“Not my fault you put yourself there,” Izzy said, holding up both hands. “Like I said, that seems to be the only language you and Elaine speak.” She paused to consider something. “To be honest, I’m pretty sure every one of the witches I’ve met has been more dramatic than my human friends. What, does having a long life do that to you?”
“To be fair,” I said, “we take a long time to go through puberty. A lot of those changes are still physical, you know.”
“So you’re still a kid, in a way,” Izzy said.
“In a manner of speaking,” I said. “But only physically.”
“Yeah, I got that part.” Izzy let out a long breath. “But at the risk of totally shooting myself in the foot with Aaron—doesn’t that mean you’re on the same playing field as him? Life experience aside, part of puberty is, well, actual brain chemistry.” She smirked. “I mean, like you said, that explains why you’re all so dramatic. You spend how many decades in the brain of a teenager?”
“I . . .” I shook my head. “I’m not really sure that’s how that works.”
“Hey, Theresa had a human husband, and you know that meant she was a lot older than him,” Izzy pointed out. “I’m just saying: I think you might be looking at the weird age thing too simplistically.”
“I can’t believe you’re the one making this argument,” I said.
“I know; I can’t believe it either.” Izzy shrugged. “But I don’t want to feel like I was anyone’s second choice. So you figure out whatever it is you need to figure out and get back to both of us on it, because I don’t think Aaron’s going to get past it if he thinks you talked yourself out of it.”
“Izzy. . . .”
She held up a hand. “Hey, don’t get me wrong. I’m still going to flirt his socks off. I’m not giving up on him. But I think it would be easier for all three of us if you figured out what you want and then actually communicate that.”
I bit my lip. I knew she was right, and I knew I wasn’t being fair to either of them to have left things the way I had after Iceland. “I’m sorry I haven’t been communicating better. I was caught in my own head.”
“I know,” Izzy said. “And like I said, it annoys me that I can’t even get mad at you, because I can’t really blame you. You’ve got a good reason to be.” She shrugged lightly. “Anyway, this wasn’t exactly what I came in here to talk to you about.”
Before Izzy could get up to leave, I grabbed her and snatched her into a tight hug. “I love you—you know that? You’re such an amazing friend,” I told her.
Izzy had been startled by the attack hug, but she relaxed a little and then returned the hug. “Just trying to live up to you.”
“That’s ridiculous. You’re the one who actually knows what she’s doing. I’m a hot mess,” I laughed. For some reason, I had started to cry in the middle of the hug—I had no idea why. Thankfully, Izzy didn’t say anything about it.
“I think if you talk to any of us here, you’ll find out we’re all pretty much winging it,” Izzy pointed out. “Sorry to tell you: you’re not special.”
“Believe it or not, that’s actually really comforting,” I said.
Izzy smiled and then finally got to her feet. “Hey, that’s what I’m here for, apparently. Midnight hugs and reality checks.” She headed toward the door and then paused. “For the record? If you ever wake up sobbing like that again, I’m across the hall. You don’t have to deal with it by yourself.”
I smiled. “Love you too, Izzy.”
She shook her head and waved her hand over her shoulder. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get mushy on me,” she said, though I could see her smiling even as she shut the door.
Chapter 9: You’re All Such Children
Now that I had the option of peeking into the past with Tara, my sessions with Theresa were a lot more bearable—not just for me but for everyone around me. Tara always made it a point to find small memories—but good ones—so that I could simply soak in the family I used to have after a long session with Theresa.
That was how I spent several long days in the village: I would wake up and get to work with Theresa, clawing at the block in my mind with memories of flitting around a shipyard, going surfing with my most recent family members, that kind of thing. And then I’d go to Tara, who would show me memories of my mother—little memories, like the two of us sitting by a fire as she braided my hair or soaking in the sunshine as she taught me how to nurture seeds to grow food.
After a few days of that back and forth, Theresa turned her attention from the ocean toward other aspects of the monolith. We’d been making serious progress, and the monolith was clearly weakened—but she wanted to try another angle.
Which was almost a shame. I had very nearly stopped panicking every time I found myself in the water in my memories, and I almost wanted to see what enjoying the water felt like.
Not that Theresa had picked anything better to dive into. We had been looking at memories of the ship I smuggled myself into along with my great-grand-niece and her family so we could go to America and try to find a better life—and then Theresa had seen something in the resultant falling pebbles that made her change course.
I stood in front of the grave, feeling numb. I had already seen so many members of my family through too-short lives, but this was worse, somehow.
Thomas had been named for his ancestor, but he was far more like my mother than he was like my half-brother. His heart was too big, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from stepping in to fight for anyone he thought needed protecting.
That was how he had gotten himself killed.
I could feel my shoulders shaking before the sound of the first sob even reached my ears. I hadn’t realized until then that I had been crying. Not that anyone would notice. So many people had lost family and friends in the war. The revolution.
Thomas had lied about his age. He shouldn’t have even been there. But he really believed that he was fighting for freedom from tyranny, and how could I stop him?
