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“Yes, Ma’am.” Jackson laughed, handing her the one sitting in front of him.
I sat down beside him and turned to my cousin, whose eyes were once again watching Tate disappear. She jumped as the wolves howled, acknowledging his approach. I felt bad. I wanted to let her enjoy her pining, but there were other things we needed to discuss. Bigger fish to fry.
“Shado, sit,” I said. “We need to go over what you found in the library. If anything.”
She blinked a few times and then smiled. “I did find something. An old file in Viktor’s stash mentioned a race of witches called the Fates.”
“Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos,” Myra said, spooning the gumbo into Jackson’s bowl. “The original three.”
I arched an eyebrow, but Jackson beat me to the question: “What do you know about the Fates?”
“I know the legend. Clotho was the one that spun the thread of life, Lachesis rolled it out, and Atropos cut it. I also know that the story is a bunch of ancient hogwash. My ancestors knew the Fates. They were three witches with abilities unlike any other.
“The oldest could see everything that came before them. The middle could be anything that existed, and the youngest could see what everything would eventually become. Small minded people don’t like things that are different, so naturally the fates have been hunted down and killed whenever possible. So much so, I honestly thought they were extinct until about ten minutes ago when we touched.”
“Are you saying I’m one of the Fates?” I snorted. “I don’t exactly knit for a living.”
“Don’t be so literal,” Myra said.
“I’m not. I’m being logical. I’m a witch with a curse. Not a mythical creature brandishing an old pair of scissors.”
Jackson shook his head. “You’re a witch that hasn’t learned to control her powers. Viktor wasn’t a good—”
“It’s not a power, or an ability. That implies something good can come from it. My visions are a curse.”
“You’re not the first person to call it that.” Myra handed me a full bowl of gumbo. “Aside from you, I’ve known exactly one other witch that had your ability, and she called it a curse, too.”
“Another witch with the curse?” I’d met plenty of psychics, but I’d never met anyone else that could get visions from the dead. “What’s her name?”
“Her name was Cecilia Devereaux. Your great grandmother I believe.”
My jaw dropped. “You knew my great grandmother?”
“Therewasa time when more than wolves lived in the bayou. Before they passed, Cecilia and her sisters actually lived in an old house not far from mine. They shut themselves up to avoid other witches, and anything else that could trigger their curse.This was, of course, after Cecilia got pregnant and handed her child off to her extended family in the city. But that’s a story for another time.”
Jackson tapped his foot against mine under the table and cleared his throat. “If they were recluses, how did you meet her?”
“Our garden grew well. There was too much food to keep up with, so my mother would send me to their house with a basket for them every week or so. Cecilia liked to share her books with me. You can thank her for all those bedtime stories I gave you.”
“Uncle Viktor never liked to talk about the family. He invited Shado and her sister to stay with us for a while, and eventually Eden, too, but if I ever asked about anyone beyond my own parents, he got…weird.” I frowned. A thousand conversations with my uncle echoed across my mind. It was always the same.Our family’s past was tainted. Studying it would only lead to repeating it.He never let up, never gave in. I ran a hand over my face. “So, Cecilia could see death. But, what about her sisters?”
“I never understood Winifred’s abilities. She was always a bit strange. She’d stare at you, but I always got the feeling she couldn’t actually see you. Cecilia tried to explain it to me, but I was too young. Amara, though, her abilities were fascinating. She was a—”
“A shapeshifter,” Shado said.
“I’m sorry, what?” I did a double take between the two of them. “I had a great grandaunt -or-whatever that could shapeshift? There hasn’t been a witch powerful enough to cast a shift spell since…I don’t know when. Ancient times. It’s impossible.”
“Not for Amara.” Myra shrugged. “She could change her skin as easily as you change your clothes. She could wear any face, human or otherwise.”
Jackson scratched at his stubble. “Are you saying that Rebekah and this shapeshifter we’re chasing might be related?”
“The Devereaux family doesn’t hold a monopoly on power, no matter what the Elders say.” She pursed her lips. “Where is that boy?”
I glanced down at the gumbo in front of me, unsure of what to do or say next. Whenever I found one answer, a thousand questions came with it. The shifter was powerful. That much I knew. But now they were connected to a power my family had in its blood. She’d killed Nadia, and possibly Viktor. She had a vendetta against me, but how I’d pissed her off was a mystery. Her real identity was a mystery. Could we be related?
“Is there a way to detect the presence of a Fate?” I asked, looking up again. To my surprise three more faces were seated around the table. Tate had returned with Liam, Joshua, and Shawn. They all stared at me like I’d grown another head.
“What?” Tate asked around a mouthful of bread.
