Remembrance: (New Adult Paranormal Romance) (Heart Lines Series Book 1)

by Heather Hildenbrand

  And then I shook my head because I knew she just wanted to hear me say it. “She’s not wrong, Edie,” I said and then continued before she could gloat. “Look, you told me so. Is that what you want me to say? Fine. I believe in magic. Whatever. The point is I’ve been watching and Sam has something inside her. Whatever St. John did botched it and now she’s fucking broken.”

  “Will restoring her memory offer your cure?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly, “But either way, she needs this. It’s time we gave her the truth.”

  Edie was silent and for a second, I thought she’d refuse me. That would have been a first. Although, even if she did, I’d only go around her to Tara. Not a call I wanted to make. But for Sam, I would do it.

  “All right,” she said finally and I exhaled. Only slightly relieved. Telling the others and getting them here was only the first hurdle.

  My real dread was all tied up in Sam’s reaction once she found out the truth. Or, more accurately, found out my lie.

  “I’ll speak to them. Arrange for the travel. Give me a day or two,” she said and I could already hear her typing things into the tablet I knew she carried that contained schedules of all the heads of CHAS.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Alex,” she said, “you realize this means your secret will have to come out too. They’ll know you’re sick.”

  “I know,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  “I’m proud of you,” she said, catching me off guard.

  “For what?”

  She chuckled. “Well, maybe if I have to explain it, you haven’t come as far as I thought. Still, I’m proud to see you making a decision like this. Sam is different then.”

  “What makes you say that?” I asked, heart pounding at her words. That she could be right.

  “You’re putting her first,” she said as if it were obvious. “Really, truly sacrificing in order to protect her. And this time, it won’t involve stealing my car in order to do it,” she added wryly.

  I groaned. “It was one bad decision,” I said and she laughed.

  “You’re never living that down, young man. You still owe me.”

  “I have a feeling that is a debt that will never be paid,” I said. Her laughter made me feel better, though. Edie always did.

  “So true. How else would I always get everyone to do what I want?” she asked and I snorted.

  We said our goodbyes after that and I sank onto the chair beside the window, my phone gripped tight in my hand. This was it. Right thing or not, I felt like shit for what I had helped do and what I was going to do now. Sam would be pissed. The one thing she’d asked of me was no more lies. And here I was offering up the biggest one of all.

  But Edie was right about one thing: I had decided to put Sam first. No matter what it cost me, hopefully it wouldn’t cost her.

  I sat in the dark a while longer until RJ called me into the kitchen, insisting I eat some food before heading over to do a shift watching Sam’s place. For now, she was with her roommate and that was enough for me. But later, I’d want to watch the place for myself. Just in case Mason decided to come sniffing around.

  I ate everything on my plate, willing my strength up. If that asshole tried anything else, he was dead. Maybe killing him would make me feel better about lying to Sam all these years.

  “You still thinking about taking her memory?” RJ asked from across the table.

  I blinked and found his plate cleared and a glass of water in his hand. He was watching me with a wary look.

  “No,” I said.

  “Right. You’re losing your touch,” he said with a snort. “Stop beating yourself up about it. You’re here now and you’re helping her.”

  I ignored that and downed my water because that was utter bull shit. In the end, I wasn’t convinced remembering would actually help anyone. Least of all me.

  A remembrance, Mirabelle had told her she needed.

  All I wanted to do was forget.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sam

  It felt silly actually attending class. Alex was right: there were more important things. But I needed a break and Natural Science class was a welcome distraction from my new reality.

  Alex never came out and said it, but I suspected he considered our visit with Mirabelle a bust. I didn’t consider it nearly as unfruitful. If anything, it gave me a lot to think about. But that was the problem. Believing I was crazy actually seemed easier than what Mirabelle had suggested. Or what I’d somehow done with that Tarot card. Now that her words had been planted, I couldn’t shake them: a Remembrance.

  What did that even mean?

  How could I remember something if I didn’t know what I’d forgotten? And more than that, did I even want to, especially if it led me down a road of … magical powers? Good Lord, I sounded like aunt Kiwi.

  I tried my best to shove it all aside and tune in to what the teacher was saying about the ecology of our planet. I took notes that ended up being blotted out by doodles of a woman in a dark gown sitting astride a white horse. When class ended, I could only stare at my own handiwork in confusion. I’d never drawn anything like it before. Curious, I pulled the Goddess card—Mirabelle had officially named it that until we could figure it out. Unofficially, I called it “Sam on a tea high.”

  I took it out of my bag and held it side by side with my new drawing. Both of them shared the same style of artwork. Up until today, I hadn’t been much of an artist. It didn’t look anything like my usual stick figures. Unsettled, I shoved both of them into my bag and hurried out.

  Brittany was waiting for me outside. Dark streaks of mascara bled from behind her dark sunglasses down to her chin. Her cheeks were splotchy and her nose red. But more disturbing than that was her presence here at all. Brittany never sought me out at school. She barely made it to her own classes let alone mine.

  “What’s wrong?” I said.

  “Oh, it’s just so sad,” she said, sniffling.

