“I can’t believe I’m in a real band! Did you know my father—”
“. . . was a musician too,” he completed for me. “Yeah, I know.”
“Of course. I keep forgetting you know me already . . . sorry.” I glanced down, embarrassed. “I never talk about my father to anyone. It’s weird that you know . . .”
“Joey” – he reached out again and placed my hand gently in his – “you trusted me enough to tell me once. You can trust me again.”
“I do.” I held his hand tightly and smiled, silently telling him that I truly did, with all my heart.
The look he gave me was filled with an emotion so strong that his gray eyes glinted with a silver ring around the edges.
“I love to see you smile. You light up the room when you smile,” he said quietly, making me blush under the heat of his sterling gaze.
“But I have to say,” he continued, his tone lighter now, “my most favorite thing right now is to be able to make you blush again this easily. I’ve missed your blushes.”
The playful smirk on his lips was enough to make my cheeks flame fiercely red again. He laughed, satisfied and all pleased with himself, for having done it again.
Chapter Twenty
Just a Little Patience
“HERE’S YOUR BAG. If you need anything, dig in here.” Tristan hung a bag over the chair by the side of the bed. “You usually sleep in one of my old T-shirts, like this one.” He fumbled inside the bag and handed me a large worn blue T-shirt. “I’ll go finish up the dishes. Howl if you need anything.”
I snuck into the bathroom and paused in front of the mirror. There were small cuts on my face, but I couldn’t remember how they’d got there. And I still couldn’t get used to my short haircut. It looked so different and modern.
As I settled into bed and prepared to go to sleep, Tristan came into the room and made a beeline for the bathroom, not paying much attention to my startled face.
Was he planning on sleeping next to me? In the same room? In the same bed? We were married, after all, so sleeping together should be expected, but my frantic heart couldn’t get used to it.
I sat up in the bed, listening intently to his movements in the bathroom. When I heard him turn the tap off, I quickly sank back under the safety of the covers, like a jittery rabbit. As he came back into the bedroom, I noticed he’d changed into black sweatpants and nothing much else. I have to say, I wasn’t prepared for a half-naked and incredibly fit Tristan – I was gawking like a teenage girl at the sight. He should have warned me he was going to do that! When I managed to snap out of it, he was already sitting on the bed beside me, patting the pillow as if he were getting ready to climb in.
“We’re not going to sleep in the same bed, are we?” I squeaked, pulling the sheets up to my chin.
He stopped what he was doing and turned to face me, one eyebrow raised, half in amusement, half curiosity. “Well, yeah. There isn’t another bed in the cabin. You don’t expect me to sleep on the couch, do you?”
“Hmmm . . .” I stalled, trying to think of an excuse that would convince him to go to sleep on the uncomfortable couch. “You know . . . hard, flat cushions are very good for your spine. You’ll thank me in the morning.”
He stared at me for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh. “All right. I suppose it’s the courteous thing to do. I’ll take the couch,” he muttered, grabbing his pillow and walking into the living room.
“Thank you. Sorry. Thank you,” I squeaked, full of guilt for forcing him out of his own bed.
I woke up next morning to the sound of pans and cutlery clanging in the kitchen. Tristan was finishing cooking breakfast when I leaned sleepily over the counter top, trying to take a peek at the contents of his steaming pan. Whatever it was he was making, it smelled delicious.
“Morning, buttercup,” he greeted me, with a tired smile.
“Morning. You look tired. Was the couch that bad?” I asked, full of guilt again.
He hesitated. “It takes some time getting used to it,” he replied, in the politest way he could find. “How about you? Any new memory spark when you woke up?”
“Not when I woke up, but I had a dream last night about a cemetery . . .”
“Really? What cemetery?” he interrupted, his tone eager.
