Page 70 of Her Dreadful Will
Zillah shrank against the porch post, looking down at her feet. She seemed fragile, and deeply shaken.
Soleil took Florence’s hand and guided her inside. She could feel Achan’s eyes on her, but she pointedly avoided his gaze, holding the door ajar under the guise of inspecting a chipped spot on the doorframe.
“I’ll escort Zillah back to the house,” Achan said, low. “We have a few things to discuss. And then I’ll return here—if I’m permitted to do so.”
Soleil inclined her head slightly and closed the door in his face.
She inhaled the scent of her own home—rose petals and lavender, doggy musk, coffee, and the magnolia candle on the kitchen counter. The familiar blend soothed her twitching nerves.
“I don’t want to impose,” Florence said.
“Don’t be silly.” Soleil squeezed her hand. “I’m thrilled to have company.”
Florence still looked pale and tremulous, so Soleil made her a plate of cheese and crackers along with a cup of tea. She made a plate for herself too, and set out kibbles and water for Carebear.
Florence and Soleil sat at the kitchen table, quietly crunching their food and not talking about Zillah or Achan, not discussing what the two of them might be doing. Soleil certainly wasn’t worrying about what a woman as grasping and servile as Zillah might be offering to do to Achan, to earn his favor.
She blinked away the nauseating images crowding her mind and tried to focus on her primary concern at the moment.
Zillah deserved punishment, yes. A lifetime of serving Achan, of owing him her existence, might be a fair sentence for attempted murder. But was it right for Achan to make that decision? Who told him he could be the judge and the jury?
“You’re angry with him.” Florence set down her empty cup.
“Yes.”
The woman’s wrinkled mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Why?” She looked at Soleil intently, tapping her temple. Then she opened her mouth and pointed to a rear gap in her row of yellowed teeth.
It took Soleil a moment to realize what she meant. Achan was in Florence’s head right now, spying through her eyes. He was putting questions in the old woman’s mouth, and waiting to hear Soleil’s answer.
Of all the cowardly bastards.
Having a witch friend was never this complicated with Tarek.
Not that Achan was a friend. He was—something else, something weirder, and deeper. Uncomfortable and familiar, distant and intimate all at once.
“Let’s get you to bed, shall we?” Soleil said loudly to Florence. She rose and gathered the dishes. “The bathroom is down the hall.”
“Oh, good plan,” said Florence, winking. “I could use some privacy.”
When Florence emerged from the bathroom, Soleil led her to the guest room, furnished with a second-hand bureau and an iron bedframe Soleil had scored at a flea market. The mattress was a cheap one, ordered online, but Florence didn’t seem to mind. She sank gratefully into the polka-dotted sheets and sighed.
“Achan and I need to go out tonight,” Soleil said. “I’ll leave Carebear to guard you. And Achan has your tooth, so we can check in and make sure you’re okay. There’s a landline phone in the kitchen if you want to call your daughter. And please help yourself to anything in the fridge.”
“I will probably just sleep,” said Florence. “Thank you, honey. And listen—be careful out there tonight. With him.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of him,” Soleil said, with a sharp smile. “If anything, he should be afraid of me.”
She switched on the soft bedside lamp, turned off the overhead light, and eased the door shut behind her.
“Stay, Carebear,” she ordered the Doberman. “Watch.”
Then she went into her bathroom and leaned against the wall.
If anything, he should be afraid of me.
She had said those brazen words in case Achan was watching, but deep down she wasn’t sure they were true. The things he could do to a person—they were horrifying to watch. He could have left Zillah in that decayed state, or taken it further and killed her. And he did it all so easily, just like the cleansing spell. He’d clearly had practice. He knew exactly how far to take the damage before it turned fatal.
His mandala tattoo protected him from her power. But if she pushed too hard against it, the pressure caused him pain. Could she eventually break through it if she kept trying? No doubt it would take a lot of energy to accomplish that—not to mention the fact that he wouldn’t simply stand there and let her do it. He’d fight back.