The news had killed his mother, too. I had watched the only family I had left in the New World crumble as she opened the letter, read the contents, and simply . . . stopped. I tried to get her to eat, to take care of herself, but she had wasted away right in front of me.
I couldn’t find any way to stop it.
I hadn’t felt so alone since my mother and her husband had died. I knew I still had some family in Europe, but it had been two generations since I had even been on the continent. I didn’t know if anyone there would take me in—the family secret, the family curse.
Maybe it would be better if I lived on my own instead. Maybe it would be better if I didn’t have to watch everyone I loved die after a few too-short decades. Maybe it would be better if they could live their own lives, and I would live mine—away from any more heartbreak.
Yes, that was the way to go.
I crouched down in front of the grave marker and pressed my hand into the earth until flowers bloomed around it. “Goodbye, Thomas.”
As soon as the memory was over, I expected to return to Theresa and Lila, but everything seemed hazy, as if I had stepped right into television fuzz. I heard in my mind a loud crack before it seemed like the monolith split right down the middle. Then, all of a sudden, the connections between what Tara and I had seen in the past and what Theresa and I had revealed out of the memory block flooded my mind. I was overwhelmed not just with the rush of memories but with the rush of what those memories meant.
Everything I had seen with the family I built for myself connected back to that moment. I had never shaken that desire, that need to be around people, to have a family, to be part of something bigger than myself. Even if I had meant to leave family behind and to be alone, I’d found others all the same. I became a new family’s curse when I found Jacob—but my new family saw me as a blessing, not a burden. And I tried to live up to that, even if I still felt like I’d ultimately put them in danger all the same.
My old family, my new family, a
nd my newest family—the one I’d formed while I was still memoryless. I knew I would do anything for them.
I knew, for example, that I wasn’t the first to try the kind of unorthodox magic that had given Izzy her life back. My father had called my mother a “powerful Halfsie,” and yet I had seen her wither away into nothing when sickness struck my village.
At the time, I saw her tending to the sick and thought she was only bolstering hope. Now, I understood that she might have bolstered them in other ways, giving them part of herself.
Mother had always been like that. She didn’t think of herself if she could alleviate someone else’s suffering. I had always wanted to be the angel she called me, the angel she was. That was why I couldn’t have turned my back on Jacob or any other members of my family—biological or otherwise. It simply wasn’t the way I was raised.
Now, I found myself surrounded by desperate rebels, and I’d still found a way to make them part of my heart instead of making myself part of their fight.
But that was who I was.
Who I had always been.
It was a strange thing, to suddenly find my identity all at once, to hold it in my hands as the monolith crumbled around me. Sure, I still needed to break up the remaining rocks and rubble until everything was sand, but my essence burned brighter when the monolith toppled. The purple color I associated with my soul got darker, more vibrant. Instead of a pale lilac, my soul had turned a deep almost-blue.
And all at once, my whole life overwhelmed me.
I could hear laughter and smell good food at a dinner table. I could feel little girls in my arms crying over their latest boy troubles and little boys crying over skinned knees. I had never been physically old enough to have children, but these kids? These beautiful people that had grown up under my watchful eye? They were mine. I helped to raise them.
By the time the monolith had fallen and the dust had settled, I could feel two different urges warring beneath my skin. On the one hand, I had become so close to Elaine and everyone else that I knew I couldn’t abandon them. I had pledged to help them, and I knew better than ever before that I was the kind of person who kept my word and protected my people.
But all those memories of the family I used to have left me with an honest ache as well. I wanted to go back to them so badly, to find my family and get lost in their warmth.
They’d be worried. They’d ask questions and comment on how much older I was now than I had been before going missing. And I suddenly missed that feeling of being worried over. Being wanted. Being loved.
Even at a few hundred years old, family still felt like home to me. And no matter how old I got, I would always want to come back to them. I knew that now.
But. . . .
As much as I hated it, I knew, logically, that if I went back to my family, my father would find me there. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had soldiers waiting for me to return. I didn’t know what their orders were, but based on what I had seen, I had no doubt that my father wouldn’t hesitate to threaten or hurt my family to get to me.
No, I would have to wait to see them until after I defeated my father and put Elaine on the throne.
And that, more than anything else, had me finally snapping out of the fog that had settled on my consciousness as who I was filled my mind.
I had a job to do, and I couldn’t do it lost in my own mind and memories.
When I looked up again, I saw Theresa and Lila watching me, their expressions wavering somewhere between triumph and concern, like they were both waiting to see what I would decide to do with myself now that I knew myself. I gave both of them a warm smile before I rushed over and grabbed them at the shoulders, pulling them together into the tightest hug I could manage.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
For a long moment, all three of us simply stood there in an embrace. I didn’t want to let go; I wanted them to know how much all that work had meant to me, even if I’d been grumpy and snippy about it.
Finally, Theresa was the one to break the hug (because, honestly, I think Lila needed it as much as I did, considering how little interaction she had with other people). She cleared her throat, the three of us broke apart, and then she rested her hand on my shoulder, giving me a penetrating look as she dipped her head to catch my gaze.
“How do you feel?” she asked.
