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Right before I passed out, I heard my mother’s voice, strong and confident. “The gift of Third Sight. Go with our love. Blessed be.”
Chapter 4
October 2nd––
“You look lonely,” Damian observed as he sat next to me, taking a seat on an empty swing.
Late afternoon sunshine filtered down from above as I squinted, looking into his sparkling silvery gaze. I spent the morning baking with Aunt Gwen and Gypsy but slipped away about a half hour ago for fresh air and a few minutes alone. I often returned to the playground at the end of our block, a favorite from childhood.
Sometimes I felt restless. My Aunt Gwen often said I was an old soul filled with potent blood and a hunger for mischief. I couldn’t deny the truth to that statement.
My mother had a similar reputation, passing down those naughty genes to me.
“I’m not lonely,” I answered with a small smile. “I like my solitude at times.”
He seemed to consider my words for a moment and then pushed off lightly with his feet, swinging slowly in tandem. “When you reach several hundreds of years in age, you may think differently.”
I never thought of it like that.
Immortals live forever. I wouldn’t want immortality if I had to endure it alone and watch everyone I loved die.
“You’re right. I don’t want to live forever.” With witches, it was different. We could commune with our ancestors, but that was only among the thirteen, to my knowledge. A unique gift blessed among the original families that migrated from Salem. Many witches sought their ancestors, but they didn’t have the same ability to appear and converse.
The Mystic Hallows witches were a special breed.
Someday, when I died, and my physical body returned to the earth, I would be happy to join my ancestors and guide the next generations of Howe women. Maybe men. Our line hadn’t produced a male heir in centuries. Personally, I wondered if a curse prevented it, but Aunt Gwen hadn’t confirmed or denied that theory.
Damian smirked at my statement, his vibrant eyes glowing with humor. After a few moments, his smile disappeared. “Some of us didn’t have a choice about immortality.” He paused, swinging by my side in silence before he continued. “Lycan, other shifters, and witches pass their ability down genetically. Ghouls are a wildcard. Never know what those freaks will do.” He flashed his fangs, apparently humored by his own joke. “Many supernatural creatures share the ability to pass on their genetics and create new members of their kind. With Lycan and ghouls, either beast can also be made, but vampires . . .” he paused and stopped the swing, his expression sad, “we’realwayscreated.”
“Never born?” I asked to clarify. He hadn’t said much that I didn’t already know. Witches made it our business to understand other supernatural beings. After all, it was our burden to protect the humans in Mystic Hallows. Ignorance would only hinder us.
He shook his head with a wistful smile. “No, despite the sparkly vampire stories that say otherwise.”
Hey, I liked Twilight.
A dark shadow passed across his features before he glanced into my eyes. “It doesn’t matter if you want this life or not. It’s chosenforyou.”
