She was so close, I could almost taste her. I cannot bear this torture.
I want to hold her in my arms like a whole man, not this nebulous thing I have become. I’m drawn to her with the force of a thousand storms.
She is meant for me, and I for her.
She is frightened. I feel her trembling when I touch her. It isn’t me she need fear—it is Francois.
And he is close.
I know he wants her. To capture a young witch would mean many more years for him than a mere mortal would bring. Her soul is powerful and yet she seems to not understand her power.
He will capture both of us and I will again be alone in my tomb while he uses my life force as his own.
Ophelia, my dearest, I fear she will meet a more gruesome fate if he captures her. I must find a way to warn her. But will she take heed?
“There are so many papers.” Ophelia put the stack of medical bills into the pile needing attention. “Have you not gone through them at all?”
Gramma shrugged. “I figured if they needed me, someone would call. I didn’t realize this was so important.”
Ophelia tried to calm herself. The amount of mail Gramma hadn’t gone through was staggering. Paper sack after paper sack of bills, circulars, junk mail, and even a misaddressed envelope or two sat beside her. She leaned back on the couch, holding her head.
“I hope we aren’t missing anything important here.” She watched her gramma’s face.
Gramma looked weaker than even the day before, but she’d insisted on helping Ophelia go through the stacks. She wasn’t really helping much—in fact, Ophelia knew she could get through it quicker if Gramma would let her handle it. But she needed to let her help. This was her mail. And probably the last time she’d go through any of it.
“Nothing there can be as important as preparing you for what’s coming.” Gramma picked up a bill with a shaky hand and dropped it into the important pile. “Things are not good. I sense it.”
Thank goodness the important pile was much smaller than the junk mail pile.
“I hope you have a lot more time left. Please don’t talk like that.” Ophelia rubbed her temples. No point in being morbid. She knew Gramma wasn’t going to live a lot longer but pointing it out often didn’t help matters.
“No, no,” Gramma wheeled herself closer to the table, “I’m not talking about my passing. That’s inevitable. I’m talking about the evil that’s coming to Hemlock Grove. And the danger it poses to you.”
Ophelia sighed. “Not that again.”
“Yes, that again.” Gramma raised her voice till it cracked. “You are in danger. I don’t want to leave my earthly shell until I know you are safe. You’re all I have.” Tears misted her eyes.
“Oh, Gramma, please. I’ll be fine.”
“Evil is coming. I tell you, I feel it.”
Ophelia didn’t know how to answer her. Either Gramma was getting more out of it every day or she was darn focused on the idea that the boogeyman was coming for Ophelia. Neither scenario was helpful in getting her affairs in order. It was a difficult enough job without all the extra hoodoo.
“Okay, Gramma, I’ll humor you. What exactly can I do to stop the evil that’s coming to take me? Hang garlic in the windows? Buy silver bullets?”
“You’re making fun of me.” Gramma scowled, her tears drying on her face.
“No, I’m not. I’m tired and not sleeping well and we have so much left to do.”
“I know there’s a lot to do, but I’m telling you this is important. If you don’t prepare for this, you won’t live. Your life will be over. How much clearer can I be?” She coughed and sputtered. “I’m scared for you. You don’t know anything about how to handle yourself in an attack.”
The coughing fit worsened and Gramma wheezed and gasped. Ophelia picked up her glass of water and held it to Gramma’s lips. Gramma drank a few sips, her breath ragged and shallow.
“I think we need to get you back to bed.” Ophelia set the water down and pulled the wheelchair out from the table. “You need to rest.”
“I’m okay. Just a little tired.” Gramma coughed again. “It’s you we need to worry about. You have witch blood in you and denying it isn’t going to change a thing. When you finally realize it, it’s going to be too late.”
“I think I need to put in a call to the doctor.” Ophelia pulled the wheelchair out and then maneuvered it toward the doorway. “I’m concerned about you.”
“I’m not crazy, young lady!”
“I didn’t say you were. I just said maybe I need to call the doctor. You aren’t doing so well.” She pushed the wheelchair down the hall toward Gramma’s bedroom. “I think you need to be checked, that’s all.”
“I’m as fine as I’m going to get. I want you to listen to me. We need to do a protection ritual. Then we need to prepare to get rid of that warlock once and for all.”
Ophelia rolled her eyes, aware that Gramma couldn’t see her do it. “Which warlock?”
“You know which one. Francois. The one whose bottle you brought into this house.”
“I thought you said you and your friends burned him to the ground along with his house, what, fifty years ago?” Why not go along with her? Once she got her to bed, she’d fall asleep quickly. Maybe the crazy ideas would go away. Ophelia turned the corner into Gramma’s room.
“We did. But obviously, he’s still alive.”
“Obviously.” The word slipped out before she could stop it.
Ophelia helped her gramma into bed. So light, gramma must’ve lost more weight even in the last week.
“You’re sassing me. If I was younger, I’d give you a taste of hickory tea.” Gramma scolded her, her finger wagging.
Gramma had never spanked her. Surely this threat was a sign of deteriorating mental health. A call to the doctor was definitely in order. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so dismissive.”
Gramma turned over, her back to Ophelia. “Go away. I want to rest.”
“But I thought—”
“GO AWAY.”
Gramma’s words left no room for discussion. Ophelia pulled the quilt over Gramma’s shoulders then headed out of the room. Tears ran down her face. What an awful granddaughter she was—mocking her grandmother. Didn’t matter what Gramma said, she deserved more respect. Even if she was harping on evil and demons or whatever. It didn’t matter.
Fat tears dripped down her cheeks as she made her way to her room. The floor squeaked as she hurried down the hall and the walls felt like they were closing in on her. By the time she made it to her bedroom, tears had turned to full-on sobbing.
What if Gramma didn’t wake up? What if the last words she ever heard were the harsh ones Ophelia had said? She’d rarely spoken to her gramma so sternly and guilt pooled in her gut. Ophelia threw herself onto the bed and cried into her pillow.
Curling up on her side, she closed her eyes and squeezed her lids shut. Why couldn’t she have a normal life? Yeah, she did have a career she loved, but she never dated, much. The fear of being rejected once a prospective boyfriend found out her gramma believed in magick and witches always haunted her.
She took a shaky breath. Now her only living relative was dying and Ophelia had all but mocked her. Lost her patience.
Another sob shook her. Suddenly, the air in the room grew cooler, and then a palpable energy surrounded her, warm and loving. Ophelia focused on the warmth, wishing for once she’d opened her heart to finding a boyfriend, someone to hold her.
Being alone sucked.
Arms surrounded her and it felt like someone spooned her from behind. The sensation of fingers caressing her hair soothed her and she closed her eyes and sniffled. She felt lighter within. Her imaginary lover felt right, like he could be real.
If only…
More tears rolled down her cheeks, wetting her pillowcase. She needed to get out of the house, catch her bearings before she lost her mind. Gramma didn’t deserve to be spoken to like that and Ophelia needed to get a grip on things before stress overtook her.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe she’d go back in town tomorrow. Even going to the grocery store would help. However, she couldn’t leave Gramma for too long.
With a shaky breath, she willed herself to relax and sleep. Things would be better tomorrow.