Chapter Fourteen
My Forever
With our thimbles on, Jacob read aloud the words a minister would have sanctified our marriage with. Because no one could know I was alive, we had to do this ourselves and figured if God had brought us to this point, that little detail wouldn’t matter.
What mattered was our togetherness, now and always.
As we kissed to seal the deal, Jacob’s urgent hand on my cheek traveled down to my shoulder, then my lower back, pressing me against him.
Every nerve in my body tingled like a live wire.
He pulled back, his hooded eyes full of love. “Rose,” he breathed. “Would you like to—”
I grabbed his hand and yanked him toward the bedroom.
Yes, I would like to.
***
As we lied in a messy bed, candles flickering in the absence of moonlight, snow falling swift and heavy outside, we reveled for a good hour in the aftermath before we spoke.
Jacob and I were finally one.
The joy we felt, a heart-bursting, ice-melting kind of joy, was the kind we were sure was unrivaled.
“I’ve never been happier,” he whispered, his finger trailing along my collarbone.
I smiled my agreement, nearly splitting my face in two.
He then pulled me against him, my cheek resting against his chest and we drifted off to sleep.
We didn’t wake until the next morning.
***
I woke to a cold, empty bed. The smell of something burning in the living area.
Jacob had started a fire in the stove.
With a quilt wrapped around me, I shuffled across the cold wooden floor to meet him.
“Mrs. Miller,” he cooed, looking up from his steaming mug of tea. “I hope it’s okay I left you sleeping.”
I blushed, pulled the quilt tighter. Mrs. Miller.
“Tea?”
“Please.”
I made my way over, settling into the chair beside him as he busied himself with the teakettle. My eyes drifted to the window, the snow still falling in thick, powdery sheets. “Will you be able to get back to your family?”
Your family. The words had never punched me in the gut before. Not like this.
They did today.
I was his family now, but he still had an obligation to them until they all grew, married off, and moved out.
Nobody knowing about me also meant nobody knowing about our marriage.
I knew this. I’d known this. We’d talked about it a million times. But today, with what had happened last night, didn’t make it any easier.
Years. It would be years before he was mine, day in and day out.
Then he would be mine forever.
Well, his forever. My forever would be longer. But we promised to not let that reality get in the way, either. He would continue to age as I remained young; a continual reminder of his mortality.
We would enjoy what we were given.
I fixed my face before he made his way back over to me. I wouldn’t ruin our first morning as husband and wife by pouting.
As he settled beside me, he planted a quick kiss on my temple then followed my gaze outside. “I’ll have to,” he replied. “I left a note saying I was meeting a customer to collect payment and would probably need to stay overnight, then I’d be back home today.”
I fought against another pout. The urge to beg him to stay. The sourness of feeling like some kind of mistress.
He must have sensed the shift in my mood because he shot me a rueful smile. “I’ll come back as soon as I’m able.”
He always did.
“Believe me,” he said, swallowing. His eyes traced along my neck. “Leaving you will be harder this time.”
I chuckled. It would be harder for the both of us. “And to think, you’d once promised you would never leave me again.”
“You know what I meant,” he said, and tsked.
I did. He wouldn’t leave me to face this world and its ugliness alone.
We rocked in silence for a moment, and when the teakettle started whistling, he stood to make his way over to it. Shot me a devilish smile. “You know what they’re saying about you in town lately?”
“In town?” I didn’t think they thought about me at all. Not anymore. But I suppose when someone spontaneously disappears before your eyes, your name will be on people’s tongues for a while.
He laughed. “They’re calling you the Snow Queen.”
I scoffed. “Snow Queen?”
“This is the worst snow we’ve had in ages. They say you brought this on us with a spell.” He shot a smile over his shoulder. “A spell of snow.”
Huh.
“Revenge for trying to execute you.”
“I wish I had that much power,” I mumbled.
He returned with a steaming mug smelling of cinnamon and cloves. I had to release the quilt and stick out a hand to grab the tea. It somehow stayed in place to keep my nakedness covered. Not that he would have minded.
A pensive look. “The newest rumor,” he said, leaning into me. “Is that you visit kids in the middle of the night and touch their fingers and toes to give them frostbite.” He wiggled his finger against the tip of my nose for emphasis.
I gave a short, “Hah!” for a laugh. How stupid.
“Rosanna the Snow Queen!” he announced to the empty house.
That was ironic, wasn’t it? More like Rosanna the Flower Angel.
“Idiots,” he huffed.
I didn’t disagree.
Chapter Fifteen
Write your own Future
That Winter was as long and harsh as the townspeople had feared. And I had to admit, though it had nothing to do with me or any spells, it still gave me a sense of satisfaction.
The weather had brought justice for me.
I liked to think of it as God’s wrath for attempting to kill one of his own. An heir to one of his angels.
But of course, it wasn’t quite enough for me.
