13. Whispers
Whispers
Despite Grandma’s disapproval, I bring the Pruitt family history book to the market with me. Most of my time is spent here waiting for people to buy something, so it’s the perfect time to research.
Plus, I’m hoping if I look busy that Ash will stay away.
I can’t even bear to look at him after this morning.
He’s so good at pretending he doesn’t have a care in the world, but there are soft, wounded places inside of him that deserve to be loved and cared for.
By someone who won’t kill him in the process.
Someone who isn’t me.
The idea of him with someone else—kissing someone else, touching someone else, fucking someone else—causes jealousy thick and acidic to churn in my belly.
I think I’d hate every second of watching him move on with his life. Despite knowing it’s what’s best for him in the end.
My eyes flicker over the pages as I sift through the book. I feel like I’ve been through it five times, and I’m obviously missing something. I know I’m not the only Fire witch in existence, and I certainly can’t be the only one in my family line.
That’s ridiculous.
Wait.
There.
The word ‘whispers’ catches my eye. It’s not ‘fire,’ but considering I’m barely paying attention to what I’m reading, it may be there anyway.
Virginia Pruitt, 1746. She would have been Elizabeth’s great-granddaughter.
Let’s see what you have for me, Virginia.