“I don’t know. It had graves and the usual cemetery stuff.” I gave him an odd look. I’d never seen someone so excited about a cemetery before. “In the dream, I was walking down the lanes and it was a sunny afternoon. It was so nice there, I felt so happy. And no matter where I walked, I kept stumbling upon this angel statue with a broken wing all the time.”
“It was the cemetery where we used to hang out in the first weeks we knew each other. The angel statue was next to my tomb. It was our meeting point,” he explained.
“Really? That’s so weird. Wasn’t I scared of you? It’s not every day you get to see and talk to a ghost . . .”
He gave me a cryptic smile. “You didn’t know I was a ghost at first. You thought I was a regular kid. Well, not so much regular but more like a kind of weird kid. I’m thankful that you’re not a judgmental person, or you wouldn’t have come to see me again. I was so happy when you came back, you had no idea.”
“How did you stop, you know, being a ghost?” I’d been meaning to ask him this since last night. I remembered Arice saying something about how I kept bringing ghosts back to life. “It was something I did, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was. I was your first bump into magic.”
“First? You mean there were other bumps?”
“Let’s just say it has been a bumpy road,” he said, with a chuckle. “But this was another memory, Joey. They are coming back to you in your dreams. That’s good.”
“Well, I don’t know about good. The dream ended pretty badly. While I was walking, the afternoon all of a sudden turned into night and snow started to fall. At the beginning, it was gentle, but then it turned into a scary blizzard and then snow started piling up, covering me until I was buried and I couldn’t breathe and felt so cold. I woke up shaking and gasping for air. Weird, right?”
“Well, no actually. Something like that happened to you. The dream showed it in a weird way, but it does reveal a memory. You fell asleep one night in the cemetery during winter, and it was snowing pretty badly. Josh rescued you before you froze to death.”
“Oh. That’s horrible. Why I would sleep in a cemetery? Was I crazy?”
“You were waiting for me. I couldn’t come see you that night. I tried to, but I couldn’t.” He sounded so sad that I decided to change the subject.
“Okay. So, hmm, what are our plans for today?”
“Well, we should keep trying to jog your memories. There’s still a lot for you to catch up on,” he said. “But first, let’s eat. There’s nothing like a good breakfast to start the day.”
We spent the rest of the day in the boys’ cabin, talking and trying to make me remember things, but this time, no matter how hard they all tried, nothing seemed to work. My mind had ground to a stagnant halt, and nothing they did, no songs or old tales they shared, were getting any spark of recognition from me.
As the day ended, I could see the worry in the boys’ faces. They didn’t know why I had stopped remembering things, and they were worried. But it was only after I woke up the next morning, with not even memory dreams to relay, that Tristan decided to call Celeste in for a meeting.
They talked in hushed voices for a while, until they finally reached a decision.
“Fine. We’ll try to contact him, then,” Tristan conceded, although somewhat reluctantly. “He might know a way to help.”
“I’ll get the ingredients for the incantation ready, then. Meet me in my room by the end of afternoon—”
“You need all that time to get things ready?” Tristan complained impatiently.
“Miss Violet is a much better witch than I am, and if I’m not mistaken, she took even longer than this, Halloway. ‘Patience is bitter, but i
ts fruit is sweet.’”
“All right. I’m sorry for trying to rush you. I’ll see you later, then, Celeste.”
“Who are we contacting?” I asked, after Celeste had left.
“An old friend. You usually have a faster way to call him, but I think you won’t be able to, since you don’t remember how to do it.”
“Don’t tell me, it’s a magic way to call this person, isn’t it?” I grumbled, frustrated. Everything in my life revolved around magic, even calling a friend.
“Yes. The mark on your wrist connects you to him. You use it to call him when you need him.”
I glanced at my arm. A tattoo-like pattern with black lines spread over my wrist like a circulatory system map. “Oh, I thought this was just a tattoo I’d had done. Always wanted one, but my mom was dead against it. I figured I must have had the guts to do one after I left home.”
“It’s not a tattoo. It’s a counter effect of a spell you did once.”