When I was particularly bored and needing some amusement, and before the snow had gotten too tall, I’d trudge through the cold powder and stand at the edge of the woods in a black hooded cloak Elizabeth had left behind (among other clothes so they could travel light). I’d repeat the cloaking spell to uncover myself so someone would see me and sound the alarm. Let my hood down slowly and wild brown hair blow in the breeze. Then I’d quickly cover myself again and retreat home to wait.
Sometimes, the Witch Hunters would come with torches in the night, but of course they never found anything. Just an open space in the woods like all the times before.
Jacob didn’t like me doing it, said he wished I wouldn’t ‘play with fire’, but he never forbade me.
He also knew they deserved it.
“Let them be afraid,” he’d said the last time he was able to visit before the spring. “Let that be your legacy. The awful Snow Queen from Ipswich. Maybe it will make them think twice before trying to execute someone.”
We could only hope.
***
Our endurance of the long winter was rewarded with a vibrant and bountiful spring.
In many ways.
At signs of first snowmelt, Jacob made his way to me to find a bulge in my belly.
We were to be parents, and she would be born in November.
That Christmas, our second Christmas together, there were three of us: me, Jacob, and little Lily.
Rose and Lily…his two favorite flowers.
The years continued and his siblings eventually married off. In the summer of 1704, when Lily was twelve, they laid his mom to rest. That next week, he traded their home for more goats and moved in with us, the third best day of my life.
But as with everything good in this world, it eventually came to an end, and thirty years later, we buried him in the garden after old age had taken him from us.
We were blessed to have had him that long.
The autumn air was particularly crisp that day and after Lily and I had said our final go
odbyes, I grabbed her shaking hand, and pulled her hood back so I could kiss her wet cheek.
For a moment, I reveled in her beauty. She was the perfect blending of me and Jacob. My hair color and ever-youthful glow. His eyes and smile.
She, too, was meant to live forever. What angel genes I’d passed down were apparently strong enough to make her immortal. Semi-immortal. So, in a sense, a piece of Jacob would live on through her.
Since the day we knew she wouldn’t age another moment, I’ve praised the Lord. For that. For everything.
As for powers, she wasn’t gifted like me. At least not that she’d discovered yet. Forty-two years should have been enough time to know for sure, so it was pretty safe to say she wasn’t. She was more than likely one of the hybrids without powers, though luckily there wasn’t as much hysteria about witches as there used to be.
The witch hunts had settled across the towns a year after my attempted lynching, but even after all this time, I had to be careful when we deserted the house and moved to a place we weren’t reminded of him every day. They wouldn’t hesitate to execute a witch, and burning at the stake didn’t sound too appealing.
When word had gotten out about the Snow Queen of Ipswich, they stopped the death by hanging thing and took after the Europeans.
That was a legacy I wasn’t so proud of.
Needless to say, I’d learned my lesson about using my powers out in the open. Especially since I knew that was one of the ways real witches could find and kill us. They were just as big a threat. Ironically, though, for all intents and purposes I could now be considered a witch. I could quote the Spells of the Devine book, cover to cover. Long, breastfeeding nights were the perfect time to read, and all kinds of useful things were in it, though I never taught Lily or used anything in front of her when she was old enough to understand. No need to put her in a position to be caught by humans or witches one day (she already had the aura and blood thing against her). Besides, as she eventually found her own way in life, there would still be plenty of other chances for her to be on the receiving end of evil, or even the bad person in someone else’s story. Life and circumstances have a way of doing that. People will villainize you if it furthers their agenda. Validates their fears. It doesn’t matter what the truth may be. How good you are. Your true ancestry. They don’t have room for that in their hearts. Because you’re different…or because you shine. Or even because someone else tells them to. They’ll fear and hate you all the same.
The only thing you can do is write your own future with no bother to the stories they tell about your past.
And as for myself and Lily? We still had plenty of stories left to write.
Epilogue
Too Good to be True
Two hundred and seventy-four years later in Cleveland, Georgia, 2008…
Our time in the Georgia Mountains has been…okay. Just another place in an endless life. We settled here twenty years ago and will stay until we grow bored, then pack and find a new place.
We’ve heard Florida is nice in the fall. Maybe it will be this fall.
Lily is in the garden out back, tending to the potatoes and onions. I’ve sensed her growing restlessness over the past few months. That usually means she’s ready to move again soon.
Yes, maybe we’ll leave this fall.
Once or twice over the centuries, we tried living amongst the mortals, our souls craving the connection to others, but even with the spells I know to help keep us safe, it all felt too risky.
We’re safer in seclusion.
Safer, but not as happy.
Especially Lily.
She longs for the connection more than I. Especially to a boy. But as she’s had to learn the hard way, a relationship with them isn’t possible.
Her father was the exception.
Not all of them are so accepting of the mystical and magical. They’re quick to shun what they’re afraid of, and anything different induces fear.
I watch her through the window as she stands and wipes her hands on her jeans. “Going for a walk!” she shouts toward our cabin.
