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And that reminds me to touch mine. My rose quartz is smooth, cool to the touch, and bolsters my confidence. I take a long, deep breath. My spirit calms just a bit.
“I wasn’t ready for that,” I admit. “Why isn’t he still blocking me?”
“Because he knows this is almost over,” Miss Sophia says calmly. “And he wants to gloat.”
I clear my throat, take one more breath, and then pick up the envelope.
“What do you see, Daphne?” Miss Sophia’s voice is as calm as a lake in the early morning. “I want you to tell us what you see. Set yourself apart from it. It’s not personal.”
“Yeah, right.” I clear my throat and lick my lips. “Okay, I’m in a house. Someone’s home, anyway. It’s kind of dirty. And it’s like I’m looking through his eyes.”
I hear the tremor in my voice and straighten my spine.
“Is that normal for you?” Lucien asks. “To see things through someone’s eyes?”
“Sometimes. Usually, I just feel the emotions and catch snippets of things that have happened.”
“Keep going,” Miss Sophia urges. “What’s happening in the house?”
I want to whimper from the intense hate and pure evil that permeates the dwelling. I lift my shields even more so I don’t absorb the emotions.
“He’s having fun. He likes the punishments, and he’s excited that he gets to do it with his own hands again, rather than making them do it to themselves. It’s not as satisfying to him if he’s not the one doing it. Physically.”
I swallow and let more sensations come to me.
“He loves us.” My eyes snap open, and I feel the need to throw up, so I rush down the hall to a bathroom and barely make it to the toilet. Someone holds my hair back and coos at me, but all I hear is the rushing in my ears. All I feel is the need to get everything I just saw and felt out of me.
“It’s okay,” Jackson croons as he rubs a circle over my back. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here.”
I lean my head on my arm and try to catch my breath, then sit back on my haunches and accept the wet rag from Jack, wiping my face.
“I’m okay,” I say at last. “It just slammed into me. And it’s slimy.”
“You don’t have to explain yourself.” He helps me to my feet and pulls me in for a hug. “I love you, Daphne. It’s going to be okay.”
I let myself cling to him for just a minute, soaking up his strength. For the first time in a long while, I can read him the way I used to be able to.
Love.
Concern.
Anger—but not at me.
“I love you, too. Thanks. Let me just rinse my mouth, and then I think we can go back in.”
He never lets go of my hand as we walk back to the library. Everyone is sitting, just as they were before, but I can read the worry on their faces.
“I’m okay.” I accept the water Millie offers and take a long drink, then sit back in my seat beside Miss Sophia.
And reach for the envelope.
“He loves us,” I say again and wrinkle my nose in disgust. “He believes he does, anyway. He’s teaching us lessons, punishing us. He’s angry but also resigned. Like he knows that women just misbehave this way and need his punishments.”
“Where is he?” Cash asks. “Where is he keeping the girls?”
“I don’t know.” And that has me feeling the sickest of all. “I can’t see much. I can’t see how he gets to wherever he is. He’s moving through the house. I don’t see any of the girls. He’s cleaning because he’s disgusted by how dirty the place is.
“He’s walking down the hall into a bathroom, and—” I frown in confusion. “He’s looking at himself in the mirror. Oh, shit. For fuck’s sake.” I open my eyes and stand, shaking my head. “No. He’s dead. I know he’s dead.”
“What?” Brielle takes my hands in hers and makes me look into her eyes. “What is it? What do you see, Daph?”
“He has Daddy’s face.” I shake my head again in denial. “It’s impossible. Is he just messing with me again? He has to be. He can’t be using our father to kill these girls.”
I turn to Mama, desperate for answers.
“He’s dead.” I hear the plea in my voice. “You killed him. I know you did.”
“I didn’t,” she says, shaking her head. “But the thing that inhabited me did, yes. And then he proceeded to torment you girls, and me, for the better part of twenty years.”
“Then how?”
“I’m not finished,” Mama says, her voice stern. “Your father had a brother. Andy.”
“How did we not know that?” Brielle asks the room at large.
“Your father told me, back when Brielle was just a baby, that he killed Andy. Because Andy said something, in passing, about me being pretty.”
