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“It’s not that,” I hurry to assure him. “Do you remember last week, when we were at your house, and I sat in your dad’s chair?”
“Sure.”
I bite my lip. Everything in me screams not to tell him. This could change everything. I don’t know how I know that, I just do.
“Well, you asked me if I saw anything, and I said no. But that was a lie, Jack. I was so surprised, so taken aback, that I couldn’t say anything then. But I have to tell you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Okay, tell me.”
“Your dad didn’t die of natural causes like the medical examiner said.”
“They did an autopsy, Daph.”
“I know.” I swallow again. “Jack, your dad killed himself. In that chair. He was thinking about how much he missed your mom and how he knew you’d be okay because you have Oliver and the rest of the coven—and me, of course. He just wanted to be with her.”
“No.” Jack shakes his head and stands from the couch, pacing away from me. “You saw it wrong.”
I feel the tears start, just as I feel the chasm between us beginning to grow.
“I didn’t see it wrong.”
And, worst of all, it’s my fault.
“I would have known,” he insists, his voice hard. “You know that. I see shit, Daph, whether I want to or not. If he was going to die, I would have known.”
“Maybe not. Maybe you’re too close to him. Maybe he worked a spell and blocked you so you wouldn’t stop him.”
“This is bullshit.” Jack’s chin trembles, and I want to rush to him and wrap my arms around him.
But I know I’m not welcome.
“I’m so sorry, Jackson. So, so sorry.”
“It’s a lie. It’s a hateful lie. Why would you say this to me, Daphne? If you want to end it, just say so. You don’t have to run me off like this. Put this kind of bullshit in my head.”
I shake my head in denial. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I love you too much. This is killing me, Jack.”
“Love?” He laughs—a humorless, horrible sound. “This isn’t love. It’s cruel.”
I can’t look at him. I can’t watch the change unfolding right in front of my eyes.
I turn my back to him and cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling so cold, it’s like I’ll never be warm again.
“I promise you, it’s not a lie. And I’m not trying to hurt you. You have the right to know what really happened.”
“I want no part of this.” His voice is low and ragged as he breathes hard with anger and grief. “I can’t do this, Daphne.”
I glance into the mirror across the room and watch as Jack gives me one last look, our eyes meeting in the reflective glass for a moment. And then he turns and walks away.
The door closes, and his footsteps fade down the steps.
I hang my head in my hands and let the tears come. Goddess, it hurts. It feels like my heart will never mend.
When I brush the tears away and look up again, I catch my reflection in the mirror—and stop cold.
I have no eyes.
Chapter One
Jackson
“What’s on your plate today?”
I glance over as Oliver joins me on his screened-in porch, a steaming mug of coffee in his hand. He sits in the cushioned seat next to me and takes a sip.
“I have to go see Daphne today.”
He’s quiet for a moment as he watches butterflies and bumblebees flitting around his garden. Oliver is the closest thing to a father I’ve had since my parents died. He’s my godfather. He was my dad’s best friend and has been a part of my life since the day I was born.
I trust few people more than I do Oliver.
And it shames me that I’ve stayed away for as long as I have. I should have come home to New Orleans more often. I should have checked in with him—made more of an effort.
“You were angry,” he says softly and then turns those wise brown eyes to me.
“Reading my mind again?” I sigh and sip the last of my coffee. “Yeah. I was angry.”
“I don’t feel the anger in you as much.”
I shake my head. “Worry. I’m worried now. And ready to do what needs to be done to be with Daphne.”
“Won’t be easy.”
I slide my gaze his way, studying the gray that slipped into his dark hair while I was gone. He has a few more wrinkles in his dark skin, and he moves a little slower than he used to.
And being with him makes me more comfortable than I’ve felt in years.
“If it were easy, it wouldn’t be worth it.” I set down my mug and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “You know what’s coming.”
“I do,” he agrees. “Doesn’t matter what I know—or what anyone else knows for that matter. It’s what you’re going to do about it. What the six of you are gonna do.”
