“I am a witch,” Joan said, her was voice calm, but her eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that made me freeze on the sit.
For a second, I honestly thought I had misheard her. Maybe she’d said something else, and my mind had twisted the words. But no, her face, and the way she sat there so confidently, told me she had said exactly what I thought she did.
I blinked at her. “You’re… what?”
“A witch,” she repeated, slower this time. “That’s how I knew what you were the first day your uncle Marcus brought you here.”
My throat tightened. What I was? I wanted to ask, but the words caught somewhere between disbelief and fear.
Joan leaned forward a little, her elbows still resting on the table. Her expression softened now, like she could already see the panic rising in my eyes. “You carry