  “What is?” I asked, shuffling us off the sidewalk so that everyone else could get around us. I didn’t particularly want an audience for this conversation, although Brittany didn’t seem to mind one way or another.

  “Your ex told me everything. God, Sam, I’m so sorry.” Her voice was loud enough to draw curious glances from everyone close by.

  I led her a few steps away and said in a low voice, “My ex?” Genuine confusion gave way to anxiety and then flat-out dread as I spotted a familiar and unwelcome face loitering near the trees across the quad.

  Mason.

  I hadn’t seen or heard from him since the park. I’d hoped that meant he’d left town but no such luck.

  “What exactly did he tell you?” I asked.

  “About your PTSD. Look, if you don’t want to talk about it, I totally understand. But you should talk to him. He’s really worried about you, and you need to get help.” Her hands were overly animated as she spoke. “Whatever happened—”

  “Holy shit, Britt. I do not have PTSD.”

  Brittany’s forehead wrinkled and she dropped her hands. “You don’t. But he said—”

  “Whatever he said is a lie.”

  “So, he’s not your ex?”

  “Yes, he’s my ex, but I don’t have PTSD.”

  “Are you sure? Because if you’re just trying to play it off for my sake, don’t. I can handle it. I won’t tell anyone. Is he the guy you had over the other day?”

  “No, he’s not the guy— Britt, you live with me. We both know I’m not playing it off.”

  Brittany shrugged. “Unless you’re repressing it. I mean, that happens a lot. At least it did for Julie on Real Housewives of Milwaukee with her ice-fishing trauma. And then she called her Mom and found out it really did happen.”

  I stared at her, dumbfounded. Had Brittany really just said something wise? Aside from the reality television drama, anyway.

  Before I could think of a response, Brittany leaned in and her sobs gave way to perfect ca
lmness. “Listen, he thinks I’m over here trying to talk you into giving him another chance. But I can smell a creepster when I see one. Don’t look,” she hissed when I started to glance over at Mason again. “Just be cool.”

  I blinked. Was Brittany playing a role?

  “Why are you pretending to be on his side?” I asked, dumbfounded she was capable of acting this well.

  She snorted. “That dude is either six levels of crazy or he’s actually in love with you. Either way, he’s sending a serious stranger danger vibe that I am not okay with. I pretended to hear him out to get his story and then I came here so he could see me trying to talk to you for him.” She shrugged. “I needed to warn you.”

  She blinked, taking in my expression and my half-open jaw. “Did I read him wrong?”

  A smile spread over my face that I quickly bit back in case Mason saw. “No, Britt. You did good. You’re right. He’s not safe. I need you to stay away from him from now on, okay?”

  “No problemo.” She fell into step beside me. “Where are you going?”

  “I need to make a call,” I said, heading for our apartment. Brittany was close on my heels. “You don’t have to come,” I said as she fell into step beside me.

  “Please. He’s watching you like a major creeper,” she whispered even though Mason hadn’t advanced from his place under the tree. “I’m walking you home. Besides, I have to fix this.” She pointed to her face. “I can’t walk around with sympathy mascara all day.”

  Sympathy mascara? Was that a thing? I couldn’t even bring myself to ask.

  At home, Brittany went to take a shower, to “start with a fresh canvas” as she put it. I shut my bedroom door and dialed my mom, because Brittany was right. It was past time to have a real conversation. By the second ring, I sank onto my bed, guts twisting. I should not be this nervous to talk to my mother. But I was. I always was. This time seemed worse.

  “Samantha?” my mom answered on the first ring. “Is everything okay?”

  “Hi, Mom. Everything’s fine. Why?”

  “Oh.” My mom exhaled. “Good. That’s good. No, it’s just that … you don’t normally call me so I just thought… how are you?”

  I didn’t call her? Of course I called her. Last time had to have been… Okay, maybe I didn’t call her much anymore.

  “Sorry,” I said. “How are you? How’s Dad?”

  “He’s fine. Working long hours. Election year so the market’s up and down. You know how it is.”

  “Yeah,” I said, because I definitely knew how that was. Dad had been at work more often than not growing up. Times hadn’t changed, apparently.

  “How are you?” she asked.

  Me? I’m peachy. Just spending my spare time burying dead bodies and trying not to do magic while rabid werewolves try to kill me. I snorted. That probably wouldn’t go over well.

  “Well, interesting question. I … don’t know.”

  “Sam, what’s going on?” Her voice went from wary to high-alert and I realized just how much my strange behavior must have worried her all this time. Guilt tugged at me. I didn’t want her to be this stressed over a phone call. Even though I was too.

  “Nothing, I was wondering…I never asked you much about it but do you remember that time I got really sick?”

  “Yes.” Mom’s voice was small and quiet. I tensed at how easily she reacted. Like she’d also done a lot of thinking about that time. She’d never mentioned it, though. That was the only thing between us that remained the same as before. Mom never talked about the weird stuff. Just pretended like it didn’t exist. Even when it happened right in front of her.

  “Do you remember anything else, anything strange about that illness— What was it again?”

  Mom hesitated and then cleared her throat. My stomach knotted at her obvious awkwardness. “The doctors said it was a bad flu. But then you became depressed so we took you to that therapist you hated. Why are you asking me this now?”

