“But there’s more, I daresay?” he asked and stood up.
“Rand.” I took a deep breath. “You and I were very much in love and we … we …” Ah, spit it out, Jolie! “We had sex!”
Rand took a step back as if I’d just punched him. His expression was unreadable.
“We had sex?” he repeated.
I just nodded, not sure what else I could say.
Rand took a deep breath and faced me with furrowed brows. “And let me guess, we bonded?”
Hearing the words come from his mouth caused a flurry in my stomach. There was nothing in his eyes or demeanor that said he was angry, but there also wasn’t anything that said he was happy.
“Yes, Rand, it was me. It’s been me all along. I was your bond mate.” The words just sort of fell out of my mouth. My heart was hammering so hard, it echoed in my head until I couldn’t hear anything beyond the pounding in my ears.
He glanced at me again with an expression of someone who’d been deceived, as if I’d just told him I wasn’t who he thought I was, that all along I’d been his enemy. And the pounding in my ears was now deafening. A feeling of nausea had also taken residency in my gut.
“Rand.” I took a step forward.
“No,” he said as he held his hand up. “I … I need to wrap my head around this, Jolie.”
“Talk to me, please,” I begged.
He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair as he did whenever he was upset. “Why can’t I remember any of this?”
“Because Mathilda erased everything from your mind when I left.”
He frowned at me. “Why don’t I remember Mercedes?”
I gulped. I didn’t know what the answer was, but I could guess. “Mathilda probably had to erase anything from your mind that would in any way remind you of Mercedes or me. Maybe remembering Mercedes would remind you of me or would remind you that something was missing from your memory.”
He shook his head and started for the door. Then he paused and turned to face me. “I … need some time to think about this.”
“Rand, talk to me,” I begged, sobs choking my throat.
He shook his head. “Please, Jolie, just go.”
Tears burned my eyes but I did as he requested and started for the door. I paused at the threshold but, realizing there wasn’t anything more to say, left him to his solitude.
JOURNAL ENTRY
I’ve had a rough last couple of days, Diary, and it has everything to do with Rand’s reaction to our bonding news. And to make matters worse, I haven’t talked to him since that night. Sure, we’ve seen each other, but Rand is formal and stiff, and since Mercedes is always with us I can never get any alone time with him. But that’s only part of my rough last couple of days. The other part is the fact that I actually haven’t been able to reanimate anyone else since Klaasje. It’s almost like whatever ability I had is exhausted, gone. Mercedes and Rand have been patient with me but I can see the distress and worry in their eyes—which, really, is nothing next to my own sense of foreboding. What changed? What happened between the last time I was able to perform and now? The only thing I keep returning to is that strange dream-vision I had of the devastation at Lurker hands and that empty throne. What if something happened to me when I had that vision? What if somehow, that vision was more than just a vision and it emptied me of my abilities?
Mercedes didn’t seem to think that was the case but she also didn’t seem to have a plausible reason as to why I’ve failed in my abilities. She charmed me with a relaxation spell, something meant to release all my internal stress, but so far I don’t feel as if it’s done anything for me, really. I guess the true test will be when we attempt reanimations again, something that will happen in the near future. But for right now, I have some well-deserved time off.
Since my life completely sucks lately, I was actually pleased when Mercedes approached me this morning and told me we needed to start searching for my permanent home. Although I hadn’t previously embraced the idea of moving away from Pelham Manor, given recent events I think it’s the best freaking idea I’ve heard in a long time.
What it comes down to is that I need to stand on my own two feet—I need to step out from underneath Rand’s shadow and be the independent woman I know I am and the sovereign woman I have to be as Queen. I have to follow Mercedes’ example and set my own personal heartache aside in order to focus on uniting our species and building a kingdom. I have a destiny, a fate, and that is what will see me through this pain and misery. What I feel in the bottom of my heart is that Rand and I won’t be able to fix things … or maybe that’s just me feeling sorry for myself, I don’t know. I just can’t help but wonder if maybe I was wrong all along and we aren’t meant to be together. Maybe the path I am meant to walk will take me in a completely different direction, a direction away from Rand … It’s a thought that feels like acid eating me from the inside out.
Paths and destinies aside, I do think it will do me a world of good to put some distance between Rand and myself, especially if he decides he can never forgive me. He can go back to his reclusive ways and play the part of renegade and remove himself from the monarchy and I won’t have to suffer through it, living only two miles from him. Now I’ll have my own space and I’ll be able to start a new life for myself.
So, Diary, with those feelings inside me, Christa, Mercedes, Odran (whom Mercedes asked to accompany us in order to provide protection—against the Lurkers, I’d imagine), and I spent the better part of the day looking at homes. Well, really, “homes” doesn’t do them justice. They were more like manor houses, castles, and mansions befitting a Queen of the Underworld. I did insist that our search should include only southern Scotland and northern England, mainly because I like this area and it feels like home. And, yes, there is still a part of me that somehow wants to be close to Rand, and the idea of living hours away from him just hurts me too much. Even if we never speak to each other again, just knowing he’s somewhere nearby is enough to help see me through the long days and even longer nights.
