Forget You Not: (A Havenwood Falls Novella)

by Kristie Cook

  “It could make you more comfortable.”

  “I don’t . . . have time . . . to be comfortable.” She paused again to catch her breath, and I noticed little beads of sweat on her forehead. “You have a home here. You . . . always . . . have a home.”

  I gave her a small smile. “Please don’t waste another ounce of energy worrying about me. I’ll find another job. Another place to live.”

  “I always worry about you. You’ve always had a . . . special place.” I thought she was losing her bearings again, but then she became completely lucid as her gray eyes hardened. “I mean it, Mehayla. This place . . . is yours. Take care . . . of it.” Her voice faded, and her eyes began to drift closed, but she jerked herself out of it to pierce me with another hard look. “Take care of them. They don’t know it, but they need you. And you need . . . them.” Her gaze slid toward the door, as though she thought they might be standing there. Her voice came out softer when she spoke again. “You be careful . . . with those . . . Rocas. I know your heart . . . I know what it wants . . . but be wary, dear. They’ve gone . . . far . . . this time. But you . . . you are strong . . . you can change . . . everything.”

  I studied her face, trying to decipher anything of what she’d just said as her eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way. With her small hand still held between mine, I watched and waited for her to wake up again. A definitive peace spread over her face, slackening it, causing her mouth to curve into what appeared to be a secretive smile.

  With soft steps, Addie came in and stood over us. She placed her palm against Madame Luiza’s cheek and closed her eyes. When she reopened them a few moments later, they glistened. She bent over and kissed the old lady’s forehead.

  “Good night, Mammie,” she whispered. “See you on the other side.”

  Addie must have heard the little gasp in my throat. She turned to me with a sad smile and gave my shoulder a squeeze. “It’ll be soon, I’m sure. She’s been hanging on for a long time, but now that you’re here, she can go with peace. I need to go inform the Court. And don’t worry. She’s right. You always have a home here.”

  I returned her sad smile and nodded, then she left. Left me alone with a dying woman I barely knew and none of her own family around. Left me in an inn with nobody else to take care of it.

  Left me to pick up the pieces, but to what I didn’t know.

  Madame Luiza never awoke. She drifted away peacefully the next night. I’d stayed by her side almost the entire time except to tend to guests—it turned out we did have a few—and to shower. When I’d returned from cleaning myself up, I could tell visitors had been in to see her. I’d only “met” Aurelia in passing that once, but I recognized her scent. Addie came and sat with us and was there when the old lady passed. I sensed Xandru nearby, too, lurking in the shadows. Others weren’t far, but for some reason never came in.

  Not until she was gone and Addie informed the Court.

  Then suddenly people seemed to flood through the doors. Not knowing any of them and not wanting to deal with the awkwardness of being a stranger in such a personal situation, I slipped out to my cottage. I thought I heard my name whispered as I left, but figured they’d come get me if they needed my help. Nobody did for two days, and at first, I’d planned to stay holed up in my cottage until the commotion died down and I could slip away for good. But then I remembered the gift Addie had given me—the one Madame Luiza had insisted I receive right away—and I spent as much time outdoors during the day as I could.

  I thought I’d explore the entire town, but simply standing at the inn’s corner, the town square a diamond at this angle, sent tingles down my spine every time I saw something that felt familiar—which was pretty much everywhere I looked. Stores, restaurants, and bars lined three sides of the square, streets with parking separating them from the park setting at the center of town. A gazebo stood in the square’s corner nearest to me, large and wooden with a round roof, nothing like the Bird Cage gazebo in Atlanta, but nonetheless I felt emotionally tied to it. A large, brick building lined the north side of the square, across from me, its clock tower pointing to the blue sky. It was clearly City Hall, but from here, tall pine trees blocked both buildings flanking it, yet I knew they were the Chamber of Commerce and the police station. But how do I know?