I don’t answer because she knows I heard her. I settle in at the table with my afternoon lemonade.
A knock on the door arrests me, and I go rigid, lemonade splashing from the glass.
We’ve never had an unexpected visitor.
And why would the cabin not be covered in the spell?
Shit. I had someone come fix the leaky sink yesterday and I forgot to cover us back.
Stupid mistake.
Usually, I can figure out how to fix things—a lifetime of self-sufficiency makes sure of it—but this time, I had to call someone in.
“Miss?” someone says through the door.
A man.
I stand, glance at the kitchen drawer where I keep a revolver.
“Miss?” he says again. “I just need a moment of your time.”
I think briefly of staying quiet so he’ll go away, but also think about Lily wandering around outside without protection.
I bolt into motion.
“Coming!” I say, rushing to the drawer and slipping the revolver in my back waistband. I sigh to shake out my nerves before answering the door. “Can I help you?” I ask, opening it just enough to peek through the crack.
A man in his thirties with neat, ashy-blond hair and a black suit greets me. “Hi there, Ms…?”
“Can I help you?” I ask again.
“You can,” he says with a kind smile, and he produces an official-looking badge from beneath his jacket. “I’m Detective Trueblood. But you can call me Paul.”
Detective?
“I’m not here to question you about anything. Nothing’s happened. It’s more of a…” His words trail as he thinks. “Informative visit.”
I cock my head.
“For you and your daughter.”
I consider closing the door in his face, and I think he senses it because he holds out a pleading hand. “Ten minutes of your time. You might be interested in what I have to say.”
“And why would you think that?”
“Because I know you’re probably tired of hiding from society all the time. I have a better option for the both of you.”
However right he may be, red flags shoot up everywhere. He knew exactly where to find us. Yes, we hide from society, but from time to time go into town to get things we need. And sometimes just to feel like we aren’t stranded on some Godforsaken island. Smile at a stranger. Chat with someone about the weather.
If this man or someone he knows reads auras, they could have spotted us in town one day and tracked us here.
I curse myself again for not covering the cabin.
When he realizes I’m not budging, he reaches for something in his jacket pocket, hands me a business card. “I can tell you’re leery, as you should be. But here’s my card. Call me?”
I take it, glancing at it a moment before I look back up at him. Detective Paul Trueblood. FBI. It has two numbers for him and an email address.
“Like I said, I know you’re probably tired of hiding. I can offer you something better.”
Unlikely, I think, and close the door in his face.
***
Weeks go by and all I can think about is Detective Trueblood. No one else has sniffed around our part of the woods, and he hasn’t tried to reach out again in any other way, not that he really could since we don’t have a mailbox. If he’s someone who means us harm, surely he would have been back around by now…right?
Or maybe he’s just that patient.
When Lily goes off on another one of her walks, I take the cell phone out I bought at the store the other day without her knowing and manage to get it to work, thanks to the step by step directions.
Apparently, it will only work for thirty days, so I better get a move on in case he’s on vacation or something.
The phone rests in my hand a good five minutes before I bring myself to call him. “Detective Trueblood,” he says with a mouthful of something.
I glance at the clock on the wall. Twelve thirty. Lunch time. My mouth opens to say something but I freeze.
“Yell-o?”
“Trueblood?” I finally manage.
“This is he.”
My heart races. Maybe I should hang up. This is stupid.
It’s stupid.
His voice instantly perks. “Is this…is this the lady I visited at the cabin a few weeks ago?”
Crap. “Yes,” I say with a wince, cheeks flushing.
“Hi… I…hold on one sec.” He covers the phone with his hand. “Thanks, Linda,” I think he says. “Keep the change.” Some rustling happens on his end of the line before he finally gets back to me. He must have stepped outside because wind is blowing against his receiver. The whir of a car engine rolls past him. “Ms…? What should I call you?”
I’m not ready for that, so I cut right to the chase. “What was that proposal you had?”
He goes silent for a moment. “I thought you’d never ask.”
***
When I hang up with him, I’m filled to the brim with excitement, but I remind myself to calm down. I can’t let the possibility of something that seems too good to be true overshadow my good sense.
I still need to talk to Lily about it. Think about it some more. But, oh…how wonderful would it be? To live in a compound with others like us.
Others. Like us.
It’s supposedly protected by those appointed by God to watch over it. It’s self-sustaining.
And there are others…like us—semi-immortals.
We won’t feel isolated from everyone and everything anymore.
There is one little catch, though. When we arrive, we can never leave. Something about how it could lead witches back to them and that’s the whole reason this place was created to begin with. To keep our kind safe from witches.
How lucky we are that he was able to visit our cabin the other day and start this whole conversation.
Something light and optimistic pinged in my heart. No, not lucky. Maybe this was planned. Divine intervention. Like when Jacob saved me from Mable. The events—me forgetting to recover the cabin, Trueblood arriving at just the right time—were arranged by the Lord Himself.
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 120