I rubbed the mark. “Really? How do I make it work?”
“You concentrate on the mark and call him. I think.”
“It’s not working, though.”
“You don’t remember him. I think that’s why. You don’t know whom to call. That’s why we need Celeste to invoke a spell to bring him to us. We did this once, a long time ago.”
“And this person can help bring my memories back, is that it?”
“We will ask and see if he can. He’ll do anything to help you, I know that much.”
“All right, then. Let’s do this.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Old Friend Return
TRISTAN AND I had been waiting for Celeste to get everything in position to cast her spell for about half an hour. The afternoon was almost at an end as she walked around her room, positioning odd-looking objects on the floor and muttering to herself while she rehearsed all the steps for the incantation, over and over, in a low mumble.
“All right, I think I have everything in order. I think we can start now,” she finally said, after lighting a circle of weird candles around the room. The smell of incense was suffocating, but Tristan wasn’t complaining so I kept my mouth shut.
Celeste looked up and, at Tristan’s affirmative signal, she started pouring a bag of white sand in a small circle at the center of the room.
A few moments passed and nothing happened. I was about to start complaining that this whole mise-en-scène she was creating was silly, when a strange guy appeared out of thin air inside the circle of sand. I gasped loudly, but when I looked around, Tristan and Celeste were acting as if it was the most normal thing in the world.
The man had a beautiful, ethereal face and the most haunting black eyes I’d ever seen. My wrist started to throb as though sharp, hot needles were stabbing into my flesh. I let out a groan of distress, because the pain was steadily increasing, and that made the strange man glance up. His dark eyes were focused intensely on me, like they were piercing into my soul.
He took a step forward but halted midway, as if something was physically preventing him from continuing, and he frowned, glancing down at the floor to look for the reason he was being held back.
“Oh, dear God, my apologies!” Celeste hurried to him in a fluster. “I forgot to break the line for the concealment spell. I didn’t mean to lock you up in there. I’m so very sorry!” She stomped her feet quickly over the white line, seeming mortified at her embarrassing faux pas.
“I can’t believe this. It worked!” I exclaimed to Tristan, who had been standing calmly beside me. “Did you see how he showed up like an apparition? Is he a ghost, too?” My eyes were as wide as saucers.
Tristan turned to me, the corner of his lips twitching upwards in amusement. “I forgot you’re scared of ghosts. He’s not an apparition, though, so calm down. He’s here to help.”
“Is he an alien, then?” I gasped in realization. “Aliens can teletransport like that! I’ve seen it in movies!”
“I guess that’s one way of seeing it. He’s definitely not from this world, so . . .”
The guy began walking our way, after exchanging a few hushed words with Celeste. He stopped in front of us and greeted Tristan in a polite manner before he turned to me, searching intently for something.
“Hello, Joey. I was told you are momentarily devoid of the faculty to retrieve information right now. Is that correct?”
What was up with this guy, and why did he speak so weirdly?
“Y-yeah, they are telling me I have amnesia.”
“In that case, let me introduce myself, since you probably have no recollection of meeting me before. I am a former Gray Hood Bearer. But you can call me Vigil. That is my human name now.” And he extended his hand for me to shake.
I hesitated for a second, but then reached out and took his hand. The stabbing pain stopped immediately, and I sighed in relief. I made a motion to end the handshake, but he held on to my hand.
“It is better if we keep it this way,” he explained. “It will prevent you from hurting. While there is contact between us, you will feel no pain.”
“What? Really? Why?” I asked, puzzled.
“Vigil, do you think you can help get her memories back?” Celeste interrupted, glancing at our holding hands with a slight frown.
“Let me see what I can do.” He closed his eyes in concentration.
I felt a light tug inside my skull and my recurrent headache paid yet another unpleasant visit. “Ugh! God, can you guys please stop giving me headaches?” I protested, letting go of his hand to rub my temples. My wrist began to hurt on cue, and I grunted in double protest. “First it was Celeste, now it’s him. Stop doing whatever it is you guys are doing to me. I beg of you!”