Mercedes seemed to glom onto the idea of Scotland for my Queenly headquarters because she thought living in Scotland would be a nice way to appeal to the fairies (since Odran, the King of the fae, is Scottish). And incidentally, the fae just happen to be a huge subset of my kingdom. And of course Odran was in complete agreement. It’s also interesting to note that the fae had single-handedly provided the income required for my Queenly headquarters, the fae being the wealthiest of all creatures. Now that I think about it, I guess it made sense that Odran was in attendance while I searched for a home—seeing as how he was basically acting as my benefactor. At first I felt weird about it, like I shouldn’t accept such a large gift, but Mercedes informed me that my comfort—and more to the point my expenses—would be the responsibility of my subjects; each faction of Underworld creatures would be responsible for gifting me my various necessities. So I’ve accepted this reality because, really, I have no other choice. When in Rome, I guess. After searching for hours as far south as the Lake District in England and as far North as St. Abbs, Scotland, we eventually found the most incredibly beautiful manor home in Eyemouth in the Scottish Borders. Eyemouth is only a forty-five-minute drive from Pelham Manor so I didn’t feel as if it was too far out of my comfort zone. The town itself is a traditional fishing village, fairly small with very narrow streets. What struck me the most about Eyemouth, though, and what made it stand out among all the other towns we visited was the coast. The Eyemouth coastline is stunning, with high cliffs overlooking clear water and sandy coves. Everything about the village is picturesque, with buildings and harbors that just beg to be memorialized on canvas. According to our real estate agent (who couldn’t stop staring at Odran—and of course the King ate it up, prancing around like a peacock), the Eyemouth coast also offers “excellent opportunities for bird-watching” and although I’ve never really been into birds, I could see myself investing in a pair of binoculars.
Given my love
for the town and the rocky coastline, imagine my excitement to find that the manor house we toured was just as magnificent. The house is called Kinloch Kirk and it’s a decent trek from the town. It really is a study in privacy because there is not another soul around for miles, only thrushes, redwings, and blackbirds for neighbors. Kinloch Kirk is perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. On either side the Scottish moors seem to go on for miles, the green of the grass only interrupted by lavender splashes of wild heather. I was just waiting for Heathcliff to make an appearance.
The entryway to the house is—in one word—spectacular. It has a cobbled drive maybe one hundred feet long, and on either side of the drive are towering pine trees bordered by endless miles of uncropped pasture. The entryway boasts double doors with a great flight of stairs leading up to them. The stairs are framed by two stone statues, one of a lion and the other of a unicorn, symbols of the United Kingdom. I have to wonder what the original owner of this magnificent house would think of a Yank living within its walls!
And the house, itself … sigh. It was first built in the early sixteen hundreds and has, through the years, been remodeled and renovated until it’s now a sprawling estate. It’s three stories high and I lost count of the bedrooms and bathrooms. It would basically give Pelham Manor a run for its money and that’s really saying something.
The outside of Kinloch Kirk is white stucco, but covered in beautiful green vines that look as if they’ve been there for hundreds of years (the entire house is nearly covered). Inside, you’re immediately awed by the incredibly high ceilings (they must be forty feet tall in the entryway) and the great expanse of distressed-maple floors. The only interruption in the wood flooring is the kitchen and bathrooms, which are tiled in something that looks like travertine. The walls throughout Kinloch Kirk are a creamy white, all with crown molding. A tall, elegant chandelier greets guests as they enter the foyer, and opposite the room is a picture window revealing the craggy coastline of Eyemouth.
The floor-to-ceiling windows in most of the rooms give the house a great open, expansive feel. The sunlight brightens the entire space, making it seem like there’s no roof to keep the sunshine out. And every room has magnificent views of either the rugged cliffs and the ocean beyond or the haunted Scottish moors.
Kinloch Kirk was so unbelievably picturesque; I could most definitely see myself living there. Christa was dumbstruck throughout our tour and barely said two words. She wore a perpetually open mouth in response to every room and its associated view. Mercedes never stopped smiling and nodded every time we ventured into a new room, remarking on how much she loved the house. At the end of the tour, she was basically beaming when I said Kinloch Kirk was my favorite of all the properties we’d viewed. I thought she might break into song and dance right there in the driveway.
After affirming my intentions to move forward with the property, Mercedes was quick to get the agent to call in with our offer. While the agent was busy with the task of submitting Mercedes’ offer and Christa was busy with Odran, asking him about birds or something, I found the perfect opportunity to grill Mercedes.
I told her about the old woman I’d tried to reanimate under Bella’s direction who had said I wasn’t a witch, but she had no clue what I was. Mercedes was quiet as I recounted my story and then she merely nodded in that mysterious way of hers and said the old woman had been correct—I’m not a witch. But Mercedes wouldn’t tell me exactly what I am—she only admitted that I’m capable of incredible things. She was also adamant about telling me it would take time to employ all of my powers and fully understand the extent of my own abilities.
