Chapter 29
29
JOSEPHINE
C amille slowly saunters in, her fingers trailing over the spines of books as she makes her way toward me.
“Mother’s missing you at dinner.” Camille’s eyes flicker down to the grimoire. I pull my hands away, clasping them in front of me.
My sister’s dark hair has been pinned so that it falls in soft waves over one shoulder. Her dress is slightly less Stepford than mine, but still a throwback to cocktail parties of the sixties. I think my mom believes those were better times, which blows my mind because she’s power hungry. Why would she want to go back to the days when women’s voices mattered even less than they do now? I suppose that’s just another of her delusions. She sees the world a specific way and isn’t willing to look at it from a different perspective.
My sisters and I clearly share the same genetic pool, although Camille and Pen don’t have the unhealthy pallor that often strikes me. Mostly because Camille never uses her healing magic. Penelope does, but I’m very careful not to let mother use her. And when I’m with my youngest sister, I only allow her to do so much.
“What are you doing?” Camille pulls a book off the shelf and begins flipping through the pages. She’s not looking at it, though. Her eyes are focused on me.
“I was searching for a spell to help boost my energy.” I think quickly on my feet. “I’ve been so tired lately. I was hoping there might be something in the grimoire that could help.”
Camille snaps the book shut and tosses it onto a nearby table. She smiles, but it’s not kind. With a sigh, she crosses the room until she stops across the desk from me. She reaches for the grimoire, turning it to face her. She opens the book and begins slowly turning the pages.
“It seems like you’re forgetting your place a lot lately.”
“What do you mean?” I may be older than Camille, but she has my mother’s cruelty. It’s intimidating despite her age.
“You left your phone in your locker the other day, did you know?” She trails her finger down a list of spell ingredients before she flips to the next page.
My brows pinch. “At work?” I always have my phone in my locker when I’m with a client.
Camille’s eyes lift, and she stares at me. Her head is still bowed, and it gives her a sinister appearance. “It seems you’ve made a new friend.”
“Did you go through my phone?” My pulse speeds up. Roman and I haven’t spoken about our families through text, but that doesn’t mean I want her rooting around in our conversations. The back and forth of us getting to know each other. It’s private. It’s personal. It’s something that only belongs to me and Roman. Camille has no right to read through those messages.
“I don’t think that’s the important thing here.” Camille drags a manicured finger down the edge of the grimoire page, flipping it once again.
I cross my arms and glare at my sister. “Oh no, I do think it’s important. First of all, did you go into my locker and get my phone? And secondly, how do you know my code to unlock it?”
“Please, JoJo,” she sings, mocking the nickname my friends call me. “I assumed you wanted me to see what you’ve been up to since you left your phone where anybody could get it.”
“Anyone invading my privacy.”
“Who’s the boy?” Camille smiles as though we’re two friends gossiping instead of sisters with a terrible relationship.
“That’s really none of your business.” Roman’s in my phone as R. Not that I imagined my sister would go through my messages, but I still hesitated to put his full name in there.
Camille stops on a page, her eyes lifting to mine. “But it is. Everything in this family is my business. I’ll be leading the Delvaux family someday. I need to know of any possible threats.”
“Threat.” I laugh because my sister isn’t delusional. She knows that the only threat to me is the rest of my family. But that’s not what she’s referring to, is it? She’s talking about something that could disrupt the dynamic my mother has put in place for our family. Which, until recently, I wasn’t a threat, but …maybe I’m turning into one.
Or at least the possible loss of my magic might be, especially if they’ve been stealing it month after month for years. Why? My mother never stops talking about how powerful the Delvaux line is. If that’s the case, why bother siphoning power from me? Does it have anything to do with our coven only worshiping the Maiden? Or what did the grimoire say, something about bonds?
My temple throbs as a headache creeps up. I have so many questions and nowhere to go for answers.
“In the spirit of Thanksgiving,” Camille smiles in a way that reminds me too much of my mother. “I want to express how thankful I am to have you as a sister.”
I know she doesn’t mean it literally. Condescension drips from her words.
“I’m grateful that I have such a weak, pathetic older sister. One who could take the family curse, allowing the true power to rise up and lead us into the next generation of greatness. However, I feel like you need a reminder of your place. And I’m not the only one.”
The creak of the floorboards draws my attention to the door where my mother and father stand, watching me and Camille like a tragic play.
“I thought the party was downstairs.” My father sighs, as if this is all an inconvenience for him. That’s how he always treats me. I can’t remember the last time he said hello or asked how my day was. I’m not worth his time. He shrugs off his suit coat and tosses it in the back of a chair. I grip the edge of the desk, desperate to hold on to something. If I run, could I escape? Then what? What would my mother do to Penelope as punishment? I desperately want to call Roman. Not that he can solve this problem for me, but I always feel braver when he’s around.
“I was just getting a bit of air.”
“Yes, because the air is so much different in the library than in the dining room.” My mother sneers at me, her eyes also dropping to the grimoire before they return to my face.
“It seems you need a reminder of how to be a polite hostess.”
I shake my head and step away from the desk. “I’ll just head back downstairs.”
