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She numbly shook her head, gulping before forcing herself to speak up. "I don't know where to begin to describe how I feel right now. I feel conflicted. A part of me is glad you helped her in her time of need, and the fact she was willing to do anything to protect herself and her child is courageous. But another part of me wants to be angry at her, because if not for her decision, I wouldn't be here right now."
"It's understandable to feel that way, and I get why a part is you is angry. You're right, your life would have been different had Marisol not offered her soul to me in exchange for magic. But neither of us knows if the change would've been better or worse than it is now."
"I can't imagine how it can get worse." Antonia huffed.
"Well without magic, there stood a chance that your bloodline would've ended with Marisol, and you would never have been born," I pointed out, walking back to her as I continued. "The reverend could've also taken the child from her and raised his newborn son to be just like him. And you would've likely had the same attitude as your husband; a vile dictatorship who justifies your hatred with your faith in God."
I sat back down in my chair and brought it forward, resting my hands on my desk as I leaned in closer to Antonia, whose head was down with every scenario I conducted. "You may have married someone better, or you could have married someone worse than your husband. The point is, Antonia, that wishing for things to be different isn't the same as wishing for things to be better."
Antonia blinked as she shed more tears. I understood her current situation wasn't ideal, nor would I deny the underhanded deeds I've done to bring her here in my care, but there were no guarantees in life. Right now, she was here, she was safe for the most part, and she was forming bonds with my hellhounds whose sole duty was to protect her. Her life was far from perfect, but maybe she could start seeing it as one that wasn't so bad living in.
Chapter17
Antonia
Not only was I getting a history lesson from a literal spawn of Satan, but Deimos was also throwing in some words of wisdom about life. Thinking back what he was telling me about my great-great-grandmother, Marisol, I couldn't help wondering if there was another way she could've protected her and her family without selling her soul to Deimos. Maybe there were other options she had yet to consider, but maybe there wasn't. I wasn't there during the witch trials, so I'd never be able to grasp the horrible trauma that came with being a woman during that time of history.
I couldn't honestly say what I would've done if I was in Marisol's shoes, so what right did I have to judge her? Maybe it was because I didn't get the choice of whether I wanted to be a witch or not. My choice was taken from me since the day I was born. But learning magic wasn't as bad as I was making it out to be. Learning magic did help me with keeping that skullbird away from me in the dark woods. And there were spells that I could benefit from.
Plus, if I had magic then, maybe I could've saved myself from that fire rather than crying while waiting for the inevitable. Maybe that was why Marisol took the deal, because like me, not choosing the deal with Deimos meant certain death. If Deimos had asked for my soul during the night of the fire, would I have still said yes?
I would have, because I wanted to live.
"I get it," I finally said. "She made a choice that ultimately saved her, just like I did."
"Exactly." Deimos sounded pleased with me. "Marisol chose the best route that would save her and her child, and I was more than willing to comply with her. She surrendered her soul, and I gifted her the powers of magic and offered to train her myself."
"Was she the only one who was an actual witch?" I asked, remembering how many people were accused of witchcraft and how many were burned for it. But how many were falsely accused?
"No," Deimos said. "There were five other women who wanted magic. Others were satisfied with learning about healing herbs which required no magic. Nineteen men and women were accused of witchcraft, and more were burned in front of the entire town for witchcraft. Those that weren't, died by other means, either through torture or starvation. Of those that perished during the witch trials, only three of them were real witches."
"Marisol not being one of the ones who lost their lives during the trials," I stated.
"No. Marisol was a gifted apprentice. Loved the idea of conjuring spells and making the impossible possible. Many believe that witchcraft is dark and evil, but it's only evil when the witch or warlock practicing uses their gifts for those reasons. Marisol wasn't evil by any means. She loved learning about healing spells and potions, but she also fancied herself a protector. She learned many warding symbols and barrier spells. She would have remedies crafted that would lure people away or banish those she didn't want around. She never used her gifts for killings, curses, or corruptions."
"She sounded like a very caring woman," I said, taking sip of wine from my glass. Listening to Deimos talk about my great-great-grandmother, I could hear the love and adoration he had for her. The way the red glow of his eyes grew brighter from saying her name.
Deimos loved her.
"She was. Caring, smart, beautiful, stubborn. Those are all the traits you inherited from her. I can tell."
"Did you love her?" I eyed him carefully to see if he would lie about it and come forward about his feelings.
"I did," he admitted without hesitating. "I never expected it, but I did love her. I had every intention of claiming her as my mate and making her my Princess of Wrath."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because she fled," Deimos spoke bitterly. "The reverend suspected her of not only witchcraft but also of offering their son as a sacrifice for a satanic ritual. Marisol believes the real reason was that he saw me and her together and knew what I was."
"He thought she was sacrificing her son?" I repeated in disbelief.
Deimos nodded. "He saw me through the window, holding baby Nicholi and marking him with a protection rune that would ensure extra safety, and perceived it as me choosing him for a sacrifice. Marisol was told of her fate by a slave woman who overheard the conversation between the reverend and the other townspeople. They were preparing to retrieve her and have her hanged for her heinous crimes, then would perform extensive procedures on Nicholi until they were certain his soul was free of my influence."
"Dios mio," I whispered in horror. I couldn't even imagine what they would've done to the baby if the reverend got his hands on him. "So, Marisol ran?"
"She did while I provided a distraction. Back then, I contemplated on bringing her to Hell to live with me, but I wasn't as bold then as I am now. I followed the rules, so rather than doing what I truly wanted to do, I gave her enough time she needed to run as far as she could away from Salem."
"Did you ever reconnect with her after she fled?"
