by J. J. McAvoy
“Like?”
“I cared about my parents, obviously.”
“And how did you feel when they died,” he asked.
“Sad.” How else was I supposed to feel? And lonely, I suppose.”
“Atarah,” his gaze drifted to her. “When they took your mother to the gas chambers, how did you feel?”
She froze, her whole body stiffened; her eyes widened and began to blur with tears.
“Forgive me,” he said to her, “for using your pain as such; however, the rest of us are much further removed from our mortal parents, so I could not make the same point.”
She nodded, and Arsiein took her hand, but she gave all her attention to me. “When my mother died, it nearly broke me, even though I wasn’t her favorite daughter. She was still my mother. I couldn’t cry in front of the soldiers, so I did to myself as quietly as I could until I blacked out from exhaustion.”
“I am so sorry; that must have been horrible,” I whispered. I couldn’t even imagine the pain she’d been through. There was only one context for gas chambers, and it was not a good one. I really wished he hadn’t put her on the spot like that.
“There is no spot, as you call it.” He read my mind. “We are family. We share our horrors and our pain, just as our joy and triumph. At least, we try.”
“I understand.” Well not completely but still. “However, it’s different for me. My mother died when I was born. Of course, I didn’t have as much of an emotional connection to her.”
“And your father?” Theseus whispered beside me.
I looked into his eyes for a moment before struggling. “That was different.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” I frowned, rubbing the side of my head. “I’m sorry; this is just all...What exactly are you saying is wrong with me? How does this connect to Hinrik seeing a thread? Or Theseus. I feel like I get ten more questions for every answer.”
“You need not apologize,” Sigbjørn replied. “I shall put it simply. Every one of us shares a common connection to this mystery now, and it is you, Druella. Something has happened that none of us remember. On top of which, we are protected by something, but even you do not remember that. Because you, like the rest of the Omeron witches, are bound.”
“She was an Omeron,” Theseus repeated slowly, nodding as he followed what his father was saying. “Taelon spoke about how the Omeron witches were attacked last year. That their most powerful witches were bound, spell books burned. It was chaos, and yet neither the witches nor the Swan family knows who did it. If Duella is an Omeron witch, powerful enough to still have her magic, then same would have been done to her.”
“Hench the witch in a straitjacket in her mind.” Melora nodded. “It is her magic that is bound, and she is not able to undo the spell.”
“That still doesn’t explain why she would use witchcraft on us though,” Atarah added.
However, Arsiein looked between Theseus and me.
“That is what I think,” Sigbjørn stated, causing us to look him. But he just nodded to Arsiein to speak.
“What does Father think?” Ulrik questioned, impatiently.
“If someone is attacking one of our mates or family, our instinct is to defend them. If Druella were being attacked with the rest of her coven, Theseus would have intervened; thus, we would have all be there to support him against this enemy. If Druella cared enough about Theseus and his family, she’d try to protect us while we were also trying to protect her. It is like an ouroboros. They attack Druella, Theseus protects her, we protect him, she protects us and so on and on.”
It was silent as they let that sink in for a moment.
“So, she dragged us into a battle, and now we can’t remember it?” Rhea frowned. Her eyes were still razor sharp as they glared into me. “Very well, protection or no protection, what does this have to do with why I cannot see my son in her heart. If we are all affected, why is she still black-hearted?”
Black hearted? That’s a little harsh.
“Mother, you forget,” Theseus said with a small smirk on his lips. “She is not only a vampire but a witch. A bound witch.”
There was a look of realization in Rhea’s grey eyes as she looked me over again. But I didn’t understand.
“It is not uncommon for bound witches to lose the connection to their emotions. Magic is a very big part of a witch. It is at the very core of their being to love. Binding a witch, that is not done easily or without ill effect. Some may go mad; others may weep for the rest of their existence; others can be as my mate calls black-hearted.” Sigbjørn snickered, glancing at Rhea a bit smug. “You cannot see her heart, Draka because it is bound with her magic. Though like her magic, it is seeking freedom.”
“That explains the colors,” Ulrik muttered to himself as he sat forward, but his blue eyes weren’t on me exactly me but more the air around me. When he noticed we were looking at him, he grinned sheepishly. “Forgive me, Father; I did not mean to interrupt.”
“No, continue, I’m sure Druella welcomes as much knowledge as we can provide,” Sigbjørn replied.
“Well,” Ulrik said with a long pause as he lifted his hand to his beard. “You are an odd one, sister.”
“Thanks,” I grumbled, making him grin and Melora elbow him.
“Thank you, Melora.” Theseus shook his head at his elder brother. “Just explain, Ulrik.”
“I did. Druella is odd,” he stated again.
“What he means is,” Hinrik interrupted. “Most witches have an aura of some sort around them that Ulrik can see through his gift. They are of varying colors and sizes. However, with you, your magic is a multitude of colors. And instead of freely moving around like other witches, it is like…”
“A column of lights moving up and down, tightly wrapped around you. The light is faint and keeps flickering.” Ulrik grinned to himself. “But when it holds for a second, it kind of looks like you’re about to ascend into the heavens or get abducted by aliens.”
