Hexed (The Gwen Sparks Series Book 4) (13 page)

THE NEXT DAY Dorian made himself scarce, claiming he had
business
to attend to. I didn’t ask him what this business entailed because that felt a little too girlfriend-ish to me, and after last night I wasn’t sure where we stood. He’d held me all night, both of us awake from the intensity of the silence between us. I knew that whatever was bothering him didn’t have to do with us not having sex last night. I racked my brain all morning trying to figure out when his mood shifted, what had happened that sent him spiraling from sex-god to stony silence. After I told him we should stop, he had still tried to coax my body into giving in—still in sex-god mode. It wasn’t until I mentioned regretting the sex that he withdrew from me.

I tried to imagine—not for the first time—what it must feel like to have your significant other’s memories stolen. How would I react if circumstances were reversed and Dorian was the one who didn’t remember me? The scenario was a tad problematic since I couldn’t exactly remember how I felt before, but I could draw from context. In conclusion, it would suck. It wouldn’t be easy to still have the same feelings when the other person didn’t even know you existed.

I tried to tell myself that worrying about my relationship status was the least of my problems, but they were hard to ignore when I was faced with them every day. I guess it could have been worse. I could have been married with children. At least I didn’t have to look into the innocent eyes of my kids and tell them that I had no clue who they were.

Bree and Jerrick had stopped by earlier today, letting me know that they’d reaped four souls already. Of course they hadn’t stopped by to see me, but by two o’clock, Dorian was still a no show.

After they left, I was in the apartment by myself. Fiona had left to pick Ethan up at the St. Louis airport a little over an hour ago. His arrival left me nervous for many reasons, one being that he surely had news from the NAWC. The other being that we just didn’t like each other. I didn’t need to remember him to know that.

I padded around the apartment—my apartment, familiarizing myself with its contents. I found myself standing in front of the photographs in the living room on more than one occasion. Picking up the photo of my sister and I, I studied her youthful face. Closing my eyes, I held the frame to my chest and pictured her face through my mind, trying to connect with some long lost memory. Nothing surfaced, but then I hadn’t really expected it to.

Replacing the photo, I headed toward my bedroom. I was bored out of my mind, feeling useless while everyone else was out making contributions. Spinning toward the mirrored closet doors, I stared at my reflection. I stepped closer, inspecting the curve of my lips, the arch of my brows, and the pitch of my cheekbones. My eyes connected with my reflected self.

“Who the hell are you?” I asked myself, happy no one was home to witness my self-interrogation. My reflection didn’t respond, just stared back at me with tight lips and crestfallen eyes. I remembered the man at the FPD with the hole through his chest, walking and talking like nothing had happened. As I stared at myself, I realized I was that man. I didn’t have any external injuries announcing to the world that I wasn’t right, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t so.

I stared at myself for so long that my reflection began to blur to an unintelligible mass. I had to wonder if there was some truth to what Ms. Willow said, that I wouldn’t regain my memories. Maybe the sporadic flickers were as good as it was going to get. Then again, maybe I was just having a moment of pessimism, to which I thought I was entitled. It wasn’t easy not remembering who you were, while also finding out that you’re supposed to be six feet under but you are not because the Angel of Death broke the rules and replaced your soul. Not to mention that all the searching Dorian was doing may become worthless if the NAWC took matters into their own hands. I was definitely up Shit Creek and missing my paddles.

Annoyed with myself, I spun around and my eyes connected with the bed. Last night replayed through my mind. Being with Dorian, allowing myself to open up and give in to him was freeing. There was something very comforting about being near him. Last night I hadn’t thought about how long I had to live or about the me before I was hexed. When I was in his arms, the utter chaos of my world didn’t touch me. Having that moment of reprieve was like coming up for air after sinking to the bottom of the ocean.

I lied to Dorian last night. Well, not so much lied as in didn’t tell him what had happened. There was a moment when our lips were pressed together, our tongues sweeping against each other in slow strokes, that I thought I heard him say, “This better not be a dream.” I realized after a couple seconds that he couldn’t have said it since his mouth was otherwise occupied, and I hadn’t heard it through my ears; it’d been in my head. So why didn’t I tell him? It didn’t seem like enough proof that I remembered us, and I knew his hopes were really high. I planned to stick close to Dorian, test my theory that by putting myself in normal scenarios things would start to click together.

“Gwen.”

My head snapped up at the unfamiliar female voice. Hopping to my feet, I cracked open the door and peered down the hall. “Fiona?” I called. It hadn’t sounded like Fiona, though. This voice was smooth like water flowing over rocks, almost peaceful.

“I am here.” This time the voice sounded from behind me—from inside my room. My skin pebbled with small bumps as a chill made its way through my body. My head slowly rotated until I was looking at one half of my bedroom. Lips parting on a silent gasp, my eyes connected with the mirrors, and the woman within them who wasn’t me.

I spun around so fast that I collided with the half open door and stumbled to regain my footing. The most beautiful woman I had ever seen was trapped behind the glass of my closet doors. Her almond-shaped green eyes watched me while a small smile curved her mouth.

I blinked, hoping I was imagining this. After a few rounds of squeezing my eyes shut and reopening them, the woman remained. I contemplated calling Fiona or Dorian in fear that this woman was here to kill me. Without my memory, I couldn’t remember if I had any special abilities, and therefore was useless.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” the woman said, answering my unspoken answer. For all I knew, she could have plucked the question from my head. In this town, anything was possible.

“Why are you here then? In my mirror no less.”

Her head tilted to the right slightly, her eyes thoughtful and searching. That look caused me to drop my eyes. There was something within it that made me uneasy and, while I found my reaction strange, I decided to trust those instincts.

