The Forgotten

by Bishop O'Connell

  Her body still ached, though only a little. Her mind was clear. Actually, it felt empty—­like a house after all the kids and furniture are taken out. Mostly, she just felt really hungry and numb inside. The numbness was similar to losing her parents for the first time. She knew the pain and tears would come in time. The hunger was something she was used to and could ignore. What she couldn’t ignore were the new equations drifting through her mind. She sat up and crossed her legs, then reached out with her consciousness. A calculation formed easily, as if she’d done it a thousand times before. Holding out her hand, palm up, all the light in the room—­what little there was—­collected in her hand. It was like a miniature sun. She could see the swirling light waves circling the infinitely small singularity that existed in this dimension in such a way that it only affected the wave form of the light, not any of the mass in the room.

  She thought of Shadow, SK, and Fritz, and her heart began to ache. Actually, it began to break. The light was released in a flash like a mini supernova. But the tears that began to run down her cheeks had nothing to do with the burst of light. She turned to the lamp, now shining light as normal. Another formulation assembled and surrounded her fingers. She moved them, wrapping lines of magical code around them, and pulled. There was a pop and the light bulb went dark. She smiled and laughed a little, then looked at the desk chair. She compiled the next equation in her head. Gravitons pooled under the chair in response. There was the creaking of stressed wood, then a crash as the chair collapsed. Its splinters and broken pieces further compressing from the gravity well she’d formed.

  The door flew open.

  “Wraith, are you okay?” Dante asked.

  Behind Dante stood a very tall woman; she was a ­couple inches over six feet. Her eyes were luminescent green like Dante’s and her long dark-­auburn hair was pulled back from her face, revealing pointed ears and gracefully curved features. She wore an expression of concern to match Dante’s.

  “Yeah, sorry,” Wraith said, then shook her head. “I’m fine. Well, as fine as I can be.”

  “What happened?” Dante asked, looking at the chair, then around the dark room.

  Wraith turned to the lamp and reached out to touch the bulb. Instinctively, she restored the information for the bulb back to what it had been before she hexed it. It came on and lit the room.

  “Nice trick,” the woman said with wide eyes. “Are you part tinker or something?”

  Wraith swallowed back the stab to her heart. “Actually, I think I am now.”

  The elves exchanged a look, but Wraith ignored it.

  “How long was I out?” she asked.

  “About”—­Dante glanced at his watch—­“forty hours. We were starting to worry about you.”

  Wraith suddenly felt hungrier.

  “He was worried,” the woman said and smiled. “I knew you’d be fine.”

  “Sorry, this is Brigid,” Dante said. “She’s the magister of the New Middle Region.” He turned to Brigid and gestured to Wraith. “Magister, this is Wraith.”

  “Please tell me you’re the one who put me in this,” Wraith said, motioning to the shirt, which on her was practically a nightgown.

  Brigid nodded. “It was. Dante is too much the gentleman.”

  Wraith looked down at the T-­shirt, noticing for the first time there was a graphic on it. It was a picture of Dr. Strange, the comic book character. His hands were surrounded by blue magic.

  “Where did I get this?” Wraith asked.

  “It was a gift,” Dante said. “From a very grateful young man.”

  Wraith looked at him. Her concern must’ve been obvious.

  “There’s a lot to fill you in on,” Dante said.

  Wraith opened her mouth to ask one of the millions of questions forming.

  “There will be time for that in a bit,” Brigid said and stepped over to Wraith. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked her over. “How are you feeling? Physically, I mean.”

  “What about the others?” Wraith asked. “Sprout and Con.” Her heart dropped and she almost didn’t ask, certain she knew the answer. But she gave in. “What about Toto?”

  Dante expression grew pained. “Toto wasn’t just a dog. You know that, right?”

  Wraith nodded, though she still wasn’t sure exactly what that meant.

  “Well, he went home,” Dante said. “Back to his ­people, to rest and heal.”

  Wraith nodded. “That’s for the best. He was never really mine. I think he just stuck around to watch out for me because of Shadow.” She looked from Brigid to Dante. “What about the others?”

  Dante paused, obviously considering his words. “They’re fine. Healing.”

  Wraith narrowed her eyes. “That’s not everything, is it?”

  Dante smiled and opened his mouth.

  “It can wait,” Brigid said, turning Wraith’s attention back to her. “I’ve looked them over and they’ll be healed in no time.” She gave Wraith a look that was filled with compassion but not with room for debate. “I haven’t had a chance to look you over yet, since you went unconscious.”

  Wraith ran a hand through her hair and shrugged. “I’m sore, but I’ve been worse.”

  “Any headaches, nausea, light-­headedness?” Brigid asked as she ran fingertips over Wraith’s brow, brushing her hair aside.

  It brought memories of her mother to mind, but Wraith pushed the emotions down and just shook her head. “Not really. I’m pretty sure it’s just being hungry.”

  “Well then,” Dante said. “You get dressed; we’ll get you some food and I’ll tell you—­”

  “Everything,” Wraith supplied.

  Dante smiled. “I don’t know everything, but I’ll tell you what I do know.”

