Page 75 of Pocus

Now I’m confused. “What are you talking about, Abigail?”

She takes a deep breath. “The life I lived…my time here. All of it was a lie. When I think about the things I’ve done….” She snickers humorlessly even as a tear rolls down her cheek. And then another.

My heart breaks for her all over again when the implication of her words dawned on me. “Do you remember everything, ma chérie?”

She sniffs quietly and nods her head. “I don’t want your love or anything else from you. I don’t deserve the kindness shown to me by everyone else...I…I’ve done really terrible things, Pocus.”

“Haven’t we all?” I say quietly, placing my palm reassuringly on hers. I wish I knew a sure way to console her. “We have all done things that we’re ashamed of, Abigail. We are humans, after all.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head. “Don’t you see?” she asks, raising her eyes to meet mine as if to convince me that she truly is a devil behind all of that gorgeousness. But all I see is a strong, kind-hearted woman who’s conquered my heart, shown me the true color of love, and made me believe in its existence…

“It’s not the same,” Abigail continues, sniffing quietly. “I don’t even know who I am right now. I lived my life pretty convinced that things like magic, sorcery, witches, and spells were just props for fictional tales when I was being controlled by them all this time. Right now, I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. My life itself is a sham.” She closes her eyes and clamps her lips as if to bear the pain tearing through her. She swallows hard and opens her eyes to smile sadly into mine. “Turns out Laura isn’t even my family after all.”

“What?”

“He made up my whole life,” Abigail says with a shrug. “The things that I think I know…it’s all just a comprehensive script written by Anderson Grey, and I’m a mere actor reciting my lines perfectly. I think I did a pretty good job, don’t you think?” She laughs quietly and shakes her head. “My life is one big scam,” she says with a deep sigh. “I don’t even know if my name is mine. Who are my parents? What exactly am I apart from the big joke Anderson made of me?”

“You’re not a joke, Abigail,” I say firmly and wait for her to look at me before I continue. “And don’t you dare downplay what we have…it’s real enough. It doesn’t matter what Anderson told you or the life you had before us. What I feel for you is real.” I raise our joint hands to my chest and place her palm on my heart so that she can feel its unsteady beat. “Do you feel that?” She nods solemnly in response. “My heart beats for you, Abigail. I love you. All of you.”

“You don’t know the half of it, Pocus,” Abigail says with a little dejected sigh. “He had that all planned out. He knew you were following me. He also knew that I was here the whole time. It was all a big ploy to distract you from going after him.”

“It doesn’t matter, Abigail,” I say, looking deeply into her eyes. “I love you. I loved you from the very first time my eyes met yours beneath that mask. I fell for you: you, Abigail. Anderson doesn’t factor into any of that. I love you, ma petite. Of that, I’m sure.”

She drops her head off my shoulder and weeps quietly. “Pocus. Oh, Pocus….”

It was only a few broken words, but I heard her hope and yearning in them. I felt her coming back to me.

“If you don’t believe me, I’ll say it every day until you do,” I say softly, running my palm over her hair in soothing strokes. “Even if you still don’t after that, I won’t stop showing you just how much you mean to me…every single day. I’ll express my love in any form that makes sense only to you. I almost lost you once, and that’s something I’m not willing to go through again. You can’t give up on us, chérie. Please?”

She raises her gaze to look at me, and I feel my heart shatter all over again at the sadness in her tear-filled eyes. I cup her face gently in my palm, wiping her tears with my thumb. “It breaks my heart to see you cry, mon coeur.”

She sniffs loudly and shrugs a little. “It’s just…it’s all so overwhelming.”

“I know, baby,” I say, looking deeply into her eyes so that she sees everything that I feel for her in mine. “It’s hard to take it all in, but it doesn’t have to be. We can start with a fresh slate… We can ditch the past and redefine our lives; it’s ours, after all. Those people…the people who hurt us, were able to because we gave them the power to. Anderson, the ones who mocked me for my gifts…they only matter if we let them. Let’s leave our demons in the past and focus on creating new memories with each other – ones that will leave smiles on our faces even when we’re not physically together. Start afresh with me, Abigail. Please?”

Abigail takes in a deep breath and lets it out on a shaky breath. “I…I love the picture you paint. It’s perfect,” she says with a wobbly smile. She sighs softly and lowers her gaze. “It’s just…” she shrugs hesitantly and raises her eyes to mine again. “

“I…I need some time to process everything I’ve learned of my life in the past few days. I need time to take it all in.”

“Of course,” I reply, smiling reassuringly into her dazzling hazel eyes that a new flicker of light in them. “You can take as much time as you want. I’ll give you space, but I’m never letting go of your hand, Abigail. I’d rather die.”

“Oh, Pocus.”

She lunges at me and wraps her arms tightly around my shoulders. She buries her head in my neck and starts to cry. “I’m so sorry, Pocus. I’m so, so sorry.”

I wrap my arms around her waist, pressing her body as close to me as possible. It doesn’t matter if I have to wait forever for her. All that matters is this moment that we’re in right now.

I’m just grateful to be able to share another moment with Abigail.

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

Pocus

Iquietly study the lone figure of Mayor Gary Craig as I’m ushered into the exquisitely furnished study in his fancy uptown home. He’s standing by the window, his gaze fixated on the view beyond the glass walls of his home office. The Mayor is a tall man with a lean stature that belies his six-four years of age. Some would say he’s handsome, with his deep brown hair and kind blue eyes, features that have served him well over the years. He looks nothing like the sort of person that’d kill a man to attain a position – but that’s exactly who he is; a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Mayor Craig turns around to face me with his signature charming grin, the same one he plasters on in front of cameras and when he’s addressing the people of New Orleans.

“You’re welcome,” Mayor Craig says, walking away from the window to stand by his desk. He gestures to the sitting area with large leather couches. “Please, have your seat. Would you like anything? Coffee? Whisky?”

“I’m good,” I reply curtly. “I don’t intend to stay for long.”