  Forcing myself to keep going, I’d barely made it down one side of the square when the feelings became too much. The eerie sensations. The visions that popped in my head when I saw the Coffee Haven sign and the Shelf Indulgence storefront with a scene from The Secret Garden artfully displayed in the window. The ache of nostalgia in my heart when I stopped across from the middle of the square, staring down its bench-lined walkway to the fountain in the center. I somehow knew its sparkling interior came from real gold flakes in the paint, and I knew just as well that something significant had happened there. But what? And then there were the stares of people, strangers, as I passed by. Being out here no longer felt like freedom as the world seemed to be closing in on me.

  I turned on my heel and hurried back toward the inn and the warmth and refuge of my cottage.

  The next day I went east instead of west, away from the square, and found a large park in the corner of town, at the base of two mountains. It brought images of warmer days with music fests and movies in the park. At the far end was a trailhead that I followed a little ways up the mountain. But even in the middle of nature, with white aspen trunks and pine trees surrounding me and when I stood on the bank of the partially frozen river, I couldn’t rid my mind of the visions. Couldn’t dismiss the odd feeling that they weren’t fiction created by imagination, but memories I hadn’t known I’d possessed.

  “This place is seriously fucking with me,” I muttered to myself when I walked back into my cottage. “I should probably get out of here before I lose my insanity.”

  I restarted my fire and was warming my backside when there was a knock on my door. I found Addie on the other side.

  “I don’t know if you want to go or not, but the funeral is tomorrow,” she said. “They’re trying to beat this storm that’s coming. I think she would have wanted you to be there.”

  Not until my feet carried me across town did I know if I was going or not. I followed a procession through a pretty cemetery to the back, then up a hill and through a stone-pillared passageway into another, separate and secluded area that appeared to be much older than the main section. We stopped in front of a stone building, where a man in a black suit placed an urn on a podium. I felt the bristle of Aurelia and the boy by her side who I assumed was Gabe, so I stayed back, huddled next to a large tree with my hat pulled tightly down over my ears. I could feel the colder air and smell the approaching storm Addie had mentioned. When the crowd cleared, I said my goodbyes silently as the funeral director took the urn inside what I presumed to be a columbarium.

  As I walked back to the inn only a few blocks away, I solidified my plans to figure out what needed to be done before I could pack up and return to Atlanta. I hoped Sindi wouldn’t mind. I hadn’t even been able to talk to her yet, once unable to find a good signal and the next time connecting to her voicemail. No internet at my cottage meant no email. I’d sent her a couple of texts, but she hadn’t replied. Maybe she’d gone on with life, already forgetting about me. Maybe I wouldn’t return to Atlanta with all of its memories and pain, after all, but would find a new place for a fresh start.

  Which Havenwood Falls was supposed to have been.

  But the longer I stayed here, the more I began to believe that it too contained many memories and much more pain. And even as I planned to leave, I also felt compelled to stay. One reason was to figure out the mystery of why Madame Luiza had taken to me so quickly and what she’d been trying to tell me with her last words. Were they irrational statements of a dying woman, or did she expend the last of her energy trying to tell me something?

  And, hello, day-walking. I’d lose that as soon as I left.

  Then there was the greatest pull keeping me
here: the lone figure standing in front of my cottage when I returned, casually leaning against the post in a thick army-green coat over his formal funeral attire, with a look that made me want to undress right there and then. Fuck the cold.

  “Everybody else thinks you’re fragile and will break with what you need to know, but I know you better,” Xandru said, and I could only nod because he was right. I didn’t yet know how, but I couldn’t deny the truth ringing through my soul: He knew me better than anyone.

  Chapter 7

  I couldn’t breathe under the scrutiny of Xandru’s piercing gray gaze as we stood motionless staring at each other. Everything about him was mesmerizing, from his high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes to his square jaw and chin. Beautiful, yet too rugged to be called a pretty boy. The light color of his eyes was a bright contrast to his dark hair, dark brows and lashes, and olive skin tone. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, considering the full beard growing in. And while his body was sculpted and chiseled perfectly, his posture always showed a confidence that could be perceived as threatening. Challenging.

