Page 3 of Filthy Wishes

“He’s nice to brother,” she says, taking my hand.

“Of course, he is,” I reply.

“He’ll be really nice to you.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, quirking my eyebrow at that. She’s a child; she can’t possibly know that. When I look at herface, I know she means it, though.

“I saw it. Well, I mean, I will see it. I don’t know what I mean, but he’ll be nice to you like daddy is to mommy. He doesn’t have legs all the time, like mommy too. You won’t have legs either.”

“I see,” I reply. “Do you see things a lot?”

“Yeah. I think it’s my gift.”

“Makes sense. That’s a pretty neat gift.”

“What’s your gift?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t found it yet.”

“I know what it is,” she says, her voice dancing.

“What is it?”

“The gift of war. The gift of peace.”

“What?”

“You will stop a war. That’s your gift. I don’t know what war is, but it looks awful. You’ll have to be careful. That mark on your shoulder burns.”

“Burns what?”

“The bad man who’s not a man. He is an ancient destroyer of worlds. Lost for centuries, he grows stronger. He grows restless. He grows.”

“She has the gift of sight,” Hortencia says. I hadn’t realized we stopped walking or that we were home, standing in a circle in the driveway. I felt like I was there. In the war. Killing. Saving. Avenging. Avenging what?

“I’ve never seen it do that before,” Tridenton says.

“Me either,” Hortencia says.

“The elders will need to be notified.”

“They can’t have my baby.”

“No one is going to take your baby.” The back and forth between the two is driving me crazy.

“What the hell is going on?” I ask my skin still covered in goosebumps.

“Rosie will need chocolate. We must get her inside,”Hortencia says, and Gareth picks Rosie up and carries her inside. Chocolate?

Without another word, I follow them inside. I need answers, and I need them now. I already believed in magic, but this goes beyond that. I am not afraid of what the future holds, but the voice in my head is screaming at me.

“Can we talk privately?” Tridenton asks, and all I can do is nod my head. The only place to get a bit of privacy is my bedroom, so I drag him by the arm down the hallway to my room. Damn, those electric currents are running through my body again. I get it, God. I get it—no need to electrocute me in order for me to get the picture.

We belong to one another.

Once we are closed in my room, I turn to him.

“We should talk,” I say, though that’s the very last thing I want to do with him.