Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97229 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
I flinched at the thought and Hans sighed.
“And she would have been tearing your soul apart along with it. Your grandmother would never have let your father take custody of you.”
“Take custody of me?”
“Yes. Because that’s what it would have come to. She’d have destroyed your mother’s life for the sake of fighting your demon father.”
“But how could she have taken custody of me? Why would she need to?”
Hans didn’t answer me.
It all sounded so harsh and so tragic, like everything else in my family line. An instinctive lump of tears sprung up in my throat. I tried to imagine him. My father. I wondered what he would look like, sound like, be like. Would I like him? Was he a great man, like Hans said he was?
“Your father was great enough that your mother slept with him out of wedlock, because that’s what her heart urged her to do,” Hans said. “Despite your grandmother’s influence.”
I took a big slug of my merlot.
“Why did he let her push him away? I just don’t get it. He loved her, she loved him. They had me! Wasn’t that enough? What could have stood in their way apart from Grandma being a manipulative, callous bitch to them?”
“This isn’t my place to say,” Hans said, but I shook my head.
“Don’t fob me off! What was he so afraid of? What could she have used against him that was so powerful? And what could she have used against Mum?!”
Hans got to his feet, pacing up and down and rubbing his temples.
“Your steak is getting cold,” he said.
I pushed my plate away. “I don’t want fucking steak, Hans. I want answers. What could the old bitch have used against my mother? Tell me!”
“Damnit,” he said, glaring at me. “I shouldn’t be the one doing this.”
My voice got louder. “You need to! I need to know!”
“Fucking hell,” Hans said, and cursed under his breath. “I have Edwin to thank for this lovely exchange, and putting you through another round of soul-battering.”
“Tell me,” I insisted. “Seriously, I’ve been soul-battered plenty enough. Another round of what the fuck isn’t going to break me now.”
He didn’t look so sure. It gave me a fresh set of fucking shivers, and I felt myself tuning in to him.
What did my mother do? What could Grandma hold against her? What could she hold over my father?
Hans shook his head. “Stop.”
But why should I stop? This was my family line, and my history, and the secrets of my past. I was a witch, and a psychic and a damn ghost whisperer from a long line of the same. My mother was a witch, under the thumb of my grandmother who was denying being one, and my father was an occultist wizard of wizards or some crazy shit, and I was spinning in all directions, trying to make fucking sense of it.
So I would do.
I would make sense of it.
I summoned all my strength and counted on all the skills I had in my subconscious, and I stared Hans right in the eye.
“Stop,” he said again, his stare fierce.
“No,” I said. “I won’t stop. I want the answers. I won’t be like my mother anymore and back down whenever I’m told to. I’m done with that shit.”
“Fine, yes, that’s all very well,” Hans said. “But it’s not me who should be giving you the answers. I’m not the one who’s been waiting to share them for decades, sweetheart.”
I must have looked puzzled.
“Who is, then? My father? Are you going to call him up and invite him over? Hey, fancy a meet up with the daughter who didn’t even know your name until a few minutes ago?”
“Don’t be sarcastic,” my lover said, but there was a hint of affection in it. “You’re really growing stronger, aren’t you? It’s lovely to see.”
“I’m growing stronger thanks to you, Hans. Don’t stop now. Tell me the truth.”
“The truth,” he said, resting his hands on the table, his eyes looking into my soul, “sometimes the truth can be too much to bear.”
“Fuck that,” I said, “just tell me.”
He sighed. “Very well…”
I felt so self-assured and ready for it, but holy fuck, I wasn’t.
“Your mother is a murderer,” he said. “Or so your grandmother would have her believe.”
My mouth dropped open.
“Just, what?! What the fuck? My mother is a murderer? No. Just NO.”
“It’s true, Katherine,” Hans said. “The grand family showdown around your birth left someone else very much in the dirt. Literally.”
“Who?!”
Hans offered me a hand. “Come. Let me show you. Visions speak louder than words.”
My thoughts were rattling. My mother was a murderer? How the hell could that be?
I stepped along with Hans, following him out into the grand hallway and through a door at the side. We went through a long corridor, and he opened another door, and another to follow. We climbed down a set of stairs, and turned off into another. It was as though we were in a maze, getting dustier and mustier, heading down and down, until we were in a cellar.