Whispered Secrets by Jay Mirano (reading like a writer TXT) 📕

a part of this conversation.”
“Let my mother go,” Jacques said. “And I will reinstate your position as lady’s maid.”
Clara let out a raucous laugh. “Do you really think I wanted that job? Oh no, you have it all wrong. I only needed to work here long enough to procure enough materials to see me attain a better life. Your

life.” She paused to inspect her fingernails. “You see, with the locks of hair from the comb I’d taken from your mother’s bedchamber, as well as other little knick-knacks I’ve collected over the dismal months I’ve lived here, I had all the ingredients necessary to perform the spell to inherit your mother’s identity. Dearest Ethel here would have been cast into the slums from which I rose, and I would have assumed the position of ladyship at his fine manor. As for you… Well, I used to be quite fond of you. I saw you being my footman, or perhaps even my valet.”
Jacques slowly got to his feet, shaking all over. His left arm looked dangerously limp and misshapen. “I’ll see you hanged, you wench!”
Clara raised her hand again, and Jacques was struck down, clutching his head as if in pain. “You really think you have that power, master Jacques?” She smiled. “I think I’d rather see you hang.”
Clara lifted her fingers skyward, and Jacques mimicked them, rising far off the ground and floating suspended in the air. Clara bunched her fingers into a fist, and Jacques let out a strangled noise, his legs flailing uselessly out beneath him.
I could see Jacques was dying – Clara was killing him, with whatever black magic she had control over. I let out a shriek, so shrill that it broke Clara’s concentration long enough to see Jacques tumble back down to the ground.
“You leave him alone,” I said, fighting against the magic that had me bound. “He’s done nothing to you.”
Clara observed me with intense fascination, approaching close enough to trail one, claw-like fingernail down my cheek. I felt my skin tear open under her touch, followed by the warm trickle of blood.
“Please, let my mother live,” Jacques rasped. “You may kill me, but please don’t let her die.”
Clara tutted, shaking her head. “I’m afraid it’s too late, my sweet. She’s already dead.”
I snatched my eyes away from Clara, looking toward the ring of flickering flame. Ethel lay prone in its center, her eyes open and glassy. A single hand lay outstretched in Jacques’ direction, her mouth hanging slack.
Jacques crawled over to the edge of the fires, his eyes brimming with tears. He let out a soft cry, before returning his attentions on Clara once more. “You’ll pay for this. If it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make you pay.”
Clara let out a fake gasp of surprise. “No-one’s ever had the audacity to threaten me like that,” she said, looming over Jacques’ body like a stone gargoyle. “You interest me.”
Jacques spat on her, a large ball of blood and saliva. It landed on Clara’s skirts, trailing down the crimson fabric. “Go to Hell.”
Clara frowned. “Perhaps death is too great a luxury for you,” she said, kneeling down so that she could lay an alabaster hand on his neck. “I think I’d rather see you live until the end of time, burdened with your grief, and with your regret.”
Clara’s head suddenly snapped up in my direction, and I was released from the invisible ropes that had me strapped to the wall. I fell in a heap, my entire body aching all over. I nursed my burning wrists in my lap, trying to rub away the memory of my bounds.
“Yes, it is decided. You shall live an eternal life, dear Jacques, haunted by the knowledge that you caused the deaths of everyone you’ve ever loved.” Clara drawled, getting to her feet. She walked over toward me, her leather boots clattering on the wooden floor. She raised her hand, smirking at me. “Sweet dreams,” she said, bringing her hand down in one fell swoop.
I felt myself scream, trying to shelter myself from the oncoming blow. The sounds of Jacques’ cries filled my ears, and I desperately tried to fight away the image of Clara leering over me.
I felt two strong hands encircle my own, and my eyes flung open.
I was back at Jake’s house. Althea was kneeling at my feet, her eyes misted with tears. Jake pulled me in for a hug, his chin resting on my shoulder.
“I told you you’d remember,” he whispered, running a hand through my hair. He pulled away, and reached up to wipe my cheek. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
“What was that?” I whispered, feeling myself start to shake.
“That was the beginning of it all,” Jake said. “The beginning of everything.”
“What happened afterward?” I asked. “After Clara… After she…”
“She killed you,” Jake answered, his voice breaking with the memory of grief. “She killed you, and then she turned me into this… Thing. This undying thing, destined to walk the earth for all eternity.”
“What happened to Clara?”
“Everything she said would happen. She became the wealthiest woman in Andover, and any memory of my mother and my family was wiped from the people’s minds. Not even you existed to them, anymore.”
I drew my knees up to my chest, desperately trying to stop myself from shaking.
“I sank into a dark place, a place not even I care to explain. I buried any thoughts of you, of my mother, and set about trying to kill myself in any way that I could. But Clara had been true to her word; I couldn’t – I can’t – die. And believe me, I tried. I’ve thrown myself off cliffs, off buildings, in front of trains… I’ve shot myself, been shot by others, been stabbed and suffocated. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t destroy myself.”