“There are things we should discuss,” the woman said. Her long chocolate-brown hair had small braids throughout, and she wore a white, off the shoulder dress that fell past her feet. She was ethereally beautiful, so much so that I wondered if she were an angel. I half expected a halo and white wings.

“A wrong must be righted,” she resumed, while her eyes continued inspecting me. “The balance must be restored or all will suffer.”

Icy fingers curled around my windpipe. “You know about me?” I asked. “That I’m…that I’m not right?”

A kind smile lifted her mouth up. “I do. I was the one who sent Ms. Willow to take your memories. I thought it would be easier.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, regaining my breath. “Who are you and why would stealing my memories make things easier?” Despite her beauty and peacefulness, the more she talked, the less I trusted her.

“Magical beings are difficult sometimes, always finding loopholes. By erasing your memories, I had hoped you’d do the right thing and all would be as it should.”

“Then you should have taken Fiona and Dorian’s memories as well,” I said and instantly regretted it. The fear that she might was enough to get my heart pumping. If the only two people in my world suddenly forgot about me and stopped looking for a solution, the hope I’d been clinging too would slip away.

“Dorian’s punishment will reveal itself in time,” the woman said, her mouth losing that hint of a smile. “As for your friend, I do not punish the innocent.” Even though her words were ominous, it gave me a little bit of relief to know Fiona wouldn’t be harmed.

“You speak as though you know what Dorian did.”

Her eyes brightened, and the knowing smile returned. “I do. In life, no matter if you’re human or supernatural, you’re given two choices. An angel and demon perch upon your shoulders, whispering to you. In the end though, you are the only one who influences your decisions.” Her eyes cast downward and a small frown tipped her mouth down. “Dorian chose the wrong path.” Her gaze snapped back to my face. “You are merely collateral damage, and I’m sorry for that.”

I could hear the front door slamming shut, but I kept my attention on the woman. Her body began to waver in and out like a heat mirage.

“Wait!” I said, fearing she’d disappear before I got any clear answers.

“It’s only going to get worse. Do the right thing, Gwen Sparks.” Her body faded until the only woman in the mirror was my own reflection.

Two soft knocks sounded from my door. The interloper entered without an invitation. I saw a flash of blonde hair and realized it was Fiona, but I still stared into the mirror. Whoever she was, she knew exactly what was going on, which meant she may know how to fix it.

“What are you doing?”

Giving up, I dropped my hands from the glass and spun to face Fiona. “A woman just appeared in my mirror.” Under different circumstances, I might have felt like a nut after saying something like that.

“What did she say?”

A shaky laugh huffed through my lips. Fiona hadn’t looked at me like I was nuts. Matter of fact, her face was full of curiosity, not judgment. What a bizarre world I found myself in.

“She told me to do the right thing, that a wrong must be righted. She said things were only going to get worse.”

Fiona folded her arms across her chest. “That’s what I was worried about.”

“You know who it was?”

She shook her head. “No, but Ethan just returned from Moon and, well, he doesn’t have good news.”

My eyes closed on a long blink before I inhaled and exhaled a deep breath. Some part of me knew Ethan wouldn’t find any good news in Moon, but the other part foolishly believed that just maybe he would. The clear look of apprehension crossing Fiona’s face told me that it wasn’t just bad news, it was horrible news.

I SAT ON the couch with my legs crossed and hugged a pillow to my chest. The sun was just setting and cast an orangey pink glow through my living room window. Fiona sat beside me while Ethan sat in the overstuffed chair to my right. Dark shadows circled his eyes as though he hadn’t gotten much sleep in his absence. His eyes, normally a pale blue, were dull and now had little red veins shooting out from them. His usual put together appearance was also missing. He still looked nice in a pair of jeans and a button down shirt, but the shirt had more wrinkles than a pug, and his jeans were loose as though he’d worn them multiple days in a row.

“The tension is smothering me,” I said, eyeing Ethan and wishing like hell Dorian was here. There was something about him that made even the worst new seem bearable, and I had a feeling I’d need that illusion after I heard what Ethan had to say.

“What has Dorian told you?” Ethan asked. He leaned forward and rested his bent elbows on his knees. He ran a hand through his mussed hair before looking over at me for my response. I chewed my lip, contemplating whether I should tell him the truth. I still wasn’t sure if I could trust Ethan, though I wanted to. Fiona was a good person and she trusted him. That simple fact was a major point in his favor. Dorian, on the other hand, wasn’t subtle in his dislike for my best friend’s boyfriend, and I wasn’t sure if that was because Ethan really was a bad guy or because he was just overprotective of me.

“You can tell him,” Fiona said, urging me on.

“You haven’t told him already?” I asked and then frowned when I heard how accusing my voice sounded. “I didn’t mean that as harshly as it sounded,” I finished.

Fiona gave me a small smile. “It’s okay and, no I haven’t said anything. I figured if you wanted him to know, you could tell him yourself.”

I smiled back, realizing that Dorian hadn’t just been hard on Ethan, but Fiona as well. Whatever may have happened between us, Fiona had proved countless times that she took our friendship seriously.

I sucked in a deep breath, preparing myself. I tried to think of what Dorian had said verbatim, but realized he had confessed to what he’d done using a more-or-less technique. But I got the gist of it, understood what had happened. If Ethan needed clearer details, he’d have to ask Death himself. Something about that amused me. I pushed the ill-timed amusement away and refocused on the present.

“Dorian restored my soul after a rogue killed me at my shop,” I blurted, needing to get it all out at once in fear of losing my confidence in Ethan’s trustworthiness. My lips teetered on the edge of confessing to the encounter I just had in my bedroom, but I curled them inward so I wouldn’t blurt anything out again. I needed to talk to Dorian before I told Ethan else about that strange exchange.