  Wraith nodded and carefully got to her feet. Brigid stayed close. Wraith didn’t protest. After she was sure she wouldn’t collapse, Wraith nodded at Brigid. “I’m okay, thanks.”

  Brigid walked back to the door. “I took the liberty of washing your things. I hope you don’t mind.”

  Wraith couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn clean clothes. Then she shuddered. Actually, she did know. It was the night the Order had come and taken her and the others. She pushed the memory away. “Thank you, I appreciate it.”

  “The bathroom is right there if you want to wash up,” Brigid said. “I’ll bring some food for you.”

  “Take your time,” Dante said and Brigid stepped out. “Eat, and when you’re ready we’ll talk.”

  Wraith nodded. As the door started to close, she asked, “Wait, where are we?”

  “In my home in Kansas City,” Brigid said.

  Wraith glanced at the ruined chair. “Oh, sorry about that.”

  Brigid smiled, then she winked. “I’ll just add it to your bill.”

  Alone in the room, Wraith started to feel her sadness and grief rise up. She wiped away the few tears that escaped, and pushed the emotions down deep. After a moment, she collected her clothes and boots, and went into the bathroom. It was huge, at least compared to Wraith’s experiences, and covered in light-­colored marble tile. There was a glass-­walled shower in the corner and a large bathtub against one wall. Two sinks were against the wall opposite the tub and a small wall separated the toilet from the rest of the bathroom. On that wall was a rack of fluffy white towels. She didn’t want to touch anything, it was all so beautiful and clean. However, the thought of a hot shower won out, so she set her clothes on the counter next to a small basket that held a toothbrush and toothpaste, a hairbrush and deodorant.

  I feel like I’m in the presidential suite, she thought. She closed the door to the bedroom, turned on the shower, and got undressed.

  After a long and luxuriant shower, complete with nice-­smelling shampoo and fancy soap, she turned off the water, stepped out, and grabbed a towel. They were even softer tha
n they looked. She felt clean and more than a little refreshed. Her clothes felt strange when she put them on, softer than she was used to, aside from being clean. They also had the faint scent of lilies. She lifted her shirt to her nose and smelled deep. The scent carried her back.

  It was Mother’s Day. She was six years old, making her mother breakfast in bed without her father supervising. She buttered the toast, poured the orange juice without spilling a drop, and even shared some of her beloved Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal. The last touch was two pink lilies in a tall glass. They were her mother’s favorite.

  One by one, she moved each of the items from the counter to a tray she’d set on the carpeted area of the room. When the tray was full, she carefully slid it down the hall to her parents’ bedroom and crept silently inside. Both her parents were still sleeping, and the sun was just rising outside, bathing the room in soft blue light.

  “Happy mommy’s day!” she shouted.

  Her parents jolted and sat up in bed.

  Her mother turned bleary eyes to Jane, then smiled wide. “What’s this?”

  “I made you breakfast!” Jane said proudly.

  Wraith smiled, remembering the nervous look her parents had exchanged, though she didn’t understand it at the time.

  “Yes, you did!” her mother said and sat up. “Thank you, sweetheart, that’s very nice.”

  Wraith watched her mother mouth silent words. In answer, the tray lifted from the ground, drifted through the air, and settled on her mother’s lap. Her mother looked at the bowl of cereal, then at Jane, eyebrows raised. “I get Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

  Jane nodded and smiled. “It’s a special occasion.”

  Her parents laughed.

  “Come here, Janey,” her father said.

  She went to him and he pulled her up into the bed, setting her between her parents. Her mom bent down and kissed her forehead. “You even brought me flowers.”

  “They’re your favorite,” Jane said proudly.

  Her mother’s smile tugged at Wraith’s heart.

  “Yes, they are,” her mother said. “But you, my angel, are sweeter than any flower.”

  “I love you, Mommy,” Jane said.

  Her mother turned and gave Jane a hug.

  Wraith could almost feel her mother’s arms around her. Almost.

  “What about me?” her father asked.

  “You have to wait for daddy’s day,” Jane said seriously.

  Her parents laughed, and so did Wraith.

  The memory faded and Wraith found herself on the cold bathroom floor, her knees drawn up to her chest and crying. She didn’t let herself wallow—­well, not for long. She could practically hear Shadow telling her to get up. Her friend would be right. Wraith wasn’t that little girl anymore. Truth was, she wasn’t sad. That was the first complete, lucid memory of her parents. Her real parents. She held it tight, then tucked it away into her heart, where she could pull it out whenever she needed—­and, likely, she would need it.

  She got to her feet, turned on the faucet, and picked up the toothbrush.

  Once she was dressed, Wraith stepped back into the bedroom and found a tray of food sitting at the dressing table. She looked the food over: perfectly sliced and decoratively arranged fruit, a large blueberry muffin, some cheese slices, and a bottle of water. She wasn’t much of a fruit eater, but she also knew not to turn away free food, especially when you’re starving. A ­couple of minutes later, the food was gone and she’d sucked down half the bottle of water in a series of large gulps. Time on the street taught you to eat fast when you got food. Someone was always watching, ready to take it from you.

  She slung her bag over her head, grabbed the bottle of water, and stepped out of the palatial room.