I wound my arm around Jake’s, pulling him close.
“It was many years before I turned my hatred back onto Clara. Seeing as I couldn’t die, I figured I’d kill her in any way possible. And that was when I met Althea,” he paused to cast her a half-hearted smile. “She had once been a part of Clara’s coven, and had seen what she was capable of – ”
“Wait, coven?” I asked, interrupting. “Does that mean Althea’s…”
“A witch? Yes.”
I let myself take it all in, looking at Althea with new eyes. She certainly didn’t look like a witch, nor did she act like one. And as if she could sense my disbelief, she raised her hand and a ball of flame erupted in her palm. I reached out to touch it, and she blew it out.
“Unlike Clara,” Jake continued. “Althea never used her magic for evil. In fact, she despised being a witch, of being associated with the things Clara would do. So she escaped, left the coven, and found me.”
“Clara was an immensely powerful witch, far more powerful than I,” Althea said, cutting in. “I knew Jake – or Jacques, as he was known then – didn’t stand a chance. And believe me, I wanted to see Clara dead just as much as Jake did.”
“Why? What did Clara do to you?” I asked.
“For one, she turned me into this,” Althea said. “Every few centuries Clara would choose an apprentice, someone she could train in the art of magic. She chose me, despite my will. When I initially refused, each member of my family was struck down with plague. She warned worse things would come if I didn’t join her.”
“But why you?”
“Some people are born with an innate talent for magic, almost like it’s in the blood. Apparently Clara saw great potential in me, although I never believed it.”
“Anyway,” Jake went on. “Althea taught me the basics of witchcraft; how to set up a confinement circle, how to trick Clara into entering it, and finally how to finish her off. We both agreed that once Clara was taken care of, we’d go our separate ways.”
“So what happened?”
“With Althea’s help, I was able to kill Clara – although it nearly killed me in the process. I had hoped that, with Clara’s death, her spell would be broken and that I would go back to having a mortal life. But… Magic doesn’t work that way.”
“But if you wanted the spell broken, couldn’t Althea break it for you?”
“Like I said, Clara was an immensely powerful witch,” Althea said. “I did try, but the spell was too complex.”
I nodded. “So where do I come in to all this?” I asked. “Why am I Samantha Lorden right now? What about Bridget?”
Jake smiled. “When Clara killed you, she didn’t realize how powerful the bond was between us. We’re drawn to one another, no matter which life it is and who’s living it. Each time you reincarnate, you’re always the same person – the same soul.”
“Reincarnate?” That pesky dizziness came over me again.
“At first I didn’t believe it either. The first time you came back, your name was Sarah O’Malley, an immigrant from Ireland. You actively sought me out, claiming to have lived a life in which your name was Bridget Donahue. It was definitely weird getting used to you with an Irish accent,” he laughed.
“I confirmed that reincarnation does happen,” Althea said. “But for a person to remember their previous life? Why, that’s very rare indeed.”
“So, why didn’t you just tell me all this sooner? If I really am Bridget Donahue, why keep it a secret?”
“Because every time you remember who you are and who I am, they always come after you.”
“They?”
“Witches. But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.”
I just nodded, feeling faint.
“After we killed Clara, Althea and I did separate. But we had this ridiculous knack for being able to bump into one another, no matter where we went. And that knack extended to other witches, too.”
“We decided the best course of action would be to just stick together,” Althea said. “But other covens could sense we were different, could sense we weren’t like them. We always ended up encountering other witches just like Clara, if not worse. So we agreed we’d try to take down as many malevolent witches as we could.”
“A witch hunting other witches, wow,” I breathed. “So what does that make you Jake? Are you a witch?”
“Not officially, no. I can perform magic, but I’ve never undergone a transformation ceremony. Althea refuses to do it.”
Althea smiled to herself.
“But why would the witches come after me?” I asked.
“It’s a revenge thing; they can’t kill me, so they kill the person who’s most important to me – you. But when you’re oblivious to it all, they don’t seem to realize the connection. And with each life you have, you seem to remember less and less. Until I prompt you to, of course.”
“How many times have I reincarnated?” I was starting to feel very overwhelmed.
“Eight times.”
I felt myself pale.
“On your fourth life, I decided I would distance myself from you as much as I possibly could. I kept you in my sights, made sure you didn’t get into any kind of trouble, but I never spoke to you. It was 1891 by that time, and you had reincarnated as Eliza Mahoney. You met a guy, fell in love, got married. And yet you weren’t satisfied. You still found me, you still got yourself involved. And, for the fourth time, I had to watch you die.”
“Oh my God.”
“So, after that, I decided I’d keep you at arm’s length, but never let you realize the truth. I always tried to keep us as friends, nothing more. But sometimes things just… You