tried. And Leo’s sister had only believed Augusta was out to take advantage of Leo. Of the two women, she had to assume that Leo would believe his sister over his mother, which meant that she was doomed.

The passing headlights illuminated Leo’s profile in flashes. He was beautiful, truly beautiful. How could Margaret sit next to him and not want to reach out and take his hand in hers? Glancing sideways at her, he seemed to be trying to land on what to say. “Do you remember what music we listened to on our first car ride?” he finally asked.

How could she forget? They’d listened to Fleetwood Mac. But Margaret didn’t seem to know that. She seemed to only know of things that had transpired in Harlowe House. Augusta filed this revelation away for later.

Margaret gave him a withering look. “Shall we drop this charade?” she asked him. “I’m not Augusta, and I don’t have a brain tumor or anything of that nature. You must know that by now. Didn’t your mother tell you as much?”

Leo did a double take, barely able to keep his eyes on the road, and Augusta was afraid he would veer into oncoming traffic. But he righted the car, his knuckles tightening around the wheel as he muttered something.

“What was that?”

“I can’t believe that my mom was right and I’m talking to a fucking ghost or spirit or whatever.”

Margaret arched a brow. “You are speaking to a very living, very human, Margaret Harlowe,” she said. “And I think that you have some questions you’d like to ask me.”

Leo took his hands off the wheel long enough to scrub them through his hair and mutter a curse. “What do you want?” he asked from gritted teeth.

“Leo,” she said gently. “I’m not a monster. I only want the life that I was denied. I want to see the world beyond the walls of Harlowe House. I want to eat and drink and sleep and swim.”

“And what about Augusta? What about all the things she’ll never get to do now?”

Margaret cocked her head at him. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” His voice was wary, tired.

“That Augusta asked for this! She invited me, no, she begged for me to come to her.”

“My mother said that she invited you, but—”

Margaret cut him off. “Augusta knew, Leo,” she said. “She knew what she was doing when she summoned me. She wasn’t happy, and she saw a way out.”

She’s lying! Leo, she’s lying!I never would have agreed to this,Augusta screamed fruitlessly.

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