Page 35 of The Witch's Heart
And even though it’s a direct echo of what Dr. Livingstone says, it sounds different.
Lie.
The voices are angry, and I know instinctively this man wants something from me that I won’t want to give willingly.
“I don’t want your help.”
He gives that placating smile again. “You killed someone with your magic. If it weren’t for me, you’d be in prison.”
I tell myself it’s a lie. I didn’t kill anyone.
“I’m already in prison.”
“Le Rêveis a sanctuary,” he says, and I don’t bother to argue. I’m too tired. “We save creatures like you. Help them understand what they are.”
“And what am I?”
“You’re a witch, Miss D’LeLune.”
At least he doesn’t pretend I’m here for my mental health.
In the terrarium, the snake has begun to move, climbing the walls and pointing its forked tongue at the lid. Its skin is a beautiful shade of aquamarine and I’m mesmerized by the way it glides through its space.
“My mother told me my grandmother once believed that too. But the idea of being a witch is nothing more than a lie that has destroyed the people I love,” I say, tearing my gaze from the snake and back to the man. I can’t help but feel angry and sad for the broken legacy I carry in my blood. “It’s our curse. Every single woman in my family who’s confronted it has gone mad.”
“Mad and magic are such a fine line. You of all people should see that. And your legacy is not what you think. You are the last in the line born to the New Moon coven. You’re tied to the earth and its elements, as were your ancestors, but especially, to the spirit world. I brought you here to help you see the truth about yourself. About your legacy.”
Bewaretheviperthevipertheviper.
Beware.
The whispers buzz louder and louder, over and over, until I can’t hear anything else.
I press my hands to my ears, trying to drown them out, but they’re in my head. I can’t escape them.
“Miss D’LeLune?”
I moan, pleading with the voices to quiet.
“Miss D’LeLune?”
HeliesHeliesHeliesHelies.
Il faut se méfier. Beware.
“Please stop,” I beg them.
The man calls my name again, but I barely hear him as the voices claw at my mind. Whoever they are, they don’t like the stranger or the way he speaks of my family.
I slide off the chair and onto the floor, desperate to get away from the deafening sounds inside my head.
Arms come around me, and I’m lifted into a wheelchair then wheeled out and through a maze of halls. Still, the voices hiss and whisper, filling my mind with their urgent warnings.
Finally, the wheelchair stops and, like a switch has been flipped, the voices stop too.
In the silence, I open my eyes and look around.
I’m in the dungeon hall. Alone.