“I am sorry. It was not my intention to cause you more pain, Joey,” he apologized wholeheartedly, and I suddenly felt bad for snapping at him. He looked genuinely worried. “Sit down, please. Let me try to make amends.”
I slumped down on the couch and he sat next to me, once more taking my hand in his. My wrist stopped hurting again, and he pressed a thumb over my forehead, making my headache subside until there wasn’t any pain left.
“Do you feel better?” he asked.
“Yeah. Thanks. I’m sorry for snapping at you. These headaches make me a bit grumpy,” I apologized.
“I understand. I experienced this illness when we switched our powers. It was very aggravating.”
“Why do you think she’s having these headaches, Vigil?” Celeste asked, coming to stand next to us, in front of the couch. “The same thing happened when I tried to prod inside her head.”
“It seems like it is some sort of defense mechanism. Her mind is trying to protect itself, I think. But she is doing this without proper training, and the headache is the result of this unprepared effort.”
“Do you think you can retrieve at least some of her memories? Maybe the one before she blacked out?” Celeste asked. “It would help us figure out what happened.”
“I am afraid I may not be of assistance to you. Her psyche is blocking any outside intrusion,” he continued. After a pause, he proposed: “I can try to make a more assertive advance, if you wish, and try to unlock her memories by force. But I am not completely sure if this will be a good course of action. It could trigger an even stronger reaction from her, and deteriorate her memory even further. Or cause her more pain. Or both.”
“Oh, goodie,” I grumbled under my breath.
“What do you think we should do, then?” Tristan asked.
“My advice is that you leave her be. The human mind usually heals quickly, and I think she will soon start to remember things on her own. It is better not to rush her recovery.”
“That’s what I told them,” Celeste said.
“You are a very wise woman, Celeste,” he agreed with a soft smile.
She blushed faintly.
“Vigil, we think Joey’s amnesia could be linked to some mysterious attacks going on around here,” Tristan said, interrupting the moment. �
�Maybe it could be magic related. I thought perhaps you could try to scan the place for any paranormal activity? Maybe you can catch whoever is doing this.”
“Very well. Let me see . . .” He closed his eyes and concentrated again. “There are magical ripples signaling all over this place. It is everywhere.”
“Oh, we are having a witch Gathering here,” Celeste explained. “You must be picking up on them.”
“Yes, that explains all the signals I am catching. The heavier concentration is in this room, though.” He opened his eyes and they flashed briefly with a soft white glow. “Must be because of you, Celeste. You are a powerful sorcerer. And, of course, there is always Joey with her powers, and Tristan with his.”
“Tristan has powers, too?” I asked, surprised. He’d forgotten to mention that tidbit of information to me. He was full of surprises.
“Yes, of course. There is also his paranormal background. He is a strong magical broadcaster.” Vigil regarded me in silence for a moment, before turning to Tristan. “Does she really not remember you? After everything . . .”
I sensed Tristan tensing up beside me, and his arm wrapped around my shoulder, pulling me closer to him. “No. But she will. I’m sure of that. Our connection is still strong, even though she has no memory of it.”
“Yes, of course,” Vigil said in a cryptic tone.
It looked like there was some sort of unresolved feud going on between them, as they stared at each other, exchanging silent messages. Then a fleeting image of Vigil staring unblinkingly at Tristan flashed into my head: Black fathomless cold eyes stared deep into piercing bright gray ones. They both looked so angry, and then Tristan’s voice echoed in my memory: ‘It. Is. Never. Going. To. Happen.’ He said it slowly, deliberately and with the most absolute certainty.
“You do not need to worry.” Vigil’s voice made me snap back to the present.
“I’m not worried.” Tristan’s tone was slightly clipped now.
“You know my main concern here is her wellbeing, Tristan. It has always been so.”
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