I looked around myself, seeing absolutely nothing and was grateful for that. “Can you see this all the time?”
“No. It comes and goes as if there is not enough energy for it. Whenever you use magic, though, your light is much clearer.” Ulric shrugged.
“You will show me later,” Melora declared, and Ulrik just nodded.
“So, let me get this straight.” I brushed my hair behind my ear. “There is thread—which I can’t see—that connects me to all of you by magic I do not remember doing or casting because I am a vampire and a witch from a murderous coven of witches who were bound by someone or thing no one knows or remembers? That bondage is the reason why I am “black-hearted,” and Rhea cannot see my feelings, and I can’t truly feel my memories or emotions, hence why I have such a boring mortal life memory to Sigbjørn and am now unable to commit to mating Theseus? And on top of that, every time I use said magic, I look like I’m being beamed up to the Enterprise?”
There was silence for only a half-second before everyone, but Theseus said, “Yes.”
I looked at him, and he stared back at me. “What is the Enterprise?”
“Of all the centuries you had to forget, why was it this one?” I let out a deep breath.
“It is this one because this is the one most connected to you,” Sigbjørn explained. “You are protecting us, remember? Whatever it is, is connected to you, so protecting us from it may include making sure he cannot remember you.”
“So, I took his memory away?” Why would I do that?
“It is a possibility. We do not know for sure.” Sigbjørn tried to calm me down. “However, we must get to the bottom of it. It is unacceptable to be ignorant. Druella, now that you have an idea of what could have happened to try once again to see if you can use your magic. If anything triggers a response, it will help us greatly understand where to go from here.”
> “I don’t know what to do.”
“Do what you have been doing. Ask yourself.” Rhea’s voice was gentle, which startled me. It sounded almost motherly in how calm and soothing it was.
“Ask myself?”
She nodded. “Just as you have done till now. You are a witch still; your magic will try to answer.”
“It doesn’t always,” I whispered back.
“Try anyway, my dear; there is no harm in that.” She offered me a smile, and it too was kind and gentle and motherly. I could feel her confidence in me, and it made me want to do as she said.
“You are afraid.” She knew right away. “As one should be when questioning their existence and path. But fear not, whatever the truth is, you will survive it.”
I swallowed and looked around at all their faces, all of them waiting, questioning with their eyes. When my gaze landed back on Theseus, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
“This was why we came back, to find out the truth,” he said to me. “Don’t be scared of it. If we are right, we will fix it. If we are wrong, we will sit here, drink, and think some more.”
I smiled and looked at the glass of blood I had yet to drink. Lifting it to my mouth, I threw it back like a shot, gulping down the liquid quickly before using my magic to set it on the floor. I just wanted to make sure it was still working. I tried to ignore all their stares, closing my eyes.
“What happened to us?”
Instead of an answer, I saw her again—me again—in that straitjacket, and my eyes filled with tears.
“Free us,” she demanded again.
“Who did this to us?”
She struggled against the jacket again but did not answer, could not answer. Instead, she called out again, “Free us.”
I reached over, wanting to rip the jacket to shreds, and magic sparked from my fingers. It was not going to burn me this time; I was going to burn it. However, when I grabbed it, it was cold, freezing like ice running through my veins. The ice, the frost, spread worse than the fire, letting go, my eyes snapped open, staring down at the ice on my hand.
“It seems it will not be that simple. But you tried, and that is all that matters,” Sigbjørnørn said as Theseus placed his hands on mine, but I pulled it away, holding it myself.
“Wait, what happened?” Ulrik questioned. “I saw magic. It was red then glowed the brightest blue, after that her hand froze. Did you find out anything?”
I...I...I held my hand to my chest. “She couldn’t answer. Just kept saying free us.”
“Well, we will just have to figure it out together then, little sister.” Melora grinned. “And if anyone enjoys a good mystery, it is Father.”
“He more prefers ruining a mystery, which is why he always guesses the end to the movie and ruins it for us all.” Atarah’s lips made a fine line.
“It’s quite annoying, and all our sons seem to have inherited this trait as well. Between them all, we get to answers by fire or by force.” Rhea looked over to me, her eyes still calm. “I can see them all itching to enter the library now to dig for answers and theories.”
“They will be in there for days trying to come up with their method of attack.” Melora replied, and the rest of them smiled, easing up.
“You all could add input,” Hinrik shot back. “After all, this is a family issue.”
“I much prefer spending time enjoying my new sister and helping her decorate her room or see her use her magic to fly again. You all can figure out that while we relax. Is that not what we deserve, sister?” Atarah winked at me.
“We can visit the hot springs,” Melora added.
“I wish to do that,” Ulrik said like a child, but Melora ignored him, focusing on Atarah.
Slowly, the conversation changed, and it was odd yet strangely comforting. It made the issue with me seem like something minor, something that could be focused on after a trip to a spa or something. And that made me relax. Which I thought was the point.
