“My Lady of Salem,” Carrick said, soaking her in. He’d gone weeks without feeling that level of power, and he’d craved Lily’s willstones more than anything else since—more than food, water, or light. “It’s a pleasure.”
His eyes adjusted, and he saw Lillian looking at him through the bars of his cell. Carrick was very good at reading faces, even a face that was still healing from burns as hers was. Lillian kept her expression blank, but he could still see loathing behind her calm eyes. And something odd that he couldn’t quite place. Her eyes were turned in on herself. She barely took him in at all.
“You have talent,” she said dully. “A lot of talent.”
“Runs in the family,” he replied in his deep, quiet voice.
Lillian nodded, her eyes wandering away from him, like she barely cared that he had hurt another version of her and would have hurt her if it had been her willstone he’d held in his hand.
“Can you spirit walk?” Her eyes flicked back to his and narrowed in warning. “And don’t lie to me.”
“No,” he replied, stunning himself with his own honesty. “But I was told by the shaman that I had the ability.”
“What happened?”
“He refused to train me.” Carrick tried to hold her detached and puzzling gaze, but he couldn’t. He didn’t understand her, and he didn’t like that. Carrick was used to understanding what people wanted and gaining the advantage by manipulating their desires. With Lillian, he didn’t have the foggiest idea what she intended.
“Can you feel Rowan?” she said, cocking her head to the side.
Carrick searched inside himself. “He’s very far away. Farther than he’s ever been before. But I don’t think he’s dead.”
“Come closer,” Lillian said. “Right up against the bars.” Carrick did as she said. “Has any other witch claimed you?”
“No,” Carrick replied, still confused. He caught a flash of resignation in her eyes, and understanding dawned on him in an instant. “It’s not me you loathe. It’s you.”
“Get down on your knees.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Carrick said, sinking down in front of her.
CHAPTER
4
Over the next two days while Lily’s skin went from a checkerboard of red patches to smooth, she kept her promise to herself. She didn’t reach out to Lillian, even though she thought about it every time she was alone—which, thankfully, wasn’t very often. Every time Rowan and Juliet left the house to shop for food or new clothes for Rowan, her mom seemed to appear, anxiously hovering nearby.
“It was a good thing that Rowan killed Gideon,” Samantha said out of the blue. Lily had just taken her morning shower and was trying to untangle her wet hair. Hearing Gideon’s name made her hands stiffen. Her mom took the comb, her hands unsteady, and went to work on a knot at the back of Lily’s head.
“Did you see what he did to me in the oubliette?” Lily asked, her voice low. She sat down at the vanity table and looked at her mother in the mirror.
“Yes. He and Carrick tortured you,” Samantha answered. She didn’t meet Lily’s eyes in the mirror, but instead focused on gently working one of Lily’s knots free. “At least, I think it was the version of you that I raised. It’s hard sometimes, you know. Hard to tell which of the millions of you is the one that this me raised.”
“I can’t say I know exactly what you mean—not in the way you do—but I do understand.”
Tears welled up in her mother’s eyes. She smiled through them bravely. “I’ve been called crazy for years, but do you know what crazy is? Crazy is being able to see what your daughter is going through, and not being able to do anything about it.”