  But it wasn’t the intense physicality that had seized me heart and soul.

  Because the physical being in front of me was not quite what my heart and soul remembered, deep down, the memories, so faint I could barely grasp them, of a younger, less chiseled version. Except for the eyes. They were the giveaway. Especially now as they delved deep, reaching for those vague memories floating way back in the dark, and touching my soul. Showing me his. One I knew. Better than anyone.

  He cleared his throat, breaking the connection. “Okay, then. I have a lot to show you. Come with me.”

  Blood flushed my face as I took that last phrase in more than one way, especially as he walked past me. I couldn’t help but follow, if only to watch his powerful gait, the way his shoulders moved, his back muscles rippling under his white dress shirt . . . and that ass. Holy guacamole, what a fine ass. Jeans suited him better, but I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone make black dress pants look so good.

  I followed him up the back steps and through the back doors of the inn. We headed toward the front, but instead of going all the way to the lobby, he opened a door and turned into the offices behind the front desk. We passed by a couple of free-standing desks and into the only closed-off room, in the back. I presumed it to be the owner’s or manager’s office.

  “Here you go.” He gestured toward the large, wood desk, which was covered with photos, some quite old and others recent, as well as a slew of papers.

  My gaze immediately landed on a photo of me—albeit a younger version, dressed in snow pants and ski boots, goggles pushed up on my head and poles in my hand. There were others of me, as well, including one of a woman who looked like a slightly older version of myself, although that was impossible unless this town’s weirdness also included time travel. I walked around the desk for a better look, picked it up and studied it, feeling an unexpected pang of longing for her.

  “This must be Michaela,” I murmured. No wonder people mixed me up with her. Similar names and nearly identical appearances. Only the coloring was a little different—her hair darker, her skin tone much lighter.

  “Um, no,” Xandru said. “That’s Irina Petran.”

  I lifted my gaze to him, confused. “Why do I look so much like her?”

  “She’s your mother.”

  My eyes swept around the room, but not really seeing anything at all, my focus inward on the facts of my life. “Um . . . come again?”

  “Irina Petran is your mother. That—” He pointed to a picture of a somewhat familiar looking man in another photo. “That’s Mihail Petran, your father.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t understand. These are the people who gave me up? Who left me in a dirty little town in Texas with complete strangers who didn’t want me either?”

  Xandru’s brows scrunched together, forming two vertical lines between them. They smoothed out almost immediately. “Ah. I think that was the story they told you.”

  “Story? Who?”

  “Irina and Mihail. Or, more accurately, whoever in the Luna Coven did the amnesia spell.”

  I threw the picture back down and cocked my head. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  He gnawed on his bottom lip and for a very brief moment, I was quite jealous of that lip. Or the teeth gnawing on it. I wasn’t sure which. Then I came to my senses. I dropped my hands to my hips and tapped my foot.

  “Nobody left you in Texas. You’re not Kaela Peters. You’re Michaela Petran, and you’ve always been here in Havenwood Falls, with your parents who loved you very much. So much that they gave up everything so you could go live a normal life and become the great doctor everyone believed you would be. The town’s memory ward wipes away everyone’s memories of Havenwood Falls once they leave, but they wanted to make sure your loss was thorough, that you forgot everything . . . everyone.” His voice caught, and he paused for a moment. “They gave you a history. A sad one, very far from here, that would keep you from ever wanting or even thinking about coming back here.”

  “In other words, they didn’t want me,” I whispered as I dropped into the chair behind the desk, my eyes roaming over all the pictures.

  “That’s not—”

  I looked up at him. “Then why? Why would they send me away to never return and make me forget about them? I was just a child!”

