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She whirls on her heel and marches away, disappearing through a swinging door. I catch a glimpse of a fridge and the corner of a kitchen table before the door swings shut behind her.
Teenage Cleo stands silent for a few seconds, her fists clenched at her sides, and then she heads back into the living room.
“No.” Adult Cleo’s voice startles me. “No. No.”
She grasps at me with clawed fingers, and magic begins to filter from her fingertips. But I’ve still got control here, and the fury I felt when she threatened my baby is still so fresh that all I have to do is draw on it to tighten my hold over our connection.
“No!” Cleo shrieks as I take a few steps to follow her teenage self.
I don’t get very far. Young Cleo returns.
Holding a shotgun.
Horror roots me to the hardwood floor, and I watch the resolute witch pass through the swinging door after her twin. A split second later, a gunshot ricochets through the house.
Adult Cleo screams, the sound equal parts raw grief and fury. She grabs at me again as her teenage self reappears, blood spatter visible on her clothes.
It’s so?
?? violent. So horrific. All that magical power at her fingertips, and she murdered her sister with a gun because she knew it was the only way she’d win.
Only the strongest witches deserve love.
God, her father did this to her. He warped her into this awful being. She committed murder to make sure she was the only one worthy of his love.
Cleo is still shrieking curse words and threats as she tears at my clothes. She tries to unleash a barrage of magic at me, but instead of blocking it, I latch onto it. Then I pull her away from this memory and into a new one.
We don’t jump very far in the timeline of her history. When we emerge in the new memory, I realize it’s the same day as the events we saw earlier.
Teenage Cleo is sitting on the couch watching television when her parents return. They pass the door to the living room, and a pinched-faced blonde woman, clearly Cleo’s mother, says, “You’re going to get fat wasting your time in front of the TV. Get up, Cleopatra.”
Cleo glares at her but turns the television off with the remote. Then she sits there in silence, a savage grin on her face, as her parents enter the kitchen.
Her mother screams. And screams. And screams.
The witch’s father bursts from the kitchen and into the living room, his face pale and his mouth gaping at the air as if he can’t breathe. He points back at the kitchen with one shaking hand. “What the hell happened, Cleopatra? What—”
“I beat her. I won.” A tiny smile curves Cleo’s lips, all the more terrifying for its small simplicity.
“What?” His eyes widen. “You did that? You killed her? How could… why would you do such a thing?”
Cleo, who’s been staring at the blank TV screen, turns to look at him without a hint of remorse on her face. “Now you can love me. I’m the strongest. Aren’t you pleased?”
He falls to his knees, looking at his daughter as if he doesn't even recognize her.
My stomach twists, making me feel queasy. Did he not consider the consequences of his actions? Did it never occur to him that the way he pitted the sisters together would have negative ramifications? It’s his fault he turned his kids into psychopaths.
Adult Cleo is on the ground at my feet, still grasping at my clothes. Her shrieks have petered off into sobs now, and she’s very obviously avoiding looking at her father’s face. Her nails dig into my wrist and magic floods into me as she tries to take control.
Nope. Sorry, psycho. We aren’t done.
Summoning all my strength, I rip her from this memory and into another.
We’re in the woods. Cleo’s father is leading her into the darkness by the tail end of a rope that’s wrapped around her hands. She’s dressed in tattered clothes and gagged, and tears have left tracks on her cheeks. She stumbles over a fallen tree and goes down hard on her bound hands, but her father just leaves her there.
“You should have considered the consequences of your actions,” he says coldly, then drops the rope next to her, turns around, and walks away.
Adult Cleo is openly crying now, as if everything inside her is shattering to pieces.