My mother blocks my path, her hand stretched out, ready to lay it upon my skin. She clucks her tongue. “Not so fast. We wouldn’t want you to forget your manners again. We’ll just make sure the lesson is ingrained nice and deep this time.”
The three of them surround me until I’m trapped against a wall of books. All of them are so eager to inflict pain.
My father’s face is serene as he reaches out and cups my cheek, the first to touch me. His eyes hold a darkness, a malice that isn’t right. “You wouldn’t want to disappoint your family, would you? You must learn your place.” His tone is airy, almost wistful, but his words are damning.
My eyes slide shut, and I grit my teeth, preparing for what I know is to come. My father drops his hand, granting a brief reprieve, but it only lasts a moment. Camille strikes my cheek. The bite of her slap is as sharp as the pain caused by the touch.
My mother drags her fingers down that same cheek, pressing hard, bruises likely forming. She doesn’t stop, though; her finger continues its path to my collarbone and all the way down my arm.
It’s revolting, yet I can’t move. I don’t know how to get out of this. If I fight them, I won’t win. There are three of them, and all they have to do is lay their hands on me. How do I fight back against that?
It’s my mother’s touch that hurts the worst. Her hand is a frozen shock of ice. When she touches me, it’s not just pain from my curse; the cold soaks into my bones and makes everything ache until I’m afraid I might fracture. My teeth chatter and I jerk her hand off, but she grips my arm tight. Camille clamps her hand down on my shoulder, shoving me into the bookshelf. I don’t even care that the wood is biting into my shoulders and my hips. That feels like a caress compared to the touch of these people surrounding me.
My father brushes my hair back from my forehead as though he’s comforting me. I can barely see through my wavering vision, but the smile on his face shows he knows exactly the pain that he’s inflicting. Camille cocks her head and links our fingers together.
“Dear sister. Poor thing. When will you ever learn?”
Apparently, not tonight. My head falls back, my whole body shaking from the pain and the cold. My knees give out, and I collapse to the floor. If only that gave me some relief. Camille, still holding on to my hand, wrenches my arm in an awkward position. My mother and father both reach back out, grabbing hold of any bare skin they can find. I retch, my back bowing as I heave, but nothing comes up.
“Maiden help you, if you throw up on my carpets. I will punish you until you won’t walk for weeks.”
I retch, wishing with a perverse desire that I would puke all over her ornate rug. My magic pulses in my chest, sputtering in and out, searching for a way to help me. I pray to the triad, to the Maiden, Mother, and Crone to give me the strength to get through this.
“You bitch.” My mother’s words cut through the pain, but then her freezing hand squeezes tighter. Those are the last words I hear before I black out.
“Jo?” A soft, sad voice reaches me through the darkness. “Jo, please wake up.” There’s a sniffle and a hiccup. “I don’t know what to do. You’re the one who always tells me what to do. Please, Jo.”
I crack open one eye. My sister Penelope’s head is on the floor next to mine. She’s lying on her side, her hands resting under her cheek like a little angel. Tears flow over her nose and down her temple.
“Pen,” I croak.
Penelope jackknifes up. “Jo? Oh, thank God you’re okay. Are you okay? What do you need me to do? How can I help?”
My poor little sister is panicking, her words spilling out in a tumble of breathless gasps.
“Can you get my phone? It should be on the desk.”
Pen hops up and is back on the ground, lying beside me before I can blink. “Who should I call?”
“Call Roman.” I don’t know what he’ll do. Is he going to break into my parents’ house and carry me out of here like a damsel?
Penelope unlocks my phone and finds the entry for R. She presses call with shaking fingers. Once again, one of my people is calling Roman out of the blue. It’s quiet enough in the library that I hear Roman’s voice when he answers.
“Jo, did you make it out alive?” He sounds so happy. To hear from me? Or did he have a good night? I know he was dreading Thanksgiving with his family, but maybe things weren’t as bad as he’d imagined.
“Um.” Pen’s voice wobbles. “Mr. Blackthorn? This is Pen, Penelope, Jo’s little sister. She needs your help.” Tears pour down Penelope’s face, and her voice waivers, but I’m so proud of her. She’s keeping herself together.
“Pen,” Roman’s deep, commanding voice is calm and soothing. “Are you both okay? Is Jo okay?”
“She’s… They hurt her, but she’s awake. I’m fine, I just… I can’t touch her without causing her pain, and she needs to get out of here. I don’t know what to do.” Pen sobs, and my heart aches. I may despise what my mother does to me and the pain she causes, but I hate her all the more for putting Penelope in this situation.
I have never wanted to hug my sister so badly. To tell her it’ll be okay, that I’ll be alright. I don’t even know if that’s true, but I want it to be. I want her to feel safe and loved. All the things she doesn’t get from our family. The things that every child deserves. The things that I deserved but never got. Instead, I can only lay here and force her to handle something a kid shouldn’t have to deal with.
“I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.”
“Mr. Roman, sir, we still have a house full of people, including council members and the head of our coven.”
“It’s okay. I’ll get her out of there, and you too.”