What I’ve realized is, Mercedes is like watching Wheel of Fortune. She’s willing to give me some consonants in order to figure out the damn phrase but I’ve got to pay up for the vowels. I think she delights in giving me only half of the puzzle pieces in an effort to force me to figure out the rest for myself. I know it’s probably for my own good and all that crap about teaching me to fish versus giving me a fish and blah blah blah … But sometimes I just wish someone else would finish the puzzle and show me it’s really a great image of the Eiffel Tower, or whatever.
The more I think about it, the more I have to wonder if Mercedes even knows what I am. Maybe she’s just as clueless as me. Well, even though I’m not any closer to knowing exactly what I am, I’m glad I might be something more than a witch. It feels pretty cool to know you’re a powerful person, capable of great things, even if I’m currently an Underworld orphan with no clear understanding of my lineage. Now if I could just get Rand to forgive me—scratch that, talk to me—things might start looking up.
Three days later we purchased Kinloch Kirk. Well, Mercedes did. She also hired a multitude of construction workers to fix anything that was “subpar” (her word); we made plans to take possession of Kinloch in one week’s time. That was fine by me, because I couldn’t get out of my butler’s quarters at Pelham Manor fast enough. Rand still refused to talk to or even look at me.
Over the last three days, we’d attempted to reanimate more creatures but as with my last attempt, nothing. Mercedes still didn’t seem entirely concerned; or if she was, she did a good job of hiding it, instead telling me to sip some potion she concocted and to basically meditate and focus on “unblocking my negative pathways,” which she imagined were inhibiting my abilities.
Maybe in an attempt to pull attention away from the fact that I was beginning to freak out over my inability to reanimate anyone, Mercedes scheduled a lesson for me. This one was on magic, and my teacher was Mathilda.
“Mercedes informed me that you are having difficulty resurrecting your gift, child?” Mathilda questioned in her clear voice.
I sighed deeply. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
She nodded and took my hand, leading me across the manicured rose gardens of Pelham Manor.
“You have much going on, Jolie,” she said softly. “Mercedes sent me to help you through it, to coax your magic.”
I smiled and accepted her outstretched hands. She closed her eyes and her lips twitched; I imagined she was chanting something to herself. When she opened her eyes, gold flecks appeared for a mere instant then melted back into hazel.
“You are troubled, I can feel it in you,” she whispered. “Tell me why.”
“Rand.” It was the first thought that came into my head. “He knows I was his bond mate.”
Mathilda smiled, and it suddenly occurred to me that maybe this was news to her as well. I never had gotten the whole story when it came to whether or not Mathilda remembered me from 1878.
“Did you know I was his bond mate?” I asked.
She shook her head and smiled knowingly. “No, though I did suspect.”
“But you were the one to erase his memory of me?”
Mathilda nodded slowly, as if this were a long and complicated subject that required just the right words. “I knew only that I had to help Rand through the loss of his beloved. I did not know why, or who she was. Mercedes must have imprinted those instructions upon me, and in the process I believe I erased not only Rand’s memories but mine as well.”
I nodded, thinking her response made sense. Mercedes was a secretive person, and it seemed she did everything according to some grand plan that existed in her head. I guessed this was no different.
“And Rand’s reaction to your news?” Mathilda asked.
“He didn’t take it well.”
Mathilda tightened her hold on my hands. “You must understand, child, how difficult it was for him upon your departure. He wanted nothing more than to remember you, to preserve the memories of your time together, but little by little those memories began to eat away at his sanity. Before long he was ill, deathly so. Even though I did not have the wherewithal to understand his pain, nor for whom he lamented, I did what I was instructed to do and nursed him through the darkness, brought him to the light again. He nearly died in the process.”
I felt something burst inside me and felt like I
wanted to cry. I’d never heard Mathilda’s side of the story before; listening to it now left me empty.
Mathilda closed her eyes again and her lips started quivering. “I can feel a block within you,” she whispered.
“A block?”
She nodded, then clenched her eyes shut even more tightly as she continued moving her lips in time with her thoughts. When she opened her eyes, they were narrowed, angry. “Someone has shielded you.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Through magic, someone has blocked your ability, put a stopper on your magical flow.”
“But—” I started, my thought disappearing into the air.
“Has anything out of the ordinary happened to you recently? Perhaps a stranger you came across, a dream you had?”
I felt my heart rate increase. “That vision,” I said and glanced down at her with wide eyes. “I had that bizarre vision about the Lurkers, remember?”
Mathilda merely nodded. “You believe the Lurkers possess magic …”
“I’m convinced of it.”
“Perhaps you are correct, child. Perhaps it was their magic that dampened your abilities.”
“So how do I get my powers back? How do we reverse the shield?”
Mathilda smiled and stroked the surface of my hand gently. “Close your eyes and focus with me, Jolie. I cannot do this alone; you must force your magic to the forefront, allow it to overcome the block.”
“What if I can’t, what if it doesn’t work? What if I have no power or magic left?” My tone increased in urgency as terror began to spiral through me.
“Jolie, calm down,” Mathilda said forcefully, her lips tight. “It is merely a block, that is all.”
I nodded and closed my eyes, willing my fears to retreat. “What do I do?”
“Summon your power, allow your magic to flow like a river throughout your body, replenishing you, flowing freely through you.”
Witchful Thinking: A Jolie Wilkins Novel Page 16
