Esme snatches both photos out of my hand, and I don’t put up a fight. I dread the thought of looking at that photo and realizing that Rowyn is right—Barrett’s face was always visible.
Or worse, it still isn’t visible tome.
I don’t care much about an eternity of never seeing Barrett. However, I dread the thought of what that could mean for the man in my dreams, and if I’ll ever see his face again.
“Do you think there’s more?” Clementine asks hopefully while peeking over Esme’s shoulders.
I cross my arms and stare at the back of the other photo in Esme’s grasp. “There was a box full of them, and Petra’s coven was the last one to live here. It’s been my estranged, lonely family members ever since.”
Looking at me over the small polaroid, Esme asks, “What’s the significance with this photo? I mean, not that we couldn’t stare at that gorgeous face of yours all day, but we already knew about your doppelgänger an—”
“Petra,” I cut in. “Her name was Petra Blackthorn.”
All of them must hear the sadness mixed into my voice, because they offer me sympathetic looks.
I’m still figuring out where this level of grief is coming from and which parts of it belong to Petra. I gesture in Esme’s direction, silently asking her to go on.
“We already knew about your connection to Petra and your new friend—er, Nestor, right?”
“Yes, Nestor. I’m still working through this—” I hold up the journal, “—but he’s my great-great-great-grandfather. The family tree is murky. From my understanding, Cordelia, the woman who left the inn to me, is my great-aunt.”
Clover and Esme nod, still confused, but having sympathy for the complex history I’m currently wading through.
Clementine, on the other hand, is losing patience by the second. “Still doesn’t explain why the two of you came in here with your panties in a twist about this thing.”
She grabs the photo out of her sister’s hand and waves it around in the air.
“Can you see both men in that photo?” I ask.
Almost instantly, she stops moving and looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Yeah, anyone without vision problems can see that there are three people in this one.” She holds it out in front of her, as if to double check she isn’t losing her sight.
“I can see there are three people,” I affirm. “However, the man on the left’s face was obscured to me the last time I looked at that.”
Slowly, her eyes move to mine, but she doesn’t say anything for a long moment.
Looking at the photo, then back to me, Clover asks, “And now?What changed?”
“I haven’t looked at it yet bu—”
As quick as lightning, Clementine twists the photo in her hand and holds it up in front of my face. I blink in surprise, trying to regain focus on my new field of vision.
When I do, I see him.
Barrett.
Definitely not the man from my dreams.
They are identical as far as I can tell, yet I’m positive I could pick them out from a line up with my eyes closed. That’s how different they are despite sharing a face and part of a soul.
I can’t help but wonder whether he’d be able to see the differences between Petra and me, if given the chance. Embarrassment, and a little bitterness at the situation, follows in that thought’s wake.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “I can see Barrett’s face now.”
“Barrett,” Clementine practically spits out. “Great. We’re collecting family members like fireflies now.”
That sours something in my stomach, the thought of what being related to Barrett would mean in context to my no-longer-faceless stranger.
