The air in my lungs grows stale when the room around me transforms into a candlelit space. There’s no moth holes in the rug I’m standing on, and all of the furniture looks brand new. Not a single crack graces the glass panels, and the faint chirpings of crickets has faded into the sound of a live band rolling through hallway doors.
Swallowing, I look up and make eye contact with Barrett. My expression stays the same, but I can feel the ghost of Petra’s coy grin on my lips. He’s walking along the wall of windows with a book in his hand, but his attention is firmly on her.
“You are beautiful,” he muses and closes the novel, holding it behind his back.
It’s exactly like the night at the library. I’m not a bystander to Petra’s memory, I am reliving it from her eyes.
“Mm, then why have you been avoiding me all evening?” she teases. The faint echo of my own voice is absent this time, but I can hear the trees blowing in the wind and feel her heartbeat in my chest.
Without Archer here, there’s nothing for me to respond to—only to watch.
He chuckles and walks toward her. “I have had a lot on my mind.”
She pauses, assessing him. “Care to elaborate?”
Stopping less than a foot from her, he nods. “I love you, Petra.”
Familiar affection at his words wash through her. “I love you too.” She reaches a hand up to cradle his cheek. “You are my heart and soul.”
He grabs her waist, pulling her closer, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “And you are mine,” he promises. “Lately, I have been feeling… dread.”
Her brows crinkle in concern. “A vision?”
He shakes his head in frustration. “Not exactly. Just a feeling—like something is coming. Soon.”
“Barrett,” she murmurs, and tugs his cheeks until he’s looking down at her. “We are okay—as long as we stay at the inn,we will be fine.”
He bobs his head, but he’s not convinced. He lets his head fall back and stares at the sky. “I do not know if binding the coven’s souls to the inn is enough to save us,” he whispers.
I want to ask what he means, if it’s even possible to bind someone’s soul to a place, but nothing comes out when I open my mouth, unable to tamper with the memory.
She watches him for a long moment, grappling for anything to bring her lover back to her and out of his own head. Suddenly, he stands straight and looks out the window, trying to see through the fog and darkness.
“I hoped we had more time,” he says and grabs her hand. Running out of the room, he pulls her behind him.
I follow.
Through the hallway, up the first flight of stairs, down to the east wing where another flight of stairs leads to the watch tower. Fully consumed by the hallucination, I don’t stop until my thighs hit the iron rail around the balcony.
Grabbing onto metal just in time to catch myself before tipping over, I push back and watch intently—mimicking the confused expression Petra wears as she does the same, glancing at Barrett every few seconds. His eyes are moving quickly over the property, waiting for something—someone.
She turns and places a hand on the back of his neck, slowly turning his head to look at her.
“My heart, let us go to bed.”
He nods, confused and defeated. He turns toward the balcony doors, Petra following with her hands on his waist, when he spins in place and points at the front gate.
Whipping back around, Petra and I squint, trying to make out the large shadow coming onto the property. We gasp in unison, finding Nestor walking through the threshold. His shoulders are arched in defeat and shame, and he’s dragging his feet in exhaustion.
“Nestor,” Petra whispers. The relief and heartbreak battle for power—the latter winning out when she turns her head to Barrett and he’s staring at her with the same expression.
A tear slips down my cheek as Petra begins to sob, falling to her knees. A complex mess of emotions hit me like a hex, cursing me with the haunted memories of her despair for the rest of my life.
Leaning forward, I wrap my arms around my stomach and let out a guttural sob.
“Petra,” Barrett calls out and snatches her waist backward. I’m dragged backward a couple of feet before a deeper, familiar voice curses, “Fuck, Renata.”
Awareness is on the horizon of my mind, but I can’t quite reach it. I’m still drowning in Petra’s relief and despair andshame. Each one hits like a wave, pushing me further away from the shore of reality.