  “Because you’re so fucking special.” The sarcasm and anger dripped on the girl’s last word as Aurelia showed herself in the doorway, her dark hair pulled up in a formal twist to go along with the black dress, sheer stockings, and heels she wore, making her look older than her behavior showed. Her brown eyes shot daggers at me. “And you weren’t a child. You were a grown-ass adult.”

  “Aurelia,” Xandru said as a warning.

  She huffed out an annoyed breath with the expertise of a teenager and shifted her glare to him. “What is she even doing here, Xan? She shouldn’t be here, and neither should you!”

  “Someone has to do it,” Xandru said. “And who else would it be? The coven’s all tied up. My parents have no interest, and it’s probably best to keep them away anyway. And you and Gabe are just kids. You can’t take care of this.”

  “I’m not a kid!” she said petulantly as she crossed her arms over her chest and stuck her bottom lip out. I wondered if she’d stomp her foot next. “Everyone needs to stop treating me like one!”

  Xandru turned, giving her the full force of his glare and that powerful stance. “We will when you stop acting like one. But you’re sixteen, Aurelia. Don’t rush it. Trust me. Being an adult isn’t all that.” He lifted his chin. “Now, if you care at all about your family, you’ll stop acting like a brat and do what needs to be done. Otherwise, go back to the wake.”

  “Mingling with a bunch of adults giving me looks of pity and asking me how I’m holding up got old in the first five minutes.”

  “Get lost, Aurelia,” Xandru said, in almost a growl.

  She narrowed her dark eyes at him as her nostrils flared with each heavy breath she took. This girl had balls. I couldn’t imagine standing up to Xandru at her age. Her eyes finally broke away and slipped to me before she spun on her heel.

  “Fuck off, Xandru,” she said under her breath, but I’d heard her. Xandru chuffed, clearly hearing her, too.

  As he began to turn around, I had to brace myself, inhaling a slow breath, preparing for the inevitable shock-and-awe that always hit me when I saw his face. His eyes. They still pierced into me with the force of a laser—right to all my girl parts. I tried not to moan on my exhale.

  “What did she mean?” I asked once I refocused.

  His gaze found mine, and he immediately glanced away again as he pushed a hand through his hair, then rubbed it over his face. As though I unnerved him as much as he did me. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

  “You had just turned eighteen and graduated from high school,” he said. “You’d been accepted to Emory U
niversity, which you’d been dreaming about attending since you were ten and read about one of their medical research studies. Considering who—what—you are, your parents had two choices: force you to give up the dream and stay here as part of the family and community, or allow you to go, reach your full potential, and live a normal life, but with no memory of them, of anything about your past.”

  “What do you mean, what I am? I wasn’t this until a couple of years ago.”

  His stunning eyes slammed into me, nailed me to my seat. “Michaela, you’ve always been this.”

  “Uh, no. Regardless of what you say about my previous memories, I know the exact day I became a vampire. That is something I will never forget.”

  He nodded. “Trust me, I know. But you’ve always been moroi. At least, you’ve always had it in your blood.”

  My brows pulled together. “Moroi?”

  “You really don’t know any of this? Nobody told you about the moroi?” He blew out a breath when I shook my head. “It’s the type of vampire we are—a mortal vampire. Have you ever met other vamps? You’ve noticed you’re different?”

  I hesitated before nodding.

  “There are various kinds of what the mundane society, hell, even the covert world, refer to as vampires. We share similarities, but we also have differences. We, for example, are mortal. We’re born human, but with a dominant vampire gene. If our gene is triggered and we turn, we live for hundreds of years, but we’re not immortal. We can die of old age. Our hearts still beat, and if they stop, we die. And we can have children.” He paused for effect. “The human way.”

  I flushed at his implication. He smirked.

  “And you can still do that,” he murmured with appreciation, and I felt like there was more meaning than I knew in that statement.

  “Wait,” I said. “Hold on. You’re saying we and us. You’re a moroi, too?”