Billy swallowed hard. “Yes, please. I won’t need it, but Lottie might.”
I smoothed his hair. “You’re safe here, Billy. Karson is a little like Superman. I’m not sure if you’ve heard of Superman, but he’s almost as fast, and he’s as strong and won’t let anything happen to either of you.”
Billy nodded, glancing at Karson, who was standing in the doorway watching.
“I like Superman,” he said.
“Me too. He’s the coolest superhero, don’t you think?”
He stared up at Karson. “Can you fly like him?”
“No, but I can run as fast and jump really high, and I have his hearing,” Karson answered. “So if you need me, just say my name, even as a whisper, and I will hear it and come running.”
Did that mean he was staying home tonight? That we’d finally spend the night together wrapped in each other’s arms?
Billy tucked the comforter up to his chin. “Can you show me some of your moves tomorrow?”
Karson came over to the bed, his expression soft. “I can, but it has to be our secret. You can’t tell anyone about what I am.”
Billy nodded. “Like Lois.”
Karson smiled. “Yes, just like Lois.”
We wished Billy good night, leaving the door ajar.
Our bedroom was bathed in a soft glow from the nightlight. Karson shifted over to the balcony window, peering out into the dark, searching for threats. Then he spun and disappeared out of the door, leaving me staring bewildered after him. My heart zigzagged in my chest. It seemed implausible that she could find us so quickly. I barely made it to the door before he came back, smiling. “Billy whispered my name.”
“Clever boy.” I sagged down on the bed, the torment these kids had gone through eating at my heart. I knew what it was like to go to sleep in a strange place, with strange people, but didn’t know what it was like to see my mother, or someone I loved, become a killer; to know she’d kill me too. Karson couldtake away their fear, take away the memories of what she’d done. He could rewind time back to where they were before all this happened. The power he had was dangerous, but it was hard to argue against removing trauma from a child’s mind. “Do you think you should wipe their minds?”
“I never thought that would be something you would suggest.”
“Neither did I.” I sighed, trailing my fingers over the silk sheets. “But these are children, and I don’t want them to suffer.”
The bed sagged a little as he sat down beside me. He reached for my hand, clasping it in his, staring at it like it was a map to lands he wished to explore. When he spoke, his voice was heavy. “I will once the danger has passed.”
“Will they forget everything they saw?”
“Yes.” He paused. “Most likely.”
“Most likely?”
“There is no guarantee that what I have erased with stay that way.”
“Like with Sarah.” She remembered parts of what happened the fatal night her brother was killed, but not the part where she threw the blade, removing his head. “But surely, that’s because she’s a firstborn and her mind is strong.”
He lifted his gaze and stared at the closed curtains as if conflicted. Was that guilt I could see? Did he blame himself for not considering his skills might not work on Sarah? “Witches and vampires are two species whose minds are harder to control. Sometimes, in the strongest of minds, fragments of what has transpired lie in the very far depths of the subconscious.”
“The children aren’t witches though?”
His thumb swept across the back of my hand, worry etching lines in his brow as his gaze seemed to reach into my soul.
“I doubt it. Although sometimes a witch’s power isn’t always obvious, it can remain dormant until they reach a certain age.For girls, it is usually around sixteen, but boys can be even older before it begins to stir. When I erase someone’s memories, sometimes, even with humans, every now and then small pieces try to surface, and the person can’t quite grasp what is missing. They feel like something isn’t right. Some have terrible nightmares. Most push it aside as a trick of their imagination and go on with life. Some can’t stand the feeling, and it eats away at them. Some end up drinking or taking mind-altering substances to bury the sense of loss they can’t quite place.”
Nightmares were something I knew all about, and I hated that I did. I hated the trauma they left behind, the fear of the dark, though it was nothing to do with having my mind wiped. Being a witch, I was protected from that happening. My nightmares were a product of my vivid imagination; my head played scenes like movies and the nightmares felt real. When the mind didn’t know the difference between fiction and non-fiction, the trauma I was left with was the same as if I had lived it.
“You think that could happen to the children?” I asked.
“If we allow them some space to process what has happened, to go through the torment and deal with some of it themselves, then I will wipe their minds, and they stand a far greater chance of never knowing that anything happened.” He pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it, before standing and heading to the bathroom.