Seeing Sigbjørn smile, I knew for sure it was the point. They wanted me to relax about everything.
“Before you all get lost in your arguments, your mother wishes to say something.” Sigbjørn’s voice once again silenced the room.
Rhea glared at him, clearly not pleased with his shift in conversation. Nevertheless, she turned to me. “I was merely thinking, it seems I owe you an apology, daughter.”
“Gasp, she admitted it,” Ulrik whispered loudly to Melora, earning him another glare before she focused her grey eyes back on me.
Outstretching her hand, I waited for a second before taking it. However, it wasn’t a handshake. She pulled me into her arms and brushed the back of my head gently. “It is frustrating not to know what is happening to you, but do not fear, you are surrounded by family, now,” she said, hugging me tightly. It took a second before I hugged her back, and then she pulled away with her hands on my shoulder. “Whatever you need, I shall be here.”
“That is kind, but not an apology, Mother,” Theseus said under his breath.
“Do not interrupt me, son,” she hissed back before saying, “I apologize for my behavior. I am very protective of my children, and as my child, now I am protective of you. You will not face this alone.”
That’s all I wanted...not to be alone. “Thank you...all of you.”
Arsiein shook his head. “A wise vampire once told me, thank you is the one thing you do not have to say to family.”
“I did,” Theseus smirked.
“He stole that from Father,” Ulrik shouted, making the rest of us laugh, even me, and it felt good.
“Then it seems we shall begin our search for the truth.” Sigbjørn rose from his chair, everyone rising with him.
Chapter 26
What had felt like the longest day of my life finally became night, and Theseus and I stood on a wooden bridge over a small creek that snaked around the rose bushes. The garden went on for at least the length of three or four football fields. The roses were red and white, and the scent of them filled my nose so much it tickled. The sky was pitch black except for the large full moon that hung overhead. We’d left the living room. Sigbjørn and his brother had gone to the library to begin their quest to help me figure out was going on. I wanted to follow, but Theseus had led me here. He didn’t say anything and just stared up at the moon.
It was the first time we’d been alone together in hours, and it seemed much harder to strike up a conversation now than it had been since I’d met him. He was usually the one pushing me or prompting me to speak if there were silence.
“This garden is beautiful,” I said just to say something.
“My father planted every rose himself. They are my mother’s favorite and yet the most detested flower.” He chuckled to himself.
“What? How can something be what she hates and loves at the same time?”
At that, he glanced down at me. “You may not have noticed, but my mother is very complex and often immature.”
“I’m sure she can hear you.” I grinned back.
“I’m sure she can, but she cannot disagree because she knows it is true, too.” He laughed, and at that, and I relaxed more.
“Why does she love and hate roses?” I questioned.
“Simple. She loves them because they are beautiful and hates them because they are beautiful. They are used often and thus lose their uniqueness. Loving roses has become cliché. It is a flower everyone gives to someone they care about, and it is found everywhere. It is for that reason she dislikes them. The more common a thing is, the less value it has.”
“And so, your father planted a whole garden full of them?”
“Yes, because no common person could have a garden such as this, and also, she can watch them die and return in the spring.”
I laughed. “It’s like a riddle. Your love loves a common flower, but
cannot stand a common flower, so how do you give your love this flower.”
He laughed, too. “Exactly. It may sound cruel, but I often wondered how someone as old and as wise as my father could be the mate of someone like my mother, who is both hot and cold, who wants the sun and the moon, and who seeks to be held close and yet set free.”
“Did you find the answer?”
He glanced down at me with a smile on his face. “No, instead, I found a who mate who wishes not to mate, who knows me but does not know me, cares for me but cannot care for me, who is a vampire and yet a witch, close but far. Making my situation much more complicated than my father’s, so I have no more room to wonder about their relationship, only about mine.”
I opened my mouth to try to defend myself, but I didn’t have one. Instead, I frowned, looking over to the roses. “I do care. I thought about leaving, and you not ever coming to see me again, and I was sad.”
“How sad?” he asked excitedly, leaning into me.
“How did the role reverse so quickly?” I questioned, ignoring his question. “When I met you, you needed my help. Now it’s me who needs yours.”
He snickered, and before I knew it, I was spun into his arms. Holding me close, he forced me to look him in the eye. “I’d like to think we need each other. After all, I am still quite unaccustomed to this century.”
“You get on fine without your memory, though.”
“Only because I am too enamored by your presence to wonder about things I do not understand.” He grinned, tucking a strand of my curls behind my ear, but it only popped right back out making his grin widen. “I’ve had a great many questions about this century.”
“Really?” I asked more excited than I should have been. But being the person who knew something right now would be a relief. “Like what?”
“The black rectangles,” he said, and his serious eyes narrowed, and eyebrow furrowed.
“The black rectangles?” I repeated, confused.
He nodded. “I have seen them all over the place, in your apartment, in Montréal, even on the plane, sometimes mortals are inside of them or moving drawings show up in them.”