  This was it. The moment I could either back down and close the lid on this particular box. Just like I’d been doing for years now. Convincing myself I was crazy. That there was no real reason for the way I felt except maybe clinical insanity.

  But the fur. The wolves. The card changing as I touched it… none of that could be ignored. It was real. And it was happening to me for a reason.

  “We both know how different I am, Mom. I mean, did something else happen to me back then?”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know but… I feel like there has to be more. My changes: who I am now, how I feel, the things I like to do or don’t like to do. How different I am since—”

  “I’m not sure what you mean, darling—”

  “Mom, don’t do this,” I said. “Not now. You always do this.”

  She was quiet for a long time and I wondered if she was just going to hang up. When the silence stretched, I pulled the phone away from my ear to make sure the call was still connected.

  Finally, Mom spoke, her words measured and tight. “You’re right, before that illness you were different. Outgoing, fun, carefree. It’s like you’re afraid of something now, but I don’t know what. The doctors and therapists don’t have answers. You know that. Your aunt Kiwi—”

  She broke off and I felt frustration bubble over.

  “Aunt Kiwi what?” I pushed when she didn’t continue.

  Mom sighed. “She thinks… Well, I don’t know what she thinks because it all sounds like New Age gibberish to me. Something to do with our blood line and our birthright.”

  There it was again, I realized. That line about our blood. Alex had said it was the reason all of this was happening to me. But if that were true, why didn’t Mom or Kiwi or even my brother have it then? Why was it just me?

  I tuned back in, forcing myself to concentrate on Mom’s words as she said, “But Sam, I think it’s important that you remember there are other things from before this change in your personality occurred…”

  I frowned, my thoughts shifting. “Like what?”

  “Well, your affinity for animals for one thing. The injured ones… I… Look, I’m not sure what you want me to say. Ever since you were a girl there was this other side of you. Something in you I didn’t understand. Something that felt … other.”

  The way she said the last word caused a pang of hurt in my gut. Like I was somehow separate from her for it. I blinked tears away and tried to keep the hurt out of my voice. “What about Breck?” I asked.

  “Your step-brother?” I could practically hear her frown through the phone at the mention of him.

  Breck was four years older than me and he’d been out of the house since I was in middle school. Breck was…complicated. Apparently, my dad had fathered a child that he hadn’t found out about until child services contacted him when Breck’s mom died suddenly. Breck had come to live with us and while I knew my mom cared for him deeply, Breck had been hardest on her.

  At seventeen, with my parents’ permission, he’d joined the military. He didn’t come home much, and I knew my mom missed him a lot. “He’s your father’s son. Not of the blood,” she said gently, and I knew she hated to point that out. But her words were simple and firm, the message clear: Breck was not the same as me.

  “What do you think it was?” I asked. “The other you noticed.”

  “I don’t know,” she said quietly, the honesty in her voice more like a plea. “I didn’t want to know. I’m not good at…” She blew out a breath. “Logic. Fact. Reality. These are the things I need. Order. Anything else … it’s too much for me. So, I didn’t let myself see.”

  “Right,” I said softly, remembering the way she would always turn away or pretend she didn’t notice the stranger moments of my own childhood. When I would talk to things that weren’t there. The way I’d always seem to find a fallen bird or wounded dog and insist we bring it home and nurse it back to health. Mom never brought it up. Never paid me attention in those moments. Over time, I learned to shut down those impuls
es. Eventually, they just stopped.

  “Your aunt Kiwi, Sam. She… She’s good with the unexplainable. If you want to explore that side of things,” she said haltingly, “you may want to talk to her.”

  I exhaled. It was as good as I’d get, I realized. Mom wasn’t capable of helping me. And she knew that. It’s why she’d sent me here. “She’s still on her trip. I left her some messages but I think she’s still dealing with jet lag.”

  “Right. I forgot about that. She’s in Guam again. All right, well, in the meantime, you could always talk to your friend, Tara.”

  I gripped the phone tighter. “Why would I do that?”

  “She changed a lot in high school too. Don’t you remember?”

  “Well, yeah,” I admitted. “I wasn’t sure you noticed.” Something else she’d never mentioned.

  “Of course. You two—well, three including Angela—were so close before that. And then it was just different. In fact, her change was a lot like yours. She had a total personality switch. No more cheerleading or school activities. Secretive. She stopped hanging out with you and Angela so suddenly, it made me wonder back then what happened and if one has anything to do with the other.”

  I bit my lip, not wanting to admit her point. Tara had hurt me deeply with her swift change in behavior. It hadn’t happened literally overnight like mine had, but slowly, over the course of junior year, she’d morphed into someone I didn’t recognize and couldn’t relate to.

  And now, according to her sporadic emails and social media posts, she was a lobbyist in DC along with her boyfriend Wes. But Tara always hated politicians. It didn’t make sense for her. For either of them.

  Then again, I didn’t make sense to me.

  “Thanks, Mom. Maybe I’ll reach out to Tara sometime to ask her about it. I gotta go but I’ll call soon. I love you.”