“Impatient,” I admitted.
Theresa’s eyebrows shot up at that. “Of all the emotions to choose!”
I shook my head, holding up my hands in a gesture of peace. “I’m not throwing a jab at you or the process or anything like that,” I said. I gestured to the various rocks and rubble cluttering my mind. “I know there are pieces to pick up, but the pieces are small enough that I can’t be stuck in anything long-term. And now that I remember my family—” I shook my head. “That’s not right. ‘Remember’ doesn’t do it justice.”
Lila nodded softly. “Memories are made of more than facts and figures and names,” she put in helpfully. “They’re full of emotion as well. You feel the people you lost. It’s natural to mourn them now that you remember how much you miss them.”
“Mourning” hadn’t exactly been at the top of my list of words to use when Theresa asked how I felt, but as soon as Lila voiced it, I knew she had found the right word. “Impatience” spoke to how badly I wanted to see my family again, how much I wanted to get back to the fight so I could get back to my loved ones—and let them meet my newest friends, too. But “mourning” superseded “impatience” and gave it purpose and strength.
I nodded, my smile suddenly tighter as the wave of grief washed over me, like it had been waiting for an acknowledgement before it kicked in all the way. The grief hit me so hard that I actually took a step back to steady myself—even if we were in my mind and that obviously wasn’t necessary.
Theresa reached out at the same time Lila did, and I felt two steadying hands on my arms before I closed my eyes and nodded, shaking off the worst of the grief and forcing it aside to deal with after I had a less attentive audience who could see every piece of my grief laid bare.
Because I knew—I just knew—that if I tried to deal with that intensity now, I would wind up crying.
My father had taken so much from me, but I felt somehow worse now that I knew and felt the emptiness he forced upon me. I had been desperate for knowledge before, but now, I was bereaved and desperate for a reunion. And the more I allowed myself to feel that, the more I was convinced that knowing what I lost was harder than missing a vague memory of being loved.
“Do you need a minute before we return to the others?” Theresa offered. “I can tell them we’ve broken through so you don’t have to explain it to them.”
“Yes. Thank you,” I said in a voice surprisingly rough with emotion.
Theresa nodded, and I watched her walk out of my mind before I found a sand-made bench and sat down on it. Lila hovered nearby, obviously unsure whether she should go elsewhere in my mind or give me company.
“If you want me to leave. . . .”
“No,” I said, gesturing for her to take a seat. “It’s fine. I’m finding out I really don’t like being alone anyway.”
Lila smiled softly at that and sat down next to me, but I didn’t look her way. I closed my eyes and tipped my head back and let how much I missed my family wash over me like a tidal wave. The shifting sands of my memories and emotions passed before both of us, and I could see the faces of Angelica and her cousins and everyone I’d left behind. I could see my mother, my nieces and nephews, my great-grandnieces and nephews—all of them passed by in fleeting, sandy images.
I missed them. I missed them more than I could ever remember missing them.
I don’t know how long I stayed there, indulging myself in an exercise in grief, but I finally got to my feet and pulled Lila into a tight hug, thanking her once more for helping me before I returned to reality.
When I got back, my cheeks were wet, and I quickly wiped them, feeling red-faced an
d embarrassed—until I realized that Theresa had already anticipated that. The room was empty; she must have redirected everyone so I could come back to reality on my own time and without having to explain why I was so upset.
I went to the bathroom and ran some cold water to splash over my face. I had expected to go right back out there and tell my friends that I wanted to get to work, but when I caught sight of myself in the mirror, I paused.
For the first time, I could really see how much dealing with my father had aged me. I actually looked like a teenager now, and yet the last time I had seen my family, I’d looked maybe eleven or twelve years old at the most. I still didn’t remember all of my time with my father—and I didn’t think I wanted to remember it—but the simple fact that the face in the mirror suddenly felt foreign to me spoke to how much abuse I’d endured.
I frowned and absently reached out to rest my fingers against the glass of the mirror. My father had done everything he could to turn me into a different person. He’d aged me through puberty and made me afraid of the very thing I used to love. He’d isolated me from family and tried to distract me from any latent familial yearning with a forced romance with Aaron.
My father didn’t understand love. And I finally saw that it was because he didn’t understand souls.
Sure, he knew how to interfere. He knew how to disrupt my memories and how to break down huge pieces of what I’d built into my identity, but what he didn’t understand was that he could never change anyone. Not really. Souls were made of stronger stuff than that. He could manipulate and brainwash. He could force people to change their actions, their appearances, their beliefs, their minds—yes, he could do all of that.
But a soul? That could only be covered up or blocked off—never changed.
Even the worst my father had to offer hadn’t stopped me from reaching out to love people when I had nothing but my own name. Even that hadn’t stopped me from feeling for Elaine, Andrew, Christopher—
Christopher.
He hadn’t been very old physically the first time I met him. I had noticed the change in him when I saw that memory of him threatening Angelica and realized he had been so much older when I met him again in Iceland. But now, looking at my own reflection, knowing how much I had aged, I felt a sudden sense of urgency to get him out from underneath our father’s heel.
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