Chapter 11

The most surprising, though, was reading about the way the house back home could communicate with me in its own way. I had thought it was my imagination, but apparently not. Most people who believe the fictional stories are acquainted with witches having a familiar, like a black cat or something similar. Turns out a house can become familiar too. If enough witches have lived in it over the years, it absorbs a little of the power from the people it protects.

Most witches don’t come into their powers until they turn eighteen, at least according to the texts I was able to get my hands on. Still, there were cases throughout history in whichextreme circumstances made the power manifest early. Things like near-death experiences or extreme cases of abuse are among the popular theories of why. It didn’t take an expert to figure out why mine came to me before they should have. Not that it helped me in the end.

When I woke up after that fateful night, it was to find myself handcuffed to a hospital bed. A lot of that whole time, at least in the very beginning, was still hazy. I think my brain was trying to shield me from the worst of it.

Even now, I don’t remember everything. But I remember the parts I wish I could forget. And I’d pieced enough of the distorted fragments over the years to know I’d been set up.

A day after I was brutally raped, I was charged with first-degree murder, thanks to Dale’s eyewitness testimony that I’d shot and killed my father.

Dale was the one who shot him. But for years, I couldn’t fathom why. It seemed to me my father was in on it, but he sure as heck wouldn’t have agreed to die for his cause. The man loved himself too much. When I asked my lawyer to do some digging, I found out that a new manager was running the ranch—one appointed by my father to take over in the event of his death. The document was signed the day of the shooting. No way was that a coincidence. And who was this guy? My lawyer had put a PI on him and managed to get a couple of grainy photos. I stared at those things for what felt like years, trying to figure out how he played into things, before it hit me one day like a two-by-four to the face. The truth had been staring right back at me all along.

They say the devil is in the details, a fact that became all too clear once I stopped looking at the photos as a whole and focused on the small stuff I’d missed. Like his eyes. If the eyes are the window to the soul, then the view from my father’s soul would be pitch black. And that’s what I was looking at. The evileyes of the man who made my life hell, staring back at me from the face of a stranger.

He’d had a lot of work done, extensive procedures that changed the shape of his face and the slope of his nose. His jawline was more sculpted, his cheekbones more defined. If it weren’t for his eyes, I wouldn’t have recognized him, and that man has haunted my dreams for over a decade. The question is, how did he pull it off?

“Hart. Visitor to see you.”

I jump at the sound of the guard’s voice. I’d been so caught up in my thoughts that I hadn’t heard them approach—rookie error. Even though I’ve been mostly safe in here, some of the newcomers were looking to upset the natural order of things. They wouldn’t hesitate to hurt me if they thought it might serve their purpose.

I climb off the bed and walk to the door, slipping my arms through the slot so the guard can cuff me. Once I’m cuffed, I step back so they can open the door and usher me out. I walk beside him quietly, ignoring everything going on around me as I’m led to one of the rooms used for our legal teams. It’s one of the only spaces available that doesn’t have cameras or people nearby to listen in.

I smile at Jenny, who is waiting for me, and take my seat on the opposite side of the table, resting my hands on the wood as the guard cuffs me to the metal hooks in the wood.

Jen waits for him to leave before she speaks. “How are you doing, kid?”

I roll my eyes at her. “It’s been a long time since I was a kid.”

“When you get to my age, everyone’s a kid,” she replies with a wry grin. She might be in her early seventies, but Jenny had proven to be one of my strongest advocates. With her silver hair sleeked back into a bun and her black pinstripe power suit, she looks both elegant and badass, and she knows how to work bothangles. She’d come on as my lawyer after the public defender I was appointed pretty much hung me out to dry. By then, the waters had been too muddy for me to walk away unscathed, but she had managed to get my charges reduced to second degree. She wanted to fight the self-defense angle, but Dale’s account made it difficult. Truth is, I’d have taken a life sentence if it meant getting away from that place.

The irony is that if my father’s plan had gone off without a hitch, he might have gotten exactly what he wanted for me—life without parole, or even the death penalty. Unfortunately for him, karma had a twisted sense of humor. The beating I had taken from him earlier that day, the traces of drugs in my system, and the examination that showed I’d been raped, flipped things on their head. If the prosecution pushed too hard, they might make a martyr of me and swing public opinion in my favor. They erred on the side of caution, and I was sentenced to fifteen years with eligibility for parole after ten. I was denied parole twice. Given my father’s influence, that wasn’t a surprise. Now, I was a week away from leaving, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

“Okay, so I have lots of news. First of all, I’ve been doing a bit of digging. It seems the people pulling all the strings fifteen years ago have been retiring, and your case has garnered fresh eyes.”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters because we both know you shouldn’t have spent a day in this place, let alone fifteen years.”

I bite my lip, unsure what to say. Knowing she’s angry in defense of me still catches me off guard, even after all this time.

“As I was saying…It brought up questions about why you were denied parole—not once, but twice—given that you have an exemplary record and no history of violence. And before you say that doesn’t matter, in this case it does. With a little magic,courtesy of your favorite lawyer, I managed to get you released unconditionally.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“It means you served your full sentence with zero issues. You’ve repaid your debt to society and are considered reformed. Now, usually if murder is involved, there will always be a supervision period. But in light of the circumstances, that’s been waived. The only rule they have in place right now for you is that you cannot own a firearm.”

“And that’s it?”

“That’s it. I have all the paperwork here for you to sign regarding that, plus everything to do with the ranch and your inheritance.”

“My what?”

She looks up from the papers she’s shuffling through. “Your inheritance? You didn’t know about that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jen.”

“Interesting. Okay, well, your maternal grandmother left you an inheritance that you could collect once you turned thirty. Once you sign, it will be deposited into the accounts of your choice. I know a few personal investors who will talk to you about what you should or shouldn’t do with it. All up to you, off course.”

I huff out a laugh. “Jen, I was incarcerated before I was an adult. I don’t even have a grown-up bank account.”