  Chapter Thirty-­Seven

  Dante drew in a deep breath as he looked around the expansive library, his eyes moving from the polished hardwood floor to the bookshelves, so high a ladder was need to reach the highest. He looked over the spines of the books and thought of the great care that had been taken collecting each, and their history, the one not on their pages. The door opened and he turned, smiling when Caitlin and Edward walked in.

  “Thanks for seeing me before you left,” Dante said. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. It wasn’t right for me to keep things from you. I won’t do it again.”

  Caitlin shrugged. “I know it came from a good place.” She gave him a wry smile. “But if you try that again, I’ll kick your well-­toned butt.”

  Dante laughed. “I’m touched you noticed.”

  “Excuse me,” Edward said, “spell-­wielding fiancé right here.”

  Caitlin wrapped her arm around him and kissed him slowly. At the kiss’s end, she nuzzled her cheek to his chest. Then she dropped her arm and grabbed his backside.

  Edward jumped and turned a shade of pink.

  “Save it for the wedding night,” Faolan said as he entered the room.

  “Speaking of which,” Caitlin said, turning a level gaze to Dante.

  “I’ll be there, I promise,” Dante said.

  Edward opened his mouth.

  “Not for the wedding night,” Dante said, “just for the wedding.”

  “And the reception, of course,” Faolan said as he approached, then turned to Caitlin. “Sorry to interrupt, but we’re ready to go when you are.”

  “There’s something else we need to discuss, if you don’t mind,” Dante said.

  Caitlin gave him a questioning look.

  “It won’t take long, I promise,” Dante said.

  Edward glanced at Dante, then at Caitlin. “I’ll get Fiona and meet you outside,” Edward said and kissed Caitlin’s cheek.

  When Faolan had escorted Edward out and closed the door, the library was silent. Dante’s gaze drifted out the large windows to the truly enormous backyard. Some of the kids they’d spirited from the cells were playing, and it warmed his heart to see them getting a chance to be kids, even if only for a moment.

  “It’s amazing how easily they can slip back into being kids,” Caitlin said. “But I think there’s going to be a lot of nightmares for a long time to come.”

  “But right now they get to be kids,” Dante said. “It’s not much, but it’s something.”

  “What happens to them now?” Caitlin asked.

  Dante looked at her. She was staring at the playing kids too, a smile on her lips that could only be called motherly.

  “There’s still too much dust to settle in Seattle,” Dante said. “We can’t let them go back.”

  “You’ll send them back to the streets?” Caitlin asked.

  “I won’t be sending them anywhere. I don’t want them back on the streets, but some of them, maybe a lot of them, would balk at going back into the system. I don’t blame them, all things considered. We’ll try to find homes for them, but I can’t promise how successful that will be. What I can promise you is that I’m not going to abandon them.”

  Caitlin shook her head. “I didn’t mean to imply that.” She turned and looked out the window again, this time her smile was bittersweet. “It’s just, well, sad; all those kids with no place to go and so unwilling to trust.”

  “The ­people who were supposed to help them were the ones who handed them over to be tortured and killed,” Dante said. “I don’t know what we can do for them, but Brigid and I will make sure they have a place to go. I can’t, I won’t, force them to do anything. The last thing I want is for them to run.”

  “I know you’ll do the right thing,” Caitlin said and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “You always do.”

  Dante turned to her, fighting back tears but smiling. He drew his hand from his pocket and away from the leather box he’d been turning in his fingertips. Was it the right thing to break the final promise to a friend?

  “Are you okay?” Caitlin asked.

&
nbsp; Dante drew in a breath, smiled, and squeezed her hand. “I am.”

  Caitlin looked as if she was going to press him, but she didn’t, for which Dante was grateful. They both turned back to the window, neither saying anything for a long while.

  “You need to be vigilant,” Dante finally said.

  He could feel Caitlin look at him, but he just kept watching the kids play.

  “I don’t know what the Order has planned now,” he continued. “They’re beaten but not destroyed. And they’ve shown an interest in mortal wizards.”

  “Eddy,” Caitlin said, turning to watch him walk across the grass with Fiona. “You’re worried they’ll come after Eddy.”

  Dante nodded. “They focused on children this time, but that might not always be the case. I don’t believe it was a coincidence that someone started watching your house.” He turned to Caitlin and saw the look of fierce defiance on her face. He couldn’t help but smile.

  “They’ll have to come through me to get him,” she said, stating it as simple fact.

  “First, they have to come through me, and several others,” Dante said.

  Caitlin turned to him and nodded.

  “I meant it when I said I won’t keep things from you,” Dante said. “When you get back, have Edward see what he can find in that library of his. I don’t know if he’ll find anything, but that’s a good place to start.”

  “After the wedding,” Caitlin said as she turned back and watched Fiona playing with some of the other kids.

  “Of course,” Dante said.

  They stood in silence for a long moment, just watching the children play.

  “They’re waiting,” Dante said. “You better go.”

  Caitlin looked at him again. “You sure there was nothing else?”

  “It can wait,” Dante said. “Now go ahead. I’ll follow in a few days, after I take care of some loose ends.”