At that last word, I thought I saw her mouth tighten slightly, but she didn’t reply, only stared at me, stony-faced.
“Whatever happened between you and Jeremiah Wilcox, it was between the two of you. I’m not saying it was right, and I’m sorry you had to go through that, but it doesn’t give you the right to curse a bunch of innocent women, just so you can indirectly hurt the Wilcox primus.”
“If a woman is with the primus, then she is no innocent,” Nizhoni retorted.
“Oh, really? So what does that make you?”
Her eyes narrowed, turning to slits hidden by her thick lashes. “You have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Then enlighten me,” I said, crossing my arms. “Because I don’t see why I should have to drop dead at twenty-two or twenty-three just because Jeremiah Wilcox was an asshole.”
The profanity startled her, I could tell — her eyebrows lifted, and she pulled in a breath. I supposed anyone who counted herself a lady back in the day wouldn’t have talked like that. But I was certainly beyond caring what she thought of me.
“Look,” I said, attempting to soften my tone, “you can’t right past wrongs by creating new ones. It doesn’t work that way. You’ve stayed here, hanging on to your hatred, for far too long. What good is it doing you? Has it brought you peace? Acceptance? There’s no dishonor in realizing enough is enough and moving on. Whatever Jeremiah did to you, you’re only giving him more power by not letting it go. Can’t you see that?”
The silence stretched out so long I was beginning to think she wouldn’t answer me. Finally, she said, the words spoken so softly that I could barely hear them, “You don’t understand. Not any of it.”
“Then tell me,” I begged her. “Please. I want to know. Help me to understand.”
Silence again, and then her face darkened with fury. The wind picked up, causing her long hair to snap like whips, blowing loose twigs and branches and leaves toward me. I raised my hands to protect my eyes. Was she doing this? It seemed so.
“Stop it!” I cried. “This isn’t helping!”
“Good!” she flung at me. “Leave me alone!”
“No!” True, she’d been a witch so powerful Jeremiah had wanted her for his own, and she’d had all these years to brood and let her malice build, feeding her strength, but I wasn’t exactly helpless myself. Reaching for my own power, I let it radiate out from within, golden light surrounding me, forming a barrier against which the branches and twigs and a few stray pinecones bounced off and fell harmlessly away.
Her eyes glittered when she saw the shield I had raised, but that didn’t stop her. If anything, the hail of debris against me only increased, dirt flying now as well, so that I could barely see her through the whirlwind of forest detritus swirling around me. Biting my lip, I let my own energy surge forth, pushing against the spell-summoned tornado. At last the strain was too much, and the branches and leaves and pinecones exploded away from me, scattering in every direction.
Nizhoni, however, seemed untouched. Frowning, she said, “You are strong.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, trying not to pant, since that would sort of ruin the impression I was trying to give. “Care to go for round two?”
Her eyebrows pulled down at that. Clearly, she didn’t get the reference.
“Okay,” I went on, taking her silence as a tacit invitation for me to keep talking, “we can stand here and have magical battles like two characters out of a Harry Potter book, or we can talk like rational adults. Which is it going to be?”
“I do not know this ‘Harry Potter’ of which you speak.”
“Never mind.” I reached up and pulled a twig out of my hair. My cheek twinged, and I realized at least one piece of debris had gotten through, because when I touched my finger to my cheek, it came away smeared with blood. Ignoring the pain as best I could, I said, “Look, Nizhoni, I’m not here to hurt you or upset you. I just want you to move on to a place where you can be at peace. Don’t you realize that the people you loved are waiting for you?”
“Not all,” she said, in an undertone, looking away from me, and in that instant I thought I understood.
All that rage, all that hatred — it hadn’t come from being taken to be Jeremiah Wilcox’s wife. It had come because she must have loved him on some level, and hated herself for it. And that hatred had twisted in on itself, made her curse all Wilcox wives to come, because she thought herself cursed by a love she hadn’t wanted.
“Oh, Nizhoni,” I murmured then. “It